Mark folded his paper and set it aside. “I supposed you would have to satisfy them with your wallet, Harding, since I hear you are unable to do so otherwise.”
Men around them chuckled, murmuring, as Harding bristled, red spots blooming over his cheekbones, emphasizing the kohl lining his eyes—another habit of the young blades Mark disdained. “Apparently, sir, you suffer from the same lack of proficiency, since your current paramour has been sniffing around other sources for her... satisfaction.”
A guffaw sounded behind Mark’s shoulder, followed by a jovial, “Oh, touché, Harding.”
Mark let out a long sigh of exasperation, intentionally masking the spike of concern that had tightened his gut.Surely Stella would not...“If you are referring to a particular lady of my acquaintance—”
“That wanton is hardly a lady—”
“Then you have no true understanding of our arrangement—”
“My understanding is that your pockets—or some other element of your bearing—simply do not reach deeply enough. Theon ditis that she is currently attempting to pick the pockets of other nobles, and that she has tried on more than a few for size.”
Mark shook his head and took a sip of brandy, letting his gaze linger on Harding a moment. He set the glass aside, twisting it to study the residual glaze of liquor on the side of the glass. “Do you know why the ladies of thetonrefer to you as ‘the Apprentice’?”
Harding’s eyes narrowed. “I have not heard—”
“Because you have yet to become skilled with your tools.”
A raucous round of laughter echoed through the room, as Mark stood, clapping Harding on the shoulder and leaning closer. “If you do not believe me, just ask at Almack’s. Those women know all the best rumors.” He straightened. “Gentlemen, if you will excuse me, I have a bet to place, then I am off to the theater with my shallow... pockets.”
Mark checked the wager book. As suspected, the bet about “a certain fair widow of renown”—no one would dare mention a lady by name in the book lest they wanted to be called out—was in her stepson’s handwriting. He then gave a jolly farewell to the butler. But as he strode the pavement outside, a deep dread built in his gut, and he prayed that his suspicions—and Harding’s insinuations—about Stella had no foundation at all. The alternative held an unimaginable horror.
*
Sunday, 17 July 1814
Theater Royal, Haymarket, London
Nine in the evening
Midway through thesecond act, Judith’s left foot began to tingle, and a cramp crept up her calf, tightening the muscle and escalating the ache. She shifted in her seat, trying to stretch her leg out without kicking either Edmund’s or Margaret’s chair and pressing down with her toes. The family box on the third tier of the Haymarket Theater had more than enough room for the three of them, but they had crowded close to the front in order to hear the actors over the murmuring of the crowds below as well as in the adjacent boxes.
Theater attendance—almost an essential requirement among theton’selite—drew people to the various performances in droves, although the quality of the plays had less appeal than the glittering gowns and kits of the Beau Monde. As with Rotten Row, the theater was as much about seeing and being seen than being entertained. Most people, even those in the rowdy crowd below, appeared more interested in the latest gossip and who in the aristocracy sat among them than in the actors on stage. Craned necks and twisted shoulders held more favor, and the appearance of a high-ranking noble meant whispers spreading among the audience like so many waves on the beach. Judith herself had finally abandoned her attempt to hear the words of Richard Sheridan, although her attention had not been drawn by one of her peers. Instead, she focused on the actions of one specific actress, a blonde who pranced across the boards, gleaming and in complete control of the stage. Stella Ashley. Her radiant smile and abundant physicality usually enraptured an audience—and apparently one lord in particular.
What had attracted Rydell to this woman?Judith’s thoughts toyed with the edge of jealousy, which annoyed her to no end. She had never been jealous of Edmund, even when she had been one of many debutantes vying for the widower’s attention.Why should I be jealous of Rydell? He is hardly the only man in London to pay attention to me.
Stella Ashley gave a shout of surprise and seemed to float—actually float!—away from another actor. A skilled movement given her ample figure and tight costume.
The cramp in Judith’s left calf seized, shooting a spike of pain up into her thigh. “Oh bloody hell,” she muttered, frustration overwhelming her. She pushed from her chair, pointing down at her leg when Margaret turned to look at her. “Cramp. I need to walk it off.” Margaret nodded and Judith pushed through the dark, curtained alcove at the back of the box and into the corridor outside.
She took a deep breath, pressing down with the ball of her foot as she limped back and forth a few steps. Normally this time of year the corridor held as much sweltering heat and lingering odors as the theater’s interior, but the cooler days had left it a pleasant break from the people and candelabra-heated boxes. Judith muttered to herself about blonde actresses, errant lords, and annoying cramps as she tried to work free of the agony.
Until she realized a man stared at her from four boxes away. A dark-haired man with an unrelenting smirk.
Judith froze. Dear God, he was too handsome for his own good.
He sauntered toward her, his head tilted to one side, his top hat canting precariously. “Are you ill, Lady Sculthorpe?”
“No. Blasted cramp will not let me sit still.” She pressed down with her toes again and winced.
“Ah.” Rydell glanced around, then took her arm and guided her back through the curtains and into the alcove.
As the darkness closed around them, Judith hissed, “What are you doing?”
In the dim light from the corridor, which pressed through a narrow space between the curtains, Judith could see the gleam in his eyes. He pressed a finger to his lips, then pushed her back against the wall. Before she could react, he knelt in front of her, placed his top hat on the floor beside them, and lifted the offending leg, bracing her foot on his thigh.
Her eyes widened. “Rydell!”
