He wasn’t smiling. Watching him now, it occurred to Emma he rarely smiled, as if he were allotted only a finite number of them, and didn’t wish to squander any.
She tore her gaze away from him, goosebumps tickling her neck. She didn’t want to think of Lord Lymington just yet, of his smiles or his frowns or the gray eyes that seemed to penetrate her every defense, to see her every secret,her every lie.
Instead, she let her restless gaze wander over the crowd in search of a distraction, and it fell to the chaos inthe pit below.
The noise from that quarter was deafening, the rabble jeering and heckling the players from one side of their mouths while pouring prodigious quantities of cider into the other. It was a performance that rivaled the one on the stage, and Emma found her gaze moving from the ragged mob below to the private boxes where aristocrats lounged in luxury, their jewels flashing.
London had always been divided thus, but nowhere were the two separate worlds more evident than at the theater, with the unruly mob below, and their betters arrayed in their private boxes above, watching the masses writhe with amused scorn.
Then there were those who were suspended somewhere between them, those like Helena, or Emma herself, danglingover the abyss—
“Emma? Did you hear me?”
Emma forced a smile to her lips. “I beg your pardon, Flora. What did you say?”
“I asked if you thought Lord Lovell would come to our boxthis evening.”
“Oh, yes. I’m certain he will. He can’t take his eyes off you, Flora.”
“Is he looking now?”
Emma cast a reluctant glance toward their box again, cursing herself. “He is, indeed.”
Lovell politely inclined his head, but Lord Lymington remained motionless, still watching her, his eyes still burning into her. This time, it was harder for Emma to drag her gaze from his. His dark eyes held her frozen until at last she tore free with a wrench, a flutter in the deepest pit of her stomach. Her eyes darted this way and that, searching for something else to focus on,someone else.…
But it was no use. Her gaze was drawn back to Lord Lymington, as if he’d commanded it with an imperious snap of his fingers. And once she looked—once she gave into his command—she couldn’t look away.
A strange feeling swept over Emma as their gazes held, because somehow in that moment she knew, without a word exchanged between them, that he was thinking of their kiss in the garden, just as she was.
He wouldn’t let her escape him tonight.
They shifted at the same time—Lord Lymington to murmur in Lady Lymington’s ear, and Emma, who leaned over Flora to say to Lady Crosby, “I find myself more fatigued than I expected tonight, grandmother.”
“You do look a trifle peaked. You’re worn out, you poor child. Come along, then, and we’ll go home. We can see the playanother time.”
Emma shook her head, hiding a smile. Lady Crosby really was a magnificent actress. “No, I don’t want you to miss the play. I’ll just slip out, and have Danieltake me home.”
“All right, dear, if you’re sure.” Lady Crosby patted her hand.
“Quite sure.” Emma turned to Flora with an apologetic smile. “I beg your pardon for abandoning you, Flora, but I don’t feel up to the theaterthis evening.”
Flora studied Emma’s face, and her brows drew together in concern. “Oh, dear. You don’t look well. Are you ill?”
“No, it’s just fatigue, but I don’t like to aggravate it with all the noise and light. I need a bit of rest, and I’ll be back to rights tomorrow.”
“Shall Icome with you?”
Lady Flora started to rise, but Emma urged her back into her chair with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “No, I’m perfectly well, and you can’t leave now. Lord Lovell is sure to come to see youat the break.”
That was all it took to coax Flora back into her chair. Emma whispered a quick goodbye to Lady Crosby, then hurried from their box into thehallway beyond.
* * * *
Samuel had nearly convinced himself she wasn’t going to come tonight.
He hadn’t seen her since their kiss in Lady Tremaine’s rose garden. In that time, Samuel had gone walking in Hyde Park, escorted his mother and aunt on a shopping excursion in Bond Street, and spent a tedious two hours with Lovell at Tattersall’s, along with every other nobleman in London, all of them crowded shoulder to shoulder in the subscription rooms.
The entire time, he’d thought of nothing but Lady Emma Crosby.
