As the play ended and the audience clapped halfheartedly before they started the buzzing exit of the theatre, Bernadette glanced at Theo. She hadn’t been able to stop herself from looking at him during the entire second act, no matter how much she had once been invested in the play.
She had felt something shift in him during the intermission. During the first part of the night, she’d felt the tension there between them in the darkness of the box. She’d felt him leaning toward her, sometimes physically but always in other more meaningful ways. He took every chance to brush her hand or whisper something close to her ear.
It was flirtatious, yes. Theo was incapable of not being flirtatious—it was his nature. But there was something…deeper to it. A connection that sang to something deep within her that she was trying to keep at bay.
But when he’d returned to her midway through the play, drink in hand and false smile on his face, something was different. She never would have claimed that she knew this man. Even though they’d been friends as children, even though they’d spent months in each other’s company, renewing that bond and strengthening it. If asked, she would have asserted it was only a friendly acquaintance, at least until the first time he touched her.
But now she realized that shecouldsee when Theo was pretending with a person. Sheknewwhen he was acting a part and it felt like he was doing that now. With her.
His conversation was…oh, how could she describe it? Too light? Too empty? His laugh too loud?
It sounded ridiculous. Itfeltridiculous. And yet as he motioned for her to take his side as they exited the box…but didn’t take her arm this time…she knew she wasn’t wrong. And she knew she didn’t like it. She wanted to have that small, real part of this man who so often played a part in public. She wanted to feel the real Theo under it all, the person who wasn’t carefully on display for the world. That piece had meant more to her than she knew.
She didn’t think the shift would change anything. They would certainly go back to his home tonight and he’d seduce her, claim her with the same passion and drive for her pleasure that he’d exhibited for days and days now. But would she be brave enough to bring up the change she felt?
Would he admit to it if she did? Perhaps not. They had both claimed to desire something light and passionate and brief. Perhaps this new distance was his way of recreating lines that had become blurred between them. Perhaps she was making something out of nothing, in more ways than one.
They had made their way through the entrance hall and out onto the marble steps outside. Before her there was a crush of horses, carriages and people. Everyone was fighting for position to make their way home or to the next club or hell after the play. Gentlemen were comparing rank going back generations as they tried to claim their carriage should pull up next. Cyprians stood side by side with wives and debutantes, all of them looking bored and irritated.
Bernadette was being jostled from every side and it aggravated her when she was already on edge with these tangled, impossible thoughts about Theo.
She glanced back to find him a few strides away, still talking to Flora. Roarke had gone, perhaps to find Theo’s driver in the crush of servants and rigs. Bernadette sighed and walked away a few steps, trying to find a bit of space to gather herself. She needed to gather herself or else she would be too vulnerable in the close carriage.
She pivoted and stepped around the laughing, half-drunk patrons until she was just on the edge where walking path met the street. She drew in a few breaths, but the air was so close and it stank of horse. She frowned and stepped even farther from the crush.
Not far enough, it seemed, because a big, rather drunk man staggered into her in that moment. His heavy weight was not something she could fight against, and she found herself pushed forward, off the little ledge of the walking path and into the muddy street.
It wouldn’t have been so terrible for it to happen—the carriages were all coming slowly, after all, and people were scattered everywhere. But at the moment she stumble-stepped into the road, itself, a horse made a terrible, screeching sound from her left. She pivoted toward it and the world suddenly moved into horrible slow motion.
The animal had been spooked by all the commotion, it seemed, and it reared up on its back legs, dropping its rider into the street. It slammed down onto its front feet to the screams of the crowd, its eyes wild and its head flipping back and forth in agitation. With no one to control it, the animal began to run at full speed right toward Bernadette.
She was frozen in terror, frozen in the knowledge that she’d never move fast enough to avoid injury, perhaps even death.
And then she felt a hand grip her arm. She was yanked back none too gently just as the horse crossed the exact place where she’d been standing. She stumbled away, tumbling in unison with her savior onto the hard surface of the pathway. She pivoted and found it was Theo who had grabbed her. He hit the ground with a grunt and tugged her in closer to his chest as if to further protect her from injury.
People were screeching at the near fatal accident, men were running to catch the horse before he hurt himself or others, she saw Flora rushing from the steps toward her, her expression twisted in horror.
But the only person who mattered in that moment was Theo. Theo, whose strong arms were wrapped tightly around her, his body trembling and his face lined with…fear. He looked terrified as he held her so closely that she could feel his racing heartbeat even through all the layers of their clothing. He looked what she couldn’t feel until he whispered, “Bernadette.”
And then she broke down.
CHAPTER13
Theo couldn’t breathe as he held Etta tight against him, her body shaking and silent tears streaming down her face. His mind spun, thoughts of watching her step farther and farther away. It had made him uncomfortable to watch it, though he hadn’t understood why. He’d been starting toward her already, just at that horrible moment when the horse had come full speed toward her.
He had felt the wind across his face from the animal barreling by as he’d barely snatched her to safety, he’d known just how close they’d come to tragedy.
And he knew something else, too, as she gripped his lapels with both hands and let him hold her: he was in love with her.
That had become sharply, brightly, perfectly clear in that moment when he’d thought he wouldn’t reach her. In that flash of a moment there had been so many regrets that had filled his mind and body, there was that fact. He loved Bernadette.
That discovery still rang true as he slowly sat up and brought her to a seated position too. The crowd was moving in, both concerned and enraptured by the drama, whispering about the save as if it were part of the night’s entertainment, some kind of great romantic revelation.
They didn’t know how right they were.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, hardly recognizing his own voice.
“N-no, I don’t think so. Just bruised a little,” she whispered, and then she shook her head. “Oh, Theo.”
