Going Rogue (7 page)

Ophelia swallowed, looking up at Meredith for some sort of assistance that she couldn’t give. As was the case with discriminating women such as this, Meredith could only open the door to such an elite group. It would be up to Ophelia to walk in and make herself comfortable.

“Yes,” Ophelia responded timidly.

The girls all made similar non-committal sounds that resonated as approval and Meredith sighed with relief. The confirmation of peerage was all the group needed. The ladies resumed their prior conversation, inviting Ophelia into the world she’d been too scared to enter previously. Of course, this meant nothing more than the promise of civility, but it was a step in the right direction.

Already bored by the small talk, Meredith scanned the lobby. Out the corner of her eye, she spotted a man who caught her interest and tried to maneuver around to get a better view. There was something familiar about him, though his black pants and jacket did little to separate him from every other gentleman at the performance. But before she managed to get a good look, he was gone.

Suddenly, it was time for the lobby’s occupants to find their seats. “Now, if you ladies will excuse us. We need to be making our way to Miss Marshall’s box.” Meredith took a certain delight in making it known that it was
she
who’d been invited to the event, and not the other way around. To be requested made one far more valuable than being the one to issue the invitation.

The girls all bid their regards, and the two made their way to their seats just as the performance was about to begin.

“Drat,” Meredith cursed under her breath. Mr. Marshall was seated on the opposite side of Lady Marshall, too far to be of any use to her. She relaxed, resolving to enjoy the performance, despite the unfortunate seating arrangement. The view from the box was one of the best in the theatre and she couldn’t wait for the music to begin.

Meredith closed her eyes as the first notes from the orchestra drifted up. She opened them when the singing began, but found herself unable to see the stage, her view obstructed by the mound of chestnut curls piled atop Ophelia’s head.

“Do you mind?”

“I’m sorry,” Ophelia stuttered, quickly sitting back in her seat. “I was just looking for him—the Earl.”

“And you think he’ll be here tonight?”

“Mama said he would be.”

Meredith frowned. “And just what does this pirate Earl look like? Perhaps I could be of some assistance?”

“To be quite honest, it’s a bit disarming just how attractive he is. He’s very tall and looks to be quite strong. Mama says he’s the type that makes a woman’s knees go weak.”

Meredith snickered. When was the last time her knees had gone weak at the sight of anyone? A gown perhaps, but not a man. “If he’s as attractive as you’re describing, then we won’t be looking for long. All we’ll have to do is follow the stares of ogling women.”

“I suppose that’s a logical way to go about it. He does have a way of commanding attention.”

“He sounds like a rogue to me.” Meredith knew the type, careless of action and caring for no one.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Despite his bravado, there was a certain tenderness about him . . .”

“You have your studies, and I have mine. Men that easily weaken knees and revel in the attention of others are usually just as proficient at breaking hearts. Believe me, men like that are dangerous.”

“Perhaps,” Ophelia agreed quietly.

Satisfied that her protégé had heeded her warning, Meredith settled down to enjoy the rest of Act one.

Later, when the lights went up again, her attention was caught by a movement in the box directly across the theatre from the Marshall’s. It was the same man who’d caught her eye earlier. There was something so familiar about him, yet she couldn’t quite put her finger on either the location or circumstance by which they might have met. He was saying something to the woman seated next to him, his features obscured from view. The woman laughed, and he stood, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered frame.

Then he turned and looked directly at her.

“Dear God,” she whispered.

That was the last thing she remembered before fainting.

Chapter 9

Meredith opened her eyes just as Ophelia was placing smelling salts under her nose. She sputtered reflexively, swatting them away. “I’m awake,” she grumbled.

“My apologies.” Ophelia sat back on her heels. “I didn’t know what else to do. Usually, I’m the one who faints.”

Meredith started to sit up, but stopped suddenly—the room spinning. “Oh, my.” She reached up to rub the throbbing beneath her hair. “It feels as if my head’s been split in two.”

Ophelia leaned over and inspected the back of it for her. “No, thankfully it’s fully intact. But you do appear to be developing a nasty-looking lump.”

“It feels awful.”

