Cheryl Holt (30 page)

“Not now,” he said calmly. “Please escort the Ladies Weston to our box.”

“But I want to—” Charles tried again.

“Do it immediately, Charles.”

The authority in Edward’s tone brooked no argument, and his youngest son grudgingly obeyed. Caroline’s hand was still in the crook of his arm, and he held out the other for Abigail. She wavered, wanting to say something,
anything
, but she couldn’t conceive of what it might be. Edward
and James seemed as though they might come to blows, and she wished she could diffuse the situation, but this was an old war, one in which she couldn’t choose sides, because she didn’t understand who was the enemy or what were the issues over which they were fighting. She only knew that there could be no winner.

Charles proceeded toward the stairs, and the assembly parted to allow them passage. As she moved by James, she visually begged him to take a quick peek in her direction so that he could behold her unspoken apology, but he kept his gaze firmly locked on his father’s. Any comment from her would only provide more fodder for the gossip mill, so she carried on.

As though they were members of a funeral procession, they ascended the narrow steps, then slipped through the curtain to their box. Like mechanical dolls she’d once seen at a museum, they transferred about and silently selected their seats. In the adjoining boxes, the incident was already being dissected. People were discreetly pointing and laughing behind their hands. The entire audience seemed to be staring at them, yet they sat proudly, their heads held high.

The strain was so profound that Abigail thought she might start screaming, but there was no means available for alleviating the tension. She couldn’t mention what had transpired to either of her two companions. Since she wasn’t supposed to know of James, or his sordid background, she could hardly begin conversing about him as though they were familiar.

From Charles’s reaction in the lobby, he was evidently aware of who James was, but he could never be so crass as to raise the issue of a bastard brother—his father’s ultimate misdeed—in front of a young lady he wished to marry. In their bizarre world, James didn’t exist.

Caroline was the most perplexed, remaining straight and rigid in her chair, while pretending to be fascinated by the pit and the wave of commoners who were packing the rows.

Eventually, when Charles espied an aunt and two cousins across the way, Abigail heartily gave her blessing for
the visit that allowed the younger pair to depart. She was left in solitude, and shortly, Charles and Caroline joined the opposite box.

As she watched, they huddled, whispering intimately, and from their positions it was obvious they’d grown much closer than anyone suspected. Charles appeared to be explaining the deadly undercurrents that had swirled belowstairs, which only emphasized how intimate their association had become. Abigail was quite certain they were holding hands in the shadows, the confidential gesture hidden underneath Caroline’s full skirts.

Would they wed? They made for a merry, elegant couple, and viewing their bond made her pitifully jealous. With her own disgraced heart breaking into tiny pieces, she couldn’t abide their conspicuous connection. Tears stung at her eyes.

Where was Edward? Why didn’t he come? Was he still with James? Were they arguing?

If she’d had any idea of their whereabouts, she’d have gone in search of them. She couldn’t stand to think of them clashing when she was the cause. Her despicable comportment had created the entire mess, and poor Edward had been left to sort it out when he had no clue as to what had precipitated the calamity. James was in a state, so there’d be no reasoning with him. He needed to lash out, and Edward was the easy target, so he’d unleash his wrath regardless of whether his father deserved it or not.

She hoped Edward would be strong enough to weather James’s harsh words. They had a tenuous relationship at best, and Abigail would never forgive herself if she was the one to destroy what little affection they shared.

Caroline and Charles tipped their heads together, and Caroline murmured soothingly. Abigail couldn’t bear it. She had to escape from the snoopy, gawking neighbors in the surrounding boxes, from Caroline’s overt displays of fond empathy, so she slipped into the hall, whispered to an usher, and received directions to the ladies’ retiring room.

Yearning for the opportunity to regroup, she hastened to
the haven. Inside, she advanced to the mirror, pretending to check her coiffure, when to her horror she realized that she was sequestered in the small space with James’s paramour, Lady Newton.

As Abigail studied Lady Newton in the polished glass, she was graced, once again, with an unmistakable glint of hostility, but the other woman hastily covered it with a congenial smile. Still, Abigail knew she hadn’t invented her unease this time. For some reason, Barbara Ritter despised her, and she couldn’t help but suffer the impression that the woman was a dangerous adversary.

