Listening to him breathe, that raspy, throaty noise, I closed my eyes and enjoyed this simple moment.
I purposed to be present right now and enjoy it. For no one could keep all the dangers away. Not even Wycliff.
Chapter Twenty-Four
A Dangerous Intermission
Wycliff’s neck was wet with perspiration as he sat in the small darkened theater box with Ruth.
It was perfect. An intimate setting. They even sat in the rear so no one could see them—no flintlocks, no angry relatives to barge in upon them.
Ruth looked perfect. A dark-blue gown that fit her well. He’d grown used to her long sleeves. Not much opportunity to touch her skin, but that might be dangerous.
He glanced at her again. From the upsweep of her hair, the lovely long neck, she was his Ruthy, wearing his jewels on her luscious lobes. Soon, a matching ring would be on her finger…again.
Yes. He was hot and bothered. His thick collar, combined with the warm Drury Theater air, was abominable. The battle stewing inside was worse.
The war he’d been trying to keep from Ruth would soon be outside of his box.
At least this was a public place, but Spencer Perceval, the Prime Minister, had been shot in public, murdered. Should he tell Ruth the truth of Adam, in case… No. Then she’d hate two men.
He filled his lungs. Eased his shoulders. His sjambok was at his feet.
His men were observing. They were armed, too.
“Lord Wycliff. This meeting has you deeply concerned.”
“Yes, but the soprano is not singing the part as well as she should. That’s more concerning.”
“The more you joke, the more you are hiding. Adam used to do the same thing. Very annoying.”
“We are two of a kind. Maybe that’s why I am dedicated to you. You are quite lovely in bold colors.” He leaned over and fingered the lace trim edging the bodice. “Not an inch of your gown is wrinkled. I was good.”
She rolled her eyes, but a blush stained her cheeks. He edged closer. “You are stunning. And a challenge. This is good for me, I like challenges.”
Wait. Was that a Ruthy toothy grin?
It was, and it confirmed everything he knew to be true. Keep her laughing and happy. Then all would be fine.
The music grew louder. The first intermission would commence in half an hour. The corridor behind him would fill with witnesses. Nothing bad would happen in Drury Lane but the singing.
He relaxed, letting the music invade the tension in his muscles. The tendons of his hand stretched to the tempo. Even the battered cords in his throat, the ones that missed singing, vibrated.
This meeting would have no tricks. This wasn’t four years ago. He and his Ruthy weren’t running. She was safe. Wycliff wouldn’t fail this time.
Ruth fidgeted in her chair. She rubbed her temples. That was a telltale sign of a headache. Her new glasses hadn’t solved the problem. He hated that for her. “Ruth, can I help?”
“No.”
She took off her spectacles and cupped her hand to her face. The woman was gorgeous and miserable.
He fingered her ear, then her neck. “Will you refuse every gift for this tempting throat?”
She squinted and shrugged. “I don’t like things that can be ripped or stolen. I needn’t draw attention to thieves.
Exasperated, lovely, and miserable. Then he remembered she’d been at the first battle of his war. He cringed at the costs to her.
“You like the theater, my lord? Adam used to talk of going with his father. I suppose you love it, too? My sister and her husband do. Your future baroness will need to love this.”