“Of course it does. You smacked it on the floor,” Ophelia said matter-of-factly. “Next time, I suggest you pick a better location in which to swoon.”

Before she could respond, Mr. Marshall appeared before her.

“Are you all right, Miss Castle?” Garrett offered his hand, helping her stand.

“I’m embarrassed, but nothing’s broken if that’s what you mean.” She worked to adjust her gown and made certain everything was safely tucked away.

Garrett smiled. “I do believe she’ll be just fine,” he announced to the group that had gathered in the Marshall’s box to witness the spectacle firsthand.

“You’re shaking.” Ophelia reached a steadying arm around her. “We should take you home.”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I assure you, I’m quite all right.” Meredith took a step back. “I just need a few moments in the ladies’ retiring room to gather my wits.”

It was all coming back to her now and she’d indeed been shaken to the core. She tried to rationalize it the best she could. Obviously, her mind was playing tricks on her. There was simply no way the very man she’d tried so hard to eradicate from her life was sitting in King’s Theatre—it was impossible. It had been five years since she’d seen him. Five long years since their last argument. She had no doubt he was far away from here, happily married with a family in Middlebury.

In Middlebury
—two days ride from London.

Meredith returned just in time to notice a man exiting the other side of the box.

Her hand flew to her chest. She recognized his jacket as the same one worn by the man in the lobby and the box across the theatre. “Who was that?”

Lady Marshall smiled proudly. “Lord Sutherland witnessed your fall and thought to stop by and make sure you’d recovered. Quite considerate, don’t you think?”

Ophelia cast a look at Meredith and suddenly she understood. “
That
was Lord Sutherland—the Scottish Earl?”

“The very one,” Lady Marshall replied. “We had the pleasure of dining with him during our recent trip to the continent.”

Relief washed over her. Now she just felt silly for having considered, even briefly, that the mysterious man had been Derek.

“How gallant,” she remarked, watching for Ophelia’s reaction.

“Miss Castle?” Garrett offered the crook of his arm. “Will you please allow me to help you back to the carriage?”

“That’s not necessary,” she replied, accepting it without hesitation. “I’d hate to be an inconvenience. I know how Ophelia was looking forward to tonight, and I certainly don’t want to spoil all her fun by being the reason your family leaves early. We haven’t even started the second act yet.”

He smiled warmly down at her. “I must insist. You’ve taken a nasty spill and I’d feel better knowing you were at home resting safely.”

Meredith didn’t argue. The evening hadn’t turned out at all like she’d expected, but could be salvaged easily enough by the thoughtful attention of a rich, unattached man
. No weak knees
, she thought regretfully as they made their way toward the lobby. But her head still hurt, which meant she was at least capable of feeling
something
.

“I do wish you’d had the chance to meet the Earl tonight. He appeared to be genuinely concerned over your recovery,” Lady Marshall said, sounding wishful. “Such a thoughtful gentleman.”

Meredith noted Ophelia’s silence.

“Perhaps she still can,” Garrett remarked, nodding in the direction of a tall man dressed in black.

“There he is again,” Lady Marshall exclaimed, clapping her hands together, walking toward him. “Let’s go say hello, shall we?”

Meredith followed the small troupe as they made their way toward the Earl who was busy conversing with another man she didn’t recognize, a novelty for her. Despite still being several yards away, she could see just how spot-on Ophelia’s description had been.

Nearly half a head taller than Mr. Marshall, and at least a stone heavier, Lord Sutherland’s physique alone was impressive. His shoulders were broad and his fine, black coat tapered to a trim waist. Then he turned around.

His dark hair was mussed, just as Ophelia had described it. He smiled at them, bright white teeth in sharp contrast to the sun-drenched bronze of his skin. He obviously enjoyed a great deal of time out at sea and such a life appeared to agree with him—tremendously so.

Men like Lord Sutherland reeked of danger. Their good looks didn’t just hint at the possibility of ruination, they guaranteed it.

Their group finally reached the men and Lord Sutherland looked away for a moment, shielding his features from closer inspection. “Miss Castle, this is Lord Sutherland.” Mr. Marshall made the introduction, releasing her from his grasp.

