So it was that she found herself seated on the plush seats in His Grace’s box, her sister and parents seated behind her. Her Grace made a comment on the gathered crowd and she noddedin reply, hoping it was the right answer. Honestly, she’d not been paying much attention. Instead, she stared at the stage, or rather past the stage, her gaze unfocused as she waited for the performance to begin.
The door behind her opened and shut, the click of the latch startling her out of her thoughts. The duke rose from his seat.
“Lord Hamdon, Mr. Fairchild, welcome.”
Javenia’s head jerked up, and she swiveled to stare at the back of the box, worried she’d find the man who had ruined Melior. Instead, she found a stranger.
Steadying herself on the back of her chair, she rose so Lord Hamdon could make introductions.
He gestured to the tall, dark-haired man next to him. “Lady Upton, Lord Upton, might I introduce my friend, Mr. Nicholas Fairchild?”
Javenia’s mother dipped her head in acknowledgement, and after the appropriate greetings were given, Lord Hamdon turned to her.
“Mr. Fairchild, this is Miss Harris and her younger sister, Miss Jacinda Harris.”
Cindy fairly fell over herself curtsying to the man. Javenia didn’t blame her. This Mr. Fairchild made his cousin look like a troll in comparison. With high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and a tall athletic build that would make even the most prudish matrons take a second look, he was, in a word, stunning.
When he bowed over Javenia’s hand, however, she found she had exhausted any amount of admiration for him in that one glance.
“Might I take the seat next to you?” Lord Hamdon asked.
Javenia smiled—at least she hoped it was a smile and not the grimace she felt—and gestured to the seat. Lord Hamdon’s friend took up the seat behind them closer to Cindy. Perhapsthey’d actually get through the performance in silence if Cindy remained as much in awe of the newcomer as she was now.
The curtain went up, the singers began, and Javenia lost interest. Lord Hamdon made a few whispered remarks. How she answered she could not recall, but eventually he gave up speaking altogether.
Left to her own devices, her gaze wandered. Then stopped. Her pulse beat in her ears, a flicker of anger flaring to life for the first time in days. There, across the gallery, was Miss Weston, face smug, eyes filled with challenge.
Javenia gritted her teeth when she noticed the despicable woman seated close to Algenon. He looked miserable, and she had no doubt she knew why.
She may not be able to have Algenon for herself, but she’d rather die than let that viper ruin him. Her hand slipped inside her pocket, the paper she’d been unable to bring herself to burn crinkling in her grasp.
Miss Weston didn’t know it, but she had just declared war, and Javenia never lost a fight.
The lights dimmed in the opera house as the singers took the stage. It was the third time Algenon had attended in the two weeks he’d been in London and he now realized he hated opera. He half watched the night’s performance from Lord Falcross’s box, disgusted at the view of his father’s self-satisfied profile and his stepmother’s weary one.
His father had recovered enough to insist they follow through with their previous engagements, even though Lady Roberts was obviously still not completely herself. Did he think only of himself, or had Lord Falcross insisted upon it?
Algenon still wasn’t certain what other reasons his father could possibly have to entertain Falcross and Rupert, but at least he’d agreed to be more watchful of Phillipa.
The soprano hit a high note and Algenon’s gaze trailed away from the stage. Across the large open center of the building, Javenia sat silently in the Duke of Bedford’s box watching the story play out.
Maybe during intermission he could excuse himself and sneak over to the other side of the theater. It would be a welcome break after being forced once again into Miss Weston’s company. Then his gaze fell on another occupant of the duke’s box, this one decidedly masculine with a square jaw and dark blond hair.
Lord Hamdon.
Algenon ran a hand along his trousers, his toes twitching in his shoes. If he were anywhere else, his foot would be tapping with impatience, but his father would notice the restless action.
Why had Lord Hamdon joined the Duke of Bedford in his box? Was he again pursuing Javenia?
Warm fingers settled on his sleeve, slipping down to the bit of skin exposed above his glove. He jerked away, not caring if he upset Miss Weston. She’d been rather forward this evening, and it was getting on his nerves.
It had been his father’s idea to accept an invitation to sit with Lord Falcross, not his. He’d wanted to make his excuses, but he’d promised Phillipa he’d protect her should Lord Rupert choose to again insert himself in their circle. If only she could hold through with her end of the bargain and save him from Miss Weston.
He ground his teeth together. He couldn’t be upset with her since Father had made her sit at the front of the box in order to be viewed by all in attendance. She didn’t even know what he was being subjected to.
Again Miss Weston’s fingers found their way onto his person. He jerked away from the touch.
“I must ask you to desist, madam,” he hissed. “You have a reputation to protect.”