“They haven’t returned?” Lady Newton asked, not even pretending that Abigail didn’t understand of whom she spoke.

“No,” Abigail replied haltingly. She couldn’t tolerate this unknown, rancorous person, but she was completely at a loss as to how she might execute a graceful exit. And though she didn’t want to chat, she couldn’t help inquiring, “Where did they go?”

“The earl suggested they step outside where they could have a bit of privacy.” She primped at her hair. Appearing bored, she queried, “You
do
know how they’re related, don’t you?”

“Well, yes,” Abigail answered hesitantly, not wanting to reveal too much unexplainable knowledge. “I had heard that James is the earl’s son. From a previous affair.”

“I just
love
it when they fight. James is always such a tiger in my bed after they’ve had a good row.” She checked her reflection again, and the venomous gleam was back. “He was quite potent this afternoon, before he’d even seen his dear old da, so I can’t begin to guess what he’ll be like later. I’ll hardly be able to keep up—”

“Excuse me?” Abigail’s bones seemed to have crystallized; she’d been turned to stone. Surely her ears had deceived her. She’d lain with James this morning. He couldn’t have been with this . . . this creature in the afternoon!

“Have I offended you?” Lady Newton casually assessed Abigail’s patent distress. She laughed coyly. “Oh, please
tell me you’re not some squeamish miss. The earl will never remain intrigued with that kind of prudish behavior.”

“What?” Abigail couldn’t form a single coherent comment. James had gone to this woman’s bed? Only hours after they’d ended their own night of blissful passion?

“I must admit that I’m quite well acquainted with Edward Stevens. Like father, like son, as they say.” Lady Newton winked. “Edward likes his women a tad on the wild side. Just like James does.”

“You believe that the earl and I . . . that he and I . . .” In front of this hideous woman, she couldn’t even contradict the shocking sexual allegation.

“Dearie, we’re both grown-ups. You don’t have to deny it to me. I’m
extremely
friendly with the Stevens men. Why . . .once you marry Edward, and I marry James, you and I will be . . .”—she raised her brows—“family . . .”

“You and James are marrying?” These were the most appalling tidings she’d ever received, and considering everything else that had already occurred that evening, it was more than she could endure.

“Of course,” Lady Newton said, definitely smirking. “We’ve been planning it for months. Hadn’t you heard?”

“No.” Abigail felt sick.

“We’ve been rather quiet about it, but that’s why I’m in such an excellent position to offer you solid advice. If you’re expecting to snag the earl, you’ll listen to me. You may get a ring on your finger, but you’ll never keep him in your bed by acting all prim and proper.” She dabbed at her lips with a rouge stick. “Take James, for instance. He just adores the chance to seduce an innocent female. There’s nothing he relishes more. He dallies, he lures, he entices. And eventually”—she shrugged, unconcerned—“he fucks, but he always comes back to me when he’s through. Do you know why?”

“Why?” Abigail choked.

“Because he detests inexperience. Bumbling virgins are fun, but over the long haul, he likes a woman such as myself. One who comprehends what he truly needs. He’s no
different from any other man: He fancies the chase, but once the girl is caught . . .” She shrugged again. “The rascal has had me at my wits’ end all this month over his latest conquest. But yesterday, he finally bedded her. Thank God that’s over! All afternoon he was beside himself, crowing about how well it had gone—I have to listen to the details; can you believe it?”

James had discussed her, and what they’d done, with this vile individual? “You’re joking. . . .”

“No, I’m not. The bastard was preening like the biggest cock in the barnyard. I actually felt sorry for the poor child. They all fall in love with him, and he doesn’t even have the good grace to let them down easily. But then he’s ready for a
real
woman.” She shuddered with delight and anticipation. “After this skirmish with the earl, I can’t conceive of what he’ll demand of me tonight. What do you suppose put him in such a state that he—”

“I have to go.” Abigail lurched out to the hall and somehow stumbled down the corridor. Her vision was failing, everything was dark; she was blindly floundering through a tunnel. Her heart was beating so hard that she wondered if it might burst out of her chest.

It couldn’t be true! It simply couldn’t be!