“Miss Castle,” the man replied, bowing deeply.

She curtsied. As she was bringing herself upright, she allowed her gaze to travel up his chest and meet his eyes.

They were blue . . . the color of cornflowers.

Derek Weston was standing in front of her, a charming smile on his face.

Suddenly, the air was sucked from the room and her knees buckled. Garrett reached out to catch her and she steadied herself against him.

“I told you we needed to get you home,” he scolded gently.

She waved her hand at him, refusing to succumb to the sensation that the floor had just been ripped out from underneath her. “It was nothing.”

“Are you all right, Miss Castle?” Derek asked—the perfect gentleman. He knew good and well that she wasn’t
all right
.

She fisted her hands, fighting the desire to reach out and slap that charming smile off his face. “I’m fine,” she answered curtly.

“I don’t believe you,” Garrett disagreed. “Something’s obviously wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she answered, this time a bit more coolly. “In fact, I’d love it if we could all just go back and finish the opera. I’d hate to miss any more of it. I do so love
The Marriage of Figaro
.” She’d do anything to get as far away from Derek as possible.

“You’re confused. It’s not Figaro,” Ophelia corrected. “It’s
The Barber of Seville
—
Il barbiere di Siviglia.”

Meredith smiled stiffly, her nostrils flaring. “I love that one, too. Shall we get back now before we miss anymore of Regina?”

“The ward’s name in the opera is
Rosina
, not Regina,” Ophelia interjected. “Perhaps you’ve hit your head harder than you thought.”

“Of course it is. How silly of me,” Meredith returned, silently imagining herself wringing the know-it-all’s pretty little neck.

“Yes, let’s stay,” Lady Marshall thankfully agreed. “Lord Sutherland, would you and your friend care to join us in our box?”

No!

Derek took a step back. “Yes of course—my friend. Where are my manners? This is my cousin, Lord McCalistair. He’s visiting from Scotland for the Season.”

The man next to him stepped forward and bowed. “Hello,” he said with a prominent brogue.

Meredith wanted to argue, to riot against his claim of kinship to the Scot. Derek had no cousins to speak of that she could recall. She’d heard rumors of his titled relation, but not for one moment had she actually believed any of it. She wanted to call his bluff, to declare this man in the finely tailored jacket, claiming to be an Earl, a farce. Yet here was this other man with a strong resemblance to the Weston family and an undeniable brogue. It was hard to refute living evidence, especially when that evidence was tall, handsome, and so very Scottish.

“Will you be staying in London for long, Lord Sutherland?” Ophelia asked boldly, feminine discretion completely lost on her.

“Now that my company has its office here in London, I plan to at least stay until it’s fully up and running.”

“You’re the only Earl I know who fancies himself a businessman,” Mr. Marshall remarked snidely.

The peacocks were preening for their audience.

Derek cast him a sideways glance. “I’ve been devoted to King’s Ransom Transports since long before I inherited the title. I’m afraid it’s become like a child to me. I can’t very well give it up now.”

“I find it refreshing that you’re not content to simply rest on your laurels as others in your position often do. It’s respectable how involved you are with your work.” Ophelia’s defense of the Earl earned her an approving nod from her mother and a leering eyebrow from her brother.

Lady Marshall was beaming, basking in the glow of attention the Earl was paying her daughter. “You and Lord McCalistair will have to join us for dinner soon. But for now, I must insist you accompany us back to our box.”

“Of course,” Derek declared, taking Lady Marshall’s arm and guiding her back toward the theatre. “I’m sure I speak for us both when I tell you that we’d be honored.” Lord McCalistair took Ophelia’s arm and Garrett stood expectantly next to Meredith.

She hesitated, her head reeling from the events unfolding before her.

Derek stopped unexpectedly and turned back to her. “Miss Castle, are you certain you’ll be all right? I’d hate for you to swoon again.”

She’d never felt so close to resorting to physical violence in her life.

Meredith returned to her seat, an onslaught of emotions tumbling over her with such force that she felt physically beaten down. There were so many unanswered questions. How had her simple, land-locked Derek managed to become a titled seaman? And why would he ever return to London—to
her
city, during
her
Season?