Something Sinful (14 page)

“Your Grace. A pleasure to see you here. May I present my wife and daughter? Lady Hanover, Lady Sarah, the Duke of Monmouth.”

The duke sketched an abrupt bow. “Ladies. I hope we’ll all be enjoying the performance tonight.”

Sarala smiled. “I’m looking forward to it.”

The Duke of Monmouth. And he was only one of several dozen who’d seemed to make a point of coming over and inquiring after the Carlisle family’s health or how they were enjoying London. Abruptly her family had gone from being barely noticed to being the don’t-miss family of the evening.

And as the crowd stirred near the theater entrance, Sarala realized why. The Duke of Melbourne strolled into the lobby, Charlemagne at his side. As soon as she could force her eyes from the lean, black-clad Shay, she glanced about the lobby. The noise in the room didn’t diminish, but its cadence changed. Everyone knew who’d just arrived, and everyone would watch their actions—with whom they conversed, who they seemed to avoid—all evening.

Heavens. If she hadn’t snatched the shipment of silks out from under Shay’s nose, their one waltz at the Brinston soiree probably would have been both the beginning and the end of their acquaintance. But now for some reason
all
the Griffins seemed to be going out of their way to welcome the Carlisles to London. Of
course
the rest of Society would notice.

“Hanover,” the duke said, offering his hand as he reached them. “Zachary said you’d agreed to join us.”

“Thank you for the invitation. Our Sarah’s been in raptures about seeing
The Tempest
for days.”

Gray eyes, cool and assessing, shifted to her. “Have you now?”

She nodded, heat rising in her veins as she felt rather than saw Charlemagne stop at her elbow. “I’ve dragged Papa to every performance in Delhi since I was eight, but I’m afraid they were few and far between.”

At her side, Shay stirred. “We’ve arrived a bit late. Perhaps we should take our seats.”

If they didn’t, Sarala doubted anyone at all would leave the lobby for fear of missing something. As the duke nodded, Charlemagne offered his arm to her. Since she had no idea where they were going, she wrapped her fingers around his warm sleeve. In a moment they were several steps ahead of the rest of their party.

“Why didn’t you tell me you wished to see
The Tempest
?” he asked in a low voice.

“It didn’t occur to me to say anything.” She glanced up at his strong profile. “Why did your brother invite us to his box?”

“You’d have to ask Melbourne.”

“You didn’t suggest that he invite us?”

“I would have, if I’d known of your interest, but he’s the one who informed me that you’d be joining us.”

Sarala swallowed. “So it was all His Grace’s idea?”

“It would seem so.” He smiled, the expression lighting his gray eyes. “Not that I have any objection to seeing you again today.”

“Ah. If the invitation had been from you, I would have said that you’re still attempting to convince me to lower my price by offering interesting bribes, but since this was none of your idea, I don’t feel the slightest need to budge.”

Shay chuckled. “If you were a man, I think you would make a very fine prime minister. You certainly twist events to your advantage like one.”

She drew a slow breath. “If I were a man, I think this negotiation would have been finished by now.”

“Perhaps.” He guided her around a curving wall and through a curtained doorway, pulling her closer to him as he did so. “Very well, definitely. You are breathtaking this evening,” he murmured, his gray gaze lowering briefly to her half-naked bosom before raising to her face again.

Her skin heated, but he’d looked at her the same way when she’d worn the brown gown that came up practically to her chin. “Now who’s being bold?” she whispered.

“You have no idea how much restraint I am currently showing,” he returned in the same tone, his lips brushing her ear in the near darkness as he shifted out of the doorway to make room for her parents and the duke.

Heavens. She’d worn low-cut gowns before, but this was the first made in the current English style. Despite her protest to her mother, she actually liked it. It was the
reason
for the gown that troubled her.

Melbourne gestured for her and her parents to take the three seats at the front of the box, but her father shook his head. “You young people brave the foreground; Helen and I may doze with fewer people noticing in the rear.”

“As you wish. Lady Sarah?” The duke handed her into the middle chair, while he sat to her right and Shay to her left.

Very aware of the crowd below and determined not to give them anything to talk about, Sarala deliberately turned her attention to the stage on their left. It seemed practically close enough to touch, if she just stretched out her fingers far enough.

“My lady,” Melbourne’s quiet, cultured voice came, pulling her out of her reverie, “may I ask why you favor
The Tempest
above the rest of Shakespeare’s works?”

She smiled as she faced him. “I suppose because in an odd way it feels like the India of myth. Magicians, strange creatures, timely storms, and true love. It’s familiar and faraway at the same time, if that makes any sense.”

“I suppose it does. Is that how you’re finding London? Familiar and yet faraway?”

“More faraway than familiar, I’m afraid. There are so many things to remember that seem so arbitrary.”

“Arbitrary to you, perhaps, without the background of a native. I believe
we
refer to those things as traditions, which enables them to be meaningless and yet significant.”

Sarala carefully stifled her frown. Had the Duke of Melbourne just rebuked her? His tone had been polite, and his words so mild, that she couldn’t be sure. At any rate, he certainly didn’t sound as though he was the least bit enamored of her. Just the opposite. Thank goodness for that. Relieved as she felt, though, it didn’t explain why she and her family remained in the best box in the theater.