In grave despair, she blundered into Edward’s box, relieved to come upon him calmly sitting by himself as though nothing untoward had transpired. Wanting only to flee, to rush home and crawl into the safety of her own bed, she scooted next to him just as the curtains parted and a man emerged to announce that the leading lady for that evening’s performance would be none other than the incredible Angela Ford. He took a quick bow and retreated.

The gathering was quiet for several seconds as the proclamation sunk in. Then the news buzzed through the auditorium like wildfire, several men called out, and the place burst into uncontrolled applause. A testament to her fame and popularity—all these years after she’d abandoned her position at center stage—the ovation was still continuing as the curtains opened. The patrons’ rapt attention was centered
on the actress standing off to the side and sniffing flowers next to a rose-covered trellis.

A great beauty, she was willowy yet voluptuous, and she hovered patiently until everyone watched her, then her stunning blue eyes swept across the audience. In a flirtatious gesture, she tossed her glorious mane of blond hair over her shoulder, exposing her magnificent bosom and earning herself dozens of whistles. Portraying an eighteen-year-old girl, she was so marvelously talented that if Abigail hadn’t known Mrs. Ford’s age to be in the fifties, she could have easily mistaken her for a comely lass awaiting her first swain.

As her fans recognized her, the theater erupted in applause a second time, and Abigail leaned close to Edward, over the din asking if they could leave.

With his usual acute assessment, he noticed her disheveled plight. “Are you upset?”

“No. I’d just like to go. If it wouldn’t be too much of a bother.”

Edward took her hand in his own; her skin was chilled and clammy. “This is all James’s fault, isn’t it? I’d like to wring his neck! The way he behaves sometimes . . . I don’t understand him at all.”

“ ’Twasn’t James,” she insisted, looking down at her lap as she lied. “It might be something I ate for supper. I’m unwell.”

He regarded her scrupulously, obviously identifying the fabrication for what it was. “I’m sorry for the things he said. I hadn’t realized his conduct would distress you so. If it’s any consolation, I ordered him home—like the naughty boy he is. I’ve told him—repeatedly—that he oughtn’t be out in Polite Society if he can’t discipline himself.”

“Oh, Edward . . .” She sighed. Considering James’s mixed sentiments, she couldn’t think of any worse criticism his father could possibly have leveled. “Please . . . could we just call it a night?”

But his attention was already directed back to the stage.
To Angela Ford, the reputed grand love of his life, with whom he’d fraternized, shocked, reveled, and, as a much younger man, created two sons. He was so focused on her that he was hardly aware of Abigail’s presence any longer.

Finally, he wrenched himself away from the action. “Can you bear with me for a short while? After what happened downstairs, everyone is watching us. If I leave now, they’ll all infer that it’s because Angela has taken the stage. I’d never embarrass her so terribly.”

Her own distress was so enormous that she hadn’t contemplated how anyone else might be affected by the atrocious events. She’d caused enough trouble for one evening, for one lifetime, and she’d remain with Edward until Hades froze over if that’s what he requested of her. “I understand,” she murmured. “I don’t mind waiting.”

“We can slip out after the first act,” he said, sounding like an eager schoolboy. “If that’s what you still want. . . .”

His tentative joy at seeing Mrs. Ford was so great that Abigail didn’t have the heart to demand departure. Despite her own misery, she’d already wreaked plenty of havoc on the Stevens family. She’d inflict no more suffering. “We can stay as long as you’d like.”

His reprieve granted, his fierce concentration shifted back to the funny, sexy, gifted woman on the stage who had the spectators bristling with continual laughter. A few minutes later, when Abigail dared glance his way again, quiet tears were rolling down his cheeks.

Edward sat in the rented, unpleasant carriage, ignoring the lingering aromas, all of which he was trying hard
not
to identify. The horse shook itself, and the cheaply built conveyance rattled at the seams, making him realize that he needed to either get out or travel on.

He’d been parked in front of Angela’s house for the past half hour, too anxious to depart, too cowardly to bang her knocker. For that very reason, he hadn’t brought his own coach. Lest he never find the necessary resolve to follow through, he hadn’t wanted to be seen in her neighborhood. So he’d hired a cab, and now he tarried, minute after agonizing minute, while wondering what would happen if he forged ahead. Would she welcome him inside or, more likely, would she slam the door in his face? Regretfully, he couldn’t decide which outcome would be worse.