Camellia ended her final note with more trepidation than she’d ever felt in her life. She’d announced her intent to pursue a career in theater to the entire ton, then promptly performed a scandalous piece from Don Juan: A Grand Opera in Two Acts.

Three songs in, and the musicale was over.

From this moment forward, Camellia was no longer a respectable woman. She was a future opera singer. Or at least she’d die trying.

She might become the most famous performer in England, or she might never rise from the obscurity of the chorus. Either way, her life as a proper young lady was over. Most of the people present tonight would never be able to share a roof with her again, unless it was from the safe distance of a theater box.

Once the shock settled, a few brave souls burst into spontaneous applause. Several others stood up and left the room. The rest stayed perfectly still to see what would happen next.

Camellia had no idea what was going to happen next. She didn’t even know if she would remain welcome in her own home. Her siblings supported her one hundred percent, but Mother had very strong ideas about how she expected her daughters to live the rest of their lives.

Well, so did Camellia. Life was too short to spend it without the things one loved most.

She might not get to have it all, but at least she would have the opera.

Mother sprang to her feet and roared at the crowd. “Everybody go home! The musicale is over. Out! Out!”

Camellia stepped back into the wings.

Under normal circumstances, her mother screeching Go home! at the most fashionable, powerful people in the beau monde would have caused an even bigger scandal than Camellia had done with her announcement.

But these were not normal circumstances. Far from being offended, the audience members were delighted to escape into their carriages and parlors and dinner parties to gossip about what they’d just witnessed here tonight.

No one would remember Camellia’s father looking at her as if he’d truly noticed her for the first time. No one would notice the nod of acceptance he gave her before escorting his shocked wife behind the curtain and off to their private chambers.

No one would recall the tall, golden-haired earl fighting his way upstream against the departing crowd to where Camellia now stood in the shadows.

“Wainwright.” She forwent the traditional curtsy and forced herself to hold her ground. “Did you enjoy the show?”

“I wish it were longer,” he said immediately, surprising her with his ferventness. “I wish I’d attended every musicale your family had ever performed. I wish I could hide in the chandeliers every time you open your mouth to sing, even when you aren’t on stage.”

Her cheeks heated in pleasure. “You did enjoy the show.”

He took her hand. “You must know that your talent is incredible. I don’t think you’ll find work at the theater. I think you’ll find fame.”

The pleasure faded. No one knew actresses better than the Lord of Pleasure. Now that she had announced her disreputable plans to the world, what could he possibly want with her?

Camellia’s voice was bleak. “Is that why you’re here? To arrange a torrid affair with an opera singer instead of the usual actresses?”

“Nothing of the sort.” His eyes were beseeching. “I don’t want a torrid affair.”

She hesitated. “You don’t?”

“I want a torrid lifetime.” He pressed her hands to his chest. “I want to do things with you that would make the walls blush. I want to fall asleep every night with you in my arms and the scent of your hair against my cheek. Even when we’re old and wrinkled.” He appeared to reconsider his words. “Especially when we’re old and wrinkled.”

She stared back at him, heart thudding with hope. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I don’t love Lady X. I never did. I never will.” His voice turned serious, his gaze intense. “I love Camellia Grenville. With or without a mask, my heart belongs to you.”

Her breath caught as she stared back at him wordlessly.

“Despite everything that has happened, despite the chance that doing so may cause even more scandal—I still selfishly, utterly, desperately want you to marry me.” He fell to one knee and placed her palm against his jaw. “Won’t you make me the happiest of men?”

Camellia took a deep breath. Of course that was what she wanted. But he had to want it, too.

She touched his cheek. “Becoming an opera singer will drop me to the same social level as an actress, if my actions tonight haven’t already done so.”

He grasped her hands to his heart. “You want to be an opera singer? Be an opera singer. But please say you’ll also be my wife.”

“You won’t be the Lord of Pleasure anymore,” she warned him. “Not with a theater wife. You’ll be a laughingstock.”

“I’ll be envied by all,” he promised. “My countess will be the most famous singer in England.”

“Perhaps not for the right reasons,” she said, her tone self-mocking. “Pursuing a career in opera has always been my dream, not a foregone conclusion. I may get laughed off the stage.”

“Or you may find your name on every playbill from London to Rome.” He smiled, then corrected himself. “Our name, that is. Lady Wainwright. Countess by day, soprano by night. I could get used to that.”

“Don’t expect me to sing all night,” she demurred, arching a suggestive brow. “A countess also has certain duties which she must not neglect.”

He stood up and pulled her into his arms with an arrogant grin. “Is that a ‘yes,’ Lady X?”

She twined her arms about his neck and kissed him with the promise of a thousand tomorrows. “Yes, Lord X. I would love to be your wife… because I love you.”