And everyone continued to stare. As countless eyes watched her from the dimness, Sarala abruptly felt…terrified. Terrified and vulnerable. She’d gone from being barely noticed to standing at the center of Society’s whirlwind. If she moved the wrong way, said the wrong thing in the wrong tone of voice, frowned or smiled too broadly in the face of Melbourne’s conversation, she could ruin both herself and her family.

And plainly the duke knew that; in his own way, he’d pointed it out to her. Her mother had wanted her to be popular. Now she was, at least for tonight. Had the marchioness realized what the consequences could be? Of course she hadn’t. Lady Hanover saw only the lofty heights; she didn’t see how far the fall could be for the imperfect, the ones found lacking. Sarala knew herself to be imperfect, and she knew how very high she happened to be sitting. It was too much. Too much.

Shaking, she reached over to tap Shay on the arm. He immediately faced her. “I think you’ll like Kean’s portrayal of Prospero,” he whispered, smiling. “For once there’s a reason for a reputation.”

She tried to smile back, but she was having so much trouble breathing that it probably came out as a sickly grimace. “Shay, I—”

His brows lowered. “Good God. What’s wrong?”

“I—”

“Never mind.” Charlemagne stood, practically hauling her to her feet beside him. “Lady Sarala needs some water,” he said to the box in general. “We’ll be right back.”

He managed to keep what looked like a conventional grip on her arm as they left the box. Once they reached the thankfully empty hallway she closed her eyes and sagged against the wall. “Oh, dear.”

When she looked again, Charlemagne was nowhere to be seen. Wonderful. He’d probably gone back inside to watch the beginning of the play. She could hear applause emanating from the auditorium behind her.

“Here.” Shay reappeared, shoving a glass into her hand. “It’s water. I brought whiskey, too, if you prefer that.” He showed her the other glass he carried.

“Water is fine.” Gratefully she clutched the glass and gulped it down.

“Not too quickly, or you’ll drown yourself,” Shay chastised, bodily pulling the glass from her lips.

“I
am
drowning.” Finally she could breathe again, though her heart pounded hard enough to burst right through her chest.

“What the devil happened?” Shay gave her a warning glare as he returned the water to her. “Sips.”

Obediently she took a dainty swallow. “I don’t know. It just occurred to me that half of London was watching me up there, waiting for me to do something…un-English.”

“Did Melbourne say something to you?” he asked very quietly, his expression serious.

“Heavens, no,” she returned hastily. He hadn’t, really. “He hardly needed to. All I required was my eyes and ears.”

“Well, considering that you
are
English, I don’t see how you could do anything un-English.”

“Oh, please. I could take my shoes off, or say something unflattering about snake charmers to those old peers who spent ten minutes earlier talking to my bosom.” She looked up into his amused gaze. “How do you do it? Be at ease while the world watches your every move?”

Shay shrugged. “Mostly they’re watching Melbourne’s every move, but I suppose the trick is to think of something else.”

“Something else? Since you won’t negotiate, I don’t know what I’m supposed to think ab—”

“Negotiate?” he repeated in a soft voice.

Her gaze lowered to his mouth. “Yes. You know, numbers, prices…”

“Quantities of goods or services…”

“Yes,” she whispered. “A battle of wits and n—”

He leaned in and kissed her. He moved slowly, molding his mouth against hers, stealing her breath again and sending her heart racing to an entirely different rhythm than fear. The water glass slipped from her fingers to the thankfully carpeted floor as she slid her arms around his shoulders.

Charlemagne pressed her back against the wall, holding her body against his lean, muscled one. She could taste his hunger, feel his interest, and both aroused her.

“I like negotiating with you,” he murmured, kissing her again.

“You are a challenging opponent,” she returned, her mouth muffled against his.

“Mm.” Finally he lifted his face from hers. “Think about that,” he said softly.

Well, how could she possibly think of anything else, now? Heavens, she’d nearly melted. Still, this
was
a part of his negotiation, and she’d best remember that. “That might distract me for a minute or two,” she managed a little shakily, “but what shall I do after that?”

He ran his thumb along her lip. “Think about two thousand eight hundred pounds,” he suggested, “and your subsequent reasonable acceptance of said offer.”

Her breath caught. “I wouldn’t call accepting that to be reasonable.”

The corners of his mouth curved upward. “Ready to go back to our seats?”

She felt far from ready, but not for any of the reasons that had sent her fleeing before. Kisses and silks and gold coins all tangled in her mind. He’d certainly managed to distract her, all right. Sarala smiled back at him. “Thank you. You may lead on, Prospero.”

As he pulled the curtain open and helped her back to her seat, his mouth brushed her ear once more. “Thank you for casting me as the hero,” he whispered, releasing her to her chair.

The hero? She wasn’t entirely certain what his ultimate role would be, but she’d never enjoyed a business rivalry so much in her life.

“Good morning,” his brother returned. “Have you seen Peep yet?”

“I heard her singing, which I assume means she’s awake.”

Sebastian sighed. “Yes, she informed me yesterday that she means to take the stage when she’s old enough.”

Charlemagne grinned. “Last week she favored piracy. I wouldn’t worry too much.”

“Ah, but it’s my job to worry.”

“You need to think more like Prospero.” He cleared his throat. “Ahem.

Are melted into air, into thin air,

And like the baseless fabric of this vision,

The cloud-capp’d tow’rs, the gorgeous palaces,

The solemn temples, the great globe itself

Yes, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,

And like this insubstantial pageant faded

Leave not a track behind. We are such stuff

As dreams are made on; and our little life

Is rounded with a sleep.’”