The days passed, flowing in and out of existence, each one so similar that it was difficult for Eliza to distinguish one from the other. She was called upon, and placed calls of her own. She attended concerts and balls, rode horses with Caroline in Hyde Park, and when not otherwise engaged, stayed up after dinner to play cards with Caroline’s aunt. Flowers were delivered to her town house in the interest of various potential suitors, and were often courtesy of Sir James Landry. Only once had she seen Thomas during those days, riding his enviable black Arabian along Rotten Row. It had greatly displeased her to discover it had been, without a doubt, the highlight of her week, for he did cut a fine figure on his horse.

Regardless of her discontent, the evening of her outing with Sir James arrived at last. Drury Lane was a beacon—a shining spectacle in the London night—and she stood outside, gazing up at the grandeur before her. The majesty of the theater’s great columned portico was unique among the neighboring structures of Catherine Street and never failed to impress. Eliza felt a tremor of excitement as they entered the bustling crowd. She was more than eager to see tonight’s showing of the comic opera L’elisir d’amore.

She and Sir James made their way into the entry hall amidst the multitude of society’s most refined patrons. Her companion had, so far, behaved as a gentleman, even extending his invitation to include Lady Caroline and her aunt. The pleasant offer had been declined by the ladies with some sadness as Lady Frances was not feeling especially well, and Caroline felt it best if she should stay home to tend to her.

An unsettled feeling gathering in Eliza’s stomach. She felt guilty about concealing the truth of Thomas’s call from her friend and wasn’t even sure how the lie had begun. It was such a minor incidence, although she suspected her panic upon seeing the viscount’s card at her town house, coupled with the knowledge that Caroline did not approve of him, had likely played the greatest parts in it. During the ride home from Lady Humphrey’s dinner party, her friend had questioned her at length over not just her opinion of Thomas, but their encounter in the garden.

Nothing happened, she had reassured her, but it hadn’t felt like nothing. Evanston’s pursuit of her into the garden and his ensuing reaction to Sir James had felt very much like something, no matter how she tried to deny it. And Eliza spent that night fitfully tossing in her bed, trying to imagine the things he might have said to her, had they not been interrupted.

I will thank you to not speak of beauty, Lord Evanston, even in jest.

In jest? Eliza . . .

Landry showed her into his theater box with a gallant sweep of his arm, and Eliza took her seat, carefully arranging the full skirts of her evening dress. She felt the dark green gown complemented her well, with its gleaming satin bodice, low neckline and sleeves worn entirely off the shoulder. A part of her felt dreadfully exposed, while the other part of her . . . the part that had married young and lost nearly everything . . . luxuriated in the admiring glances, covertly stolen. Having spent so long hidden away in the country, she couldn’t help but enjoy a bit of attention, even if it was the jackals of the ton that were providing it.

You are beautiful.

Eliza shook her head as if to rid herself of an annoying gnat. As usual, she scolded herself for being unwise where Lord Evanston was concerned. Inferring too much into such a meaningless conversation could lead to her straying off course and prevent her from finding a steadfast husband. Lead her to . . . distractions.

She glanced over at her companion, who was also taking his seat. Landry had shown the appropriate level of admiration upon seeing her tonight, and his attention was a compliment in itself. But she suspected, had he been present tonight, that Evanston’s singular blue gaze would have scorched pathways over her body. If he truly thought her beautiful, he would not bother masking his appreciation with politeness. The thought sent a pleasant shiver of heat down through to her core.

Eliza reached up to adjust her emerald earbobs, then slid her fingertips down to linger on the strand of pearls encircling her neck. Her father had often mentioned how the necklace had been a particular favorite of her mother’s. Touching it now, in this moment of reflection, she wondered what honest advice her mother might provide, were she alive to give it. Stay clear of Evanston, and all things related? That was likely the only reasonable conclusion and yet it didn’t feel right with Thomas. Reprobate or not, he was a friend. And there was a pull with him that was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore, although heaven knew she had years of practice.

“We have a splendid view from my box. Wouldn’t you agree?” Landry inquired in his cultured accent.

“Oh, yes. Such a lovely prospect from this location,” she said, determined not to think of Thomas any longer and leaning forward to take in the sight. They were situated in a rear box on the lower tier. It was not the closest box to the stage, but quite nice all the same. She could see the orchestra practicing in the pit, their tuning cacophony sent outwards to float lazily through the air.

Her eyes swept across the theater seats below to marvel at the crowd—the ladies in their sparkling finery, the gentlemen in their dress suits and tailcoats, and the gilding on the walls illuminated by the glowing chandeliers hanging from above. Curious for a closer look, she raised her mother-of-pearl opera glasses to inspect the occupants of the other private boxes.

Eliza panned around until she reached the box on the opposite side, nearest to the stage. The inhabitants were a couple, presumably a lord and a lady of some sort, the woman wrapped in a dress of an eye-catching shade of red. Her inky black hair was swept up with an abundant mass of curls left down to frame her face. Eliza was not familiar with the beautiful woman, but she certainly appeared to feel at her ease in this environment and was, of course, seated in a prime location with her companion.

