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She speared a covert glance to the opposite box to find it empty.
Why did Nicolette care?
For she found she did care, very much indeed.
Foolish girl!
The Duke of Westfall is not for you.
Nevertheless, for all of her self-recriminations, Nicolette still couldn’t quell the queer lump in her stomach or stop studying Mathias from beneath her eyelashes.
He wore his hair slightly longer than was fashionable, and she supposed some might consider his nose a jot too strong. He possessed high cheekbones, a well-defined chin, and a full, sensual mouth. A most attractive package, she noted, not for the first time.
“I was quite looking forward to visiting with your mother, Your Grace,” Mama said, thankfully interrupting the awkward silence that had descended upon the box. Oblivious to the tension, and her face flushed with pleasure, she gazed at him expectantly.
Ever the genial gentleman, Mathias produced one of his disarming smiles and brought his gaze up to hers. “Indeed, Mrs. Twistleton, she was sorry to have to send her regrets. Her megrims are rare, but when one occurs, only a lie down will alleviate her discomfort. She asks that you and Miss Twistleton come for tea on Wednesday if your schedules allow. She’ll send an invitation tomorrow.”
Eyes shining, Megan squeezed Nicolette’s hand. “Oh, do come. I should like you to meet my sons.”
“I’d like that very much.” Nicolette had felt an immediate affinity for Megan Bridgham and was glad Mathias had asked them to join him tonight.
“I believe she intends to invite several of your close acquaintances as well,” Mathias said, pointing his gaze upward as if trying to recall exactly whom. “I’m not sure who, precisely, but the Sutcliffes, Dandridges, Sheffields, and Penningtons, for certain. All people who will warmly welcome Megan into London society.”
“My goodness.” Megan rolled her eyes, a mischievous grin curing here mouth. “It’s not like it’s my Come Out, Mathias.”
He caught her hand and fondly kissed the back of it. “Yes, dear sister, but we want to make you feel welcome. Much has changed since you lived here last.”
“Some things, not so much.” Megan’s regard slipped to the box opposite theirs, which was now empty of the hostile woman.
“Hmm.” He made that throaty noise Nicolette had come to understand was neither an affirmation nor a denial.
However, other than the viscountess’s acrimonious glares, the evening had been most pleasurable.
“Tea would be lovely.” Mama eyed Mathias from the corner of her eye. A meditative expression creasing her features, she said, “Of course, we shall attend.”
Oh, Mama, don’t get any ideas. He’s just being polite.
A flurry outside their box caught everyone’s attention a fraction before the crimson curtain parted, and none other than Lady Calbraith glided in, accompanied by a rather reluctant appearing Lord Crawley.
“Good evening, Your Grace,” she purred, dipping into a deep curtsey and giving Mathias a birds-eye view of her ample and very scantily covered décolletage on full display.
Nicolette suppressed a gasp for the tops of the woman’s dusky rose areolas were clearly visible above the satin.
“Oh, my,” Megan whispered in Nicolette’s ear, clearly shocked. She grasped Nicolette’s hand as if lending her support. “This cannot be good.”
“Viscountess. Crawly.” Mathias acknowledged with the barest inclination of his head, his tone neutral.
Nicolette couldn’t help the satisfaction curling through her that he hadn’t taken a single peek at Lady Calbraith’s voluptuous bosom.
He quaffed back the rest of his champagne and held his flute toward the impassive-faced footman who silently accepted the empty glass.
“More, Your Grace?” the servant asked.
“No, thank you.” He curved his mouth the merest bit and passed the servant a coin. “You may go.”
With an acquiescent dip of his head, the footman departed.
Lady Calbraith pinned her brown-eyed gaze on Nicolette, and despite the upward turn of the slightly older woman’s rouged lips, there wasn’t an iota of friendliness in her eyes. No, pure venom glittered there, reminding Nicolette of a cobra’s predatory gaze.
