“I expect that a decade hence I may be so moved again.”
Lady Grace departed and it was just the three of them in the box. Miss Waverly made a half turn in his direction. Their gazes met.
He saw the shock of recognition. It only lasted a second before she recovered, but it was unmistakable. Close like this, he could more clearly see the face he had come to know in the moonlight.
He had finally found his mystery woman.
* * *
Amanda kept her exterior calm, but shock almost immobilized her. Terror of discovery mixed with elation at seeing him again.
How fine he appeared in his dark coats and snowy-white cravat. The duke looked as handsome as the devil might if he materialized in human form.
His manner with Lady Farnsworth bore formality mixed with a touch of familiarity. He held himself a bit aloof, with his demeanor only softened by a vague, naughty smile.
He recognized her. She was sure of it. His blue eyes narrowed on her even while he bantered with Lady Farnsworth.
“Oh, my,” Lady Farnsworth said. “Introductions are in order.” She introduced Amanda to the duke. “She is my secretary. The finest penmanship you will ever see, and clever with accounts. She is my right hand.” She placed an indulgent arm around Amanda’s shoulders. “Since she joined me, I have found I have twice the time to devote to my writing and interests.”
“You are fortunate indeed to have discovered such an accomplished woman to aide you,” Langford said. “Where would England be without your having sufficient time to critique the world and its inhabitants?”
“Would that the world paid more attention. I am gratified whenever some small part of it does.” Lady Farnsworth favored the duke with a meaningful smile.
“Let us hope you experience more such gratitude soon.” He turned slightly. “Miss Waverly, are you enjoying the play?”
“Very much, thank you. It is quite a treat for me.”
“Then I will leave both of you to enjoy its conclusion.”
With that, he took his leave and followed the others out of the box.
* * *
A rustling indicated that the audience returned to their boxes to prepare for the resumption of the play.
“Miss Waverly, I must leave you for a spell. I have something important to tell the duchess about the journal,” Lady Farnsworth said. “I could hardly share it while she was here. I do not think Brentworth knows about her sponsorship ofParnassusyet. I am certain Langford does not.” She stood. “I will return shortly. If I should be delayed, wait here when the play ends and I will come for you.”
Her departure left Amanda alone in the box. She finally exhaled. How unfortunate that the duke had visited. Lady Farnsworth had never indicated she shared a friendship with him. Nor had their conversation implied she did. Rather the opposite.
That might have explained his severe expression. Or that hardness could have been all for herself. Whatever he may have thought of her, she doubted he had surmised she was in service.
Would he conclude that was why she had been so vague, and so unwilling to allow a liaison to form? She hoped so. That reason was far better than the real one.
Doors to the salon closed. She gave her attention to the stage. She hoped the actors’ return would distract her from thinking about how her heart jumped upon seeing Langford standing right in front of her with the light of recognition in his deep blue eyes. For an instant, she was on her back on that library floor, looking up at him.
The play did distract her. She calmed and lost herself in the story. Then, suddenly, a firm grasp on her arm made her jump with surprise.
That hand lifted her physically out of her seat and sped her toward the back of the box. She only collected her sense when it released her. She felt the wall of the box along her back. In front of her loomed the Duke of Langford.
He was all darkness now, much as he had been the first meeting at Lord Harold’s house. Only he stood very close, making her invisible in the corner to whoever might look in from another box.
One hand pressed the wall beside her head as his face dipped closer still. “So it is Miss Waverly. Not Alice Waverly, I am sure.”
“A . . . Amanda.”
“I was damned close. It all makes sense now. That shawl you lost is such that your lady might have worn it. And the shepherdess dress. Even that might have come from her. Does she know that you slip out at night to flirt with men at masked balls?”
“She knows nothing about my life other than what she sees while I pen her letters and articles.”