“Can you tell me, sir . . . who is the woman in the red dress?” she asked Landry, handing him her glasses. “The one in the first box. Do you know her name?”

He smiled, accepted the binoculars, and leaned in for a closer look. Silent at first, he continued to stare, muttering possible monikers under his breath. Then he went still abruptly. Reclining back in his seat, he relinquished the opera glasses and stared moodily at the stage, still concealed by its curtain.

“While I, myself, am not familiar with the lady, it appears Lord Evanston may be able to enlighten you.”

Her eyes widened at the same moment the orchestra fell silent with the appearance of the conductor. The audience politely applauded as she lurched further in her chair, raising the glasses so quickly they nearly struck her in the face. Eliza needed to prove Sir James wrong, and perhaps prove to herself that Thomas wouldn’t dare show himself at the theater on an evening he knew she would be in attendance while accompanied by another man. After all, he had said he would leave her alone.

Yet there he was, seated next to the alluring lady in red.

Her breath seized in her chest. Soon she was seeing red everywhere.

How had she missed him? She simply hadn’t been looking. Had not expected such a violation of her trust. There was, of course, a small chance it was a coincidence, but there were also a hundred different amusements in the city at any given moment.

Her nagging instinct told her he was here to impose on her night in some way. Aside from this, she couldn’t exactly explain the magnitude of her anger. Her eyes narrowed at the mystery woman beside him, the one who was so very striking. If she were being truthful, she could admit the lady was quite more than that. If she were really being truthful, she could also quantify her reaction as precisely what it was.

It was jealousy. And now she was going to impose on the viscount.

The orchestra began to play. The lights rose upon the stage. Landry clapped but glanced nervously at Eliza while she seethed in irritation, staring blindly down at her lap, until she finally lost the battle.

“Pray, excuse me, Sir James,” she said, rising from her seat despite her best efforts against it. “I shall return shortly.”

She could almost feel the movement of countless opera glasses throughout the audience, turning to focus on their box and the sudden commotion. Color rose upon Sir James’ cheeks as he also detected the unwanted attention, and he stood, disbelief marking his features. Before he could change her mind, she turned and made her way to the door.

“The show has begun!” she heard him call in astonishment, but she had already exited the box, her heavy skirts rustling as she advanced through the hallways, intent on dismembering Lord Evanston.

Thomas leaned back in his seat and grinned, lacing his fingers across his abdomen as he waited for Eliza. She had spotted him much earlier than he had expected she would, and now, set on questioning him, was about to break with all decorum. He couldn’t wait.

It wasn’t but a moment later that he heard the door behind him opening, and Thomas twisted lazily around in disingenuous surprise. Mrs. Victoria Varnham, the woman who was his companion tonight, turned to face the intruder with an expression of offended alarm, but Eliza proceeded unperturbed, to lay her hand on Evanston’s shoulder.

“A word outside if you please, my lord.” Her tone was deadly.

Victoria stirred in her seat. “I beg your pardon—”

“Now,” Eliza said, choosing to ignore the woman’s outburst. She removed her hand and spun on her heel before any more was said, leaving the stately wooden door ajar so Evanston could join her.

Sighing in amusement, he leaned close to Mrs. Varnham and whispered his apology before standing and quietly exiting to meet Eliza.

He emerged into the corridor outside the row of private boxes to find her glaring at him with arms crossed. Softly shutting the door behind him, Evanston allowed himself a split second to admire her. It had been impossible to appreciate the curve of her waist, the naked lines of her shoulders or the creamy swells of her breasts from his vantage point across the dim theater. But here in the abandoned hallway he saw it all. The emerald satin of her gown was in perfect complement to her hair, her eyes, her skin.

Bloody hell . . .

A surge of arousal raced through him, and all too easily he could imagine Eliza in his arms, calling his name in a moment of rapture. Closing his eyes for a moment, he reminded himself that maintaining control was of paramount importance. He still wasn’t exactly certain what he was after with her, but he had no desire to jeopardize whatever it was by being overly eager. Standing straighter, he met her gaze.

“May I help you?” he asked a bit too politely.

Eliza paused, then broke away with a huff of frustration. “You may begin by telling me why you are here tonight.”

“I am here to see the opera.” He furrowed his brow and regarded her in confusion.

“Oh, is that all? I assumed you were here to make things difficult for me.”

Thomas uttered a laugh. She was correct, of course, not that he would admit it. “I daresay had you not been peering into private boxes, I would have slipped your notice entirely.” He took a step closer to her. “However, I am unsure why my presence here tonight would cause you such difficulty. Perhaps you might explain it to me?”

Her luminous green eyes widened a fraction before she stiffened once more into a defensive posture. “You are a man known for causing trouble.”

“Am I?” Evanston smiled, still advancing. “Why did no one tell me of this before? I would have taken great pains to do my reputation justice.”

