Wick studied him. “I’m sitting with her and the fellows. Care to join?”
He glanced over to see that Miss Kent was now surrounded by her family. Another public scene was the last thing he needed. He’d find an opportunity to talk to her in private later on; God knew that interview was going to be brief.
“I’ll find my own seat. Enjoy the show,” he said flatly.
~~~
It required all of Violet’s willpower not to look at Carlisle. She was acutely aware of him standing at the back of the theatre. His mere presence quickened her pulse, flooding her with remembered sensations, the most extraordinary she’d ever known. The raw silk texture of his hair between her fingers, the flexing of his virile body against hers, the devouring fire of his kiss…
“Is everything all right, Violet?”
Her gaze swung to Emma, sitting on her right. “Yes. Perfectly. Er, why do you ask?”
“Because your cheeks are flushed. And you’re all out of breath,” her overly observant sister said. “I think I know why.”
Vi swallowed. “You… you do?”
“It doesn’t take an investigator to figure out the cause of your excitement.” A grin tucked into Em’s cheeks. “You’ll soon be seeing your idol, after all.”
Her idol…Oh, right.
“Yes. Madame Monique. Can’t wait,” she mumbled.
“It won’t be long, dear.” Smiling, Emma turned to catch something that Polly was saying.
Unable to help herself, Vi cast a discreet glance in Carlisle’s direction. He was now seated in the back row of the theatre; with his brawny form, he stuck out like a stallion in a pen of geldings. Just as she was about to look away, his gaze collided with hers.
Her stomach plummeted. His eyes were shuttered, his features set in foreboding lines. There was no trace of the passionate lover who’d awakened all her dormant needs. Who had, in one fell swoop, made her understand what desire was.
She turned away, mortification pulsing through her.
Don’t be a ninny. Don’t let him see how he affects you.
Why, oh why, had she acted so wantonly? He’d called her a flirt, said she wasn’t good enough—and in the Priest Hole she’d gone and proved the dratted man right. Yet, to be fair, she wasn’tentirelyto blame, was she? After all, he was Viscount Killjoy, a stuffed shirt: he had no business kissing her like that! Why, he’d issued a sneak attack, she thought with growing indignation. Lured her into complacency with his starchy exterior, only to ambush her with his sensual and irresistible lovemaking…
Wait a minute. Carlisle—sensual? Irresistible? Did the kiss rot your brain?
She couldn’t deny that during the encounter he’d absorbed her senses completely. In fact, the effect of his kiss had been like that of playing a sport: her mind had been focused, centered on naught but him and the moment. She’d felt utterly alive in her own skin…
Her mind roiled with confusion.Whyhad he kissed her when he didn’t even like her? And why did she have to discover what passion was in the arms of a man who despised her? Another thought seized her. By Golly, did that make her atrollop?
“Ready for the show to begin?”
Her attention jerked to Wick, who’d taken the seat she’d saved for him. She mustered up a smile. “I can’t wait to see Madame Monique. She’s tip-top.”
“Indeed.” Something flitted through his gaze, something she couldn’t read. “By the by, I was chatting with my brother just now.”
Wings of panic beat in her chest. Carlisle hadn’t told Wick about the Priest Hole, had he?
“Anything, um, interesting come up?” she croaked.
“Not really. It’s always the same old tune with him. Miss Turbett this, Miss Turbett that.”
“Oh.” She told herself she was relieved.
“He did, however, call into question my friendship with you.”
Outrage surged. “He didwhat?”
