He pulled her close, kissing her deeply. “Take me home, wife. I have plans for you that don’t involve ballrooms or gossip.”
Eliza laughed against his lips. “Home it is.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“I’ve never been to the opera,” Eliza confessed as their carriage pulled up to the Royal Opera House the following weekend.
“Really, darling?” Morgan looked surprised. “Never?”
“My parents preferred theater. They said opera was too… emotional. Not refined enough.”
“Then you’re in for a treat. Though I should warn you, this particular production can be quite… intense.”
The Kirkhammer box was one of the finest in the house. It had plush velvet seats and a perfect view of the stage. Ambrose and Imogen were joining them, and the four of them settled in just as the overture began.
The opera was beautiful, with sweeping music, passionate performances, and a tragic love story that had Eliza on the edgeof her seat. But she was acutely aware of Morgan beside her, his presence a constant warmth.
During the first intermission, Ambrose leaned over. “What do you think so far?”
“It’s incredible,” Eliza said honestly. “I had no idea it could be so moving. I am holding back tears!”
“Wait until the second act. That’s when things really heat up.”
He wasn’t wrong.
The second act featured an illicit love scene between the leads, all yearning looks and passionate embraces. The music swelled, the soprano’s voice soaring as she sang of desire and forbidden love. Eliza felt Morgan’s hand settle on her knee beneath the curtain that partially concealed their box from view. She glanced at him. His eyes were on the stage, his expression perfectly neutral.
Then, his hand began to move. Slowly, deliberately, and up her thigh. Eliza’s breath caught. She shot him a warning look, but he ignored it, his hand continuing its journey beneath her skirts.
“Morgan,” she hissed under her breath.
“Shh,” he murmured. “You’ll miss the performance.”
His fingers found the slit in her drawers, and Eliza had to bite her lip to keep from gasping. She put her hands on the chair to hold herself steady. Around them, the audience was entranced by the opera. Ambrose and Imogen sat just feet away, completely unaware.
With expert movements, Morgan’s fingers began to circle that sensitive spot, the pressure perfect, maddening. Eliza gripped the armrests of her chair, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer.
“Look at the stage,” Morgan whispered, his lips brushing her ear. “Don’t let anyone see what I’m doing to you. That’s an order, good girl.”
“Yes…” she whispered and she bit her tongue as her blood began to race.
It was torture. Sweet, exquisite torture. The music swelled around them, the soprano’s voice rising in ecstasy that matched what Eliza was feeling. She focused on the stage with every ounce of willpower she possessed, even as Morgan’s skilled fingers brought her closer and closer to the edge.
When the pleasure crested along with the crescendo, she barely managed to stifle her cry, turning it into a small cough. Her body shuddered, and Morgan’s hand gentled, working her through the aftershocks.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “You’re so beautiful when you come undone.”
As the act ended and the curtain fell, Morgan withdrew his hand, his expression once again perfectly composed.
“Intermission,” Ambrose announced, standing. “Shall we get some refreshments?”
“Excellent idea,” Morgan said smoothly. “Eliza?”
She could only stare at him, stunned, aroused, and slightly scandalized. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes glassy. Luckily she had the excuse of the performances for such a state.
“I think I’ll stay here,” she managed. “I need a moment to… process the performance.”
Morgan’s smile was pure wickedness. “Of course, darling. Take all the time you need.”