Eliza stepped back and bumped into the wall on the far side of the corridor. She glanced around her, seeming surprised that she had retreated so far, then reclaimed her step forwards and raised her gaze in defiance.

“I believe you’ve done quite enough to merit your status, my lord. Don’t come any closer—” she added suddenly, stretching out her hand as if to ward him off.

The muffled notes of the orchestra filtered through the walls, creating an ambience of surreal solitude that only heightened his heated awareness of her. He planted his feet solidly on the carpet.

“If I am truly as wicked as you believe me to be,” he said in a low voice, “would I not already be ravishing you against the wall?”

Eliza’s mouth fell open in astonishment, a pretty pink blush slowly spreading across her cheeks. It took her a moment, but she finally regained the ability to formulate a sentence. By the time she had, her eyes were shooting sparks.

“For all I know, you have ravished the woman behind that door at least once already tonight,” she said haughtily. “Perhaps you do not feel the need this particular moment.”

He thoughtfully considered this. “Perhaps,” he conceded.

Eliza’s color rose even further. Dear God, she was the loveliest creature. Even here, like this, wanting to tear him to pieces. He longed to infuriate Eliza beyond her capacity to bear, then soothe the tension away with his hands, his mouth, his body . . .

Her terse voice interrupted his daydream. “Who is she?”

Yes. She had just made a pivotal mistake, one that filled him with satisfaction.

“Why do you ask?”

A flash of guilt crossed over her features. “Never mind,” she said. Then added more quietly, “You are insufferable.”

Thomas smothered a laugh. “I am aware. But tell me,” he added, sobering. “Is it considered more or less insufferable to be untruthful to your friends?”

Her mouth dropped open in what seemed like confusion when the door to Evanston’s theater box unceremoniously swung open. The music grew louder and Mrs. Varnham stood there, flushed in irritation, then stalked over to hook her hand possessively around his elbow. The spike of annoyance he felt at being interrupted quickly gave way to gratification at how Eliza’s brows drew down at the sight.

“Stop wasting your time out here, darling,” Mrs. Varnham insisted with a veiled glare at Eliza before gazing coquettishly back at Thomas. “You’re missing the performance.”

He smiled down at her. “I shall be in shortly,” he replied.

She wrapped her arm more tightly around his to pull him closer. “Surely this cannot be more entertaining than—”

“I shall be in,” he repeated in a still pleasant, but slightly tighter tone of voice. She knew better than to try managing him. “Shortly.”

There was a momentary pause during which Mrs. Varnham realized she had just been dismissed, and the woman’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Then the expression vanished, the corners of her garnet mouth pulling upwards into a smile of passive indifference.

“Of course, my lord.”

Releasing him, Mrs. Varnham pivoted on her heel to return to the darkened safety of the theater box, shutting the door behind her with an annoyed pull. Glancing once more over his shoulder to ensure privacy, he brought his gaze back to Eliza, who was watching him with curiosity.

“Please, continue.”

She hesitated. “I can’t recall the course of the conversation.”

“Allow me to assist you then,” he offered. “You were about to tell me why you’ve been untruthful with your friends.”

Her confidence flagged, and then she straightened her spine. “I’m not certain what exactly you are referring to, but I wonder what my brother, the earl, might have to say about your harassing me in London. Or your kiss on the night of my engagement.”

So she remembered it too. Thomas wondered what she thought of it now that five years had passed.

“I have no fear of you informing William of anything. Not when I’m certain you’ve even kept the sordid details from your best friend. That little hellcat would be clawing my eyes out if she knew.” He paused. “And then of course, there is the matter of my calling card.”

“Wh-what are you talking about?” she asked with a voice that was not steady.

He stepped forwards, reaching into his coat pocket as he did, to retrieve the card she had dropped at Lady Humphrey’s dinner party. “This should help to clarify,” he replied, sliding it into her hand, resisting the urge to close his fingers around hers. He jerked back immediately. “I assumed since you felt strongly enough about it to carry it in your reticule, that you would wish it returned.”

She froze, staring down blankly at it until understanding, then mortification lit behind her eyes. Eliza parted her lips, but no sound came out. At last, she managed a weak reply.

“Thomas, I can explain . . .”

Evanston silenced her with one shake of his head. It was rewarding to see some semblance of softness from her, even if it was only over a deuced calling card.

“Is your association with me so very detestable that you are not even willing to own the simple fact of my visit to Caroline?”

Eliza’s gloved hands twisted together in her discomfort. “No, no. I was just unnerved—” She bit off her words and glanced awkwardly to the side.

A surge of adrenaline caused his heart to pick up speed, and Evanston slipped one fingertip beneath her chin to raise her gaze, feeling increasingly unnerved himself.

“Why?”

She shook her head, once more averting her eyes. “I don’t know.”

He didn’t believe her. She trembled beneath his touch and, unable to stop himself, his eyes traveled from her anxious gaze, down the pert slope of her nose, to settle on the lush raspberry flawlessness of her lips