She doubted he was in the market for a wife, anyway.
“Well, now that’s over,” Aunt Gabrielle said briskly, “Let us enjoy the Season and find Henrietta the most handsome and gallant of husbands.”
Henrietta laughed. “Oh, yes, let’s.” But her thoughts returned to Christian Hartley.
* * *
Verity took her final curtsy to applause which equaled that of Mrs. Siddens, and the curtain banged down. It had gone well tonight. She entered her dressing room where her dresser waited.
“I heard the ovation, mademoiselle,” Madame Tornet said, taking Verity’s cape.
“Yes, but I’m not sure Mrs. Siddens was pleased. She would prefer to be playing Ophelia, even though Gertrude’s part is much larger.” Verity stepped behind a screen to remove the filmy white gown. She pulled on a silk wrap and sat down in front of the mirror to remove her stage makeup.
A knock sounded at the door, and Madame Tornet went to answer it. Lord Beaumont stood in the doorway, hat in hand, dressed in understated evening clothes, his unpowdered dark brown hair tied at his nape with a thin black velvet ribbon.
Verity’s breathing turned rapid and shallow. “Where is your pretty daughter, Lord Beaumont?”
He bowed over her hand. “Henrietta sends her apologies. She is attending Almack’s tonight. It is her debut.”
“Perhaps you should have accompanied her.”
“She has her aunt, and once the young swains discover her, she won’t notice I’m not there. I enjoyed the play immensely. Although all the cast were excellent, you, mademoiselle, were superb.”
“Praise indeed, considering Sarah Siddens is in the play,” she said dryly. “I thank you, kind sir.” Verity laughed and motioned to a chair. “Would you please wait? I have not yet dressed.” She gazed provocatively into his appreciative brown eyes and fingered the thin silk barely concealing her chemise and stays. “I am thrilled that you came.”
“I am delighted I assure you.” His gaze rested for a moment on her hand where she held it at her bosom. When he met her eyes, his were hot and dark, making her shiver with anticipation.
She stepped behind the painted screen, and with Madame Tornet’s assistance, slipped into a lilac-colored Italian silk gown.
When she emerged, Lord Beaumont had declined to sit and leaned against the wall, one long leg crossed over the other, imposing in his tall black hat and silk evening cape. He straightened. “I shall not keep you above a minute, mademoiselle. I wished only to pay my respects.”
Verity made a moue with her lips. “Oh, but you must accompany me to supper. I insist on it.”
He nodded toward the door. “There are many awaiting that privilege. I can hardly claim that honor for myself.”
“It is I who choose the man to escort me, Lord Beaumont. And I choose you.”
He smiled. “I’m flattered.”
“They all go to the Gun Tavern, so we shall go to the Pulteney Hotel in Piccadilly. Do you agree?” She laughed. “If you will please wait outside, I shan’t be but a moment.”
Verity rushed through her toilet, adding a touch of lip rouge and powder with her haresfoot. She placed a tiny black patch high on her cheekbone and another at the corner of her mouth. Madame Tornet brushed her long hair, left au naturel for the performance, and fashioned it into a high roll with a ringlet resting upon Verity’s shoulder. She tucked fake violets into the creation. Verity added diamonds to her décolleté and ears, paste, but such an excellent imitation. She donned her swan’s down trimmed cape, preparing to play the part of her life, as the seductress.
Mohammed had come to the mountain. The rush of excitement was overwhelmed by the ever-present sense of desperation. She must not fail.
Out in the corridor, Lord Beaumont stood alone. “Your devotees have gone on ahead to the Gun Tavern.”
“Then we have fooled them, have we not?” she said with a light laugh. She met his honeyed gaze. “My apartments are at the Pulteney.” Her luxurious suite at the Pulteney Hotel was the perfect setting for a seduction. Better than Grenier’s Hotel where the rest of the troupe mingled with French émigrés, who wouldn’t give them a moment’s privacy.
His gaze travelled over her hair and then into her eyes. “Your eyes are the same color as those flowers in your hair, mademoiselle.”
“A remarkable coincidence, my lord,” Verity said.
He laughed and offered her his arm.
They dined in the hotel dining room. Soft candlelight played across his features as they talked, his eyes filled with frank admiration.
“Do you miss your home?” he asked.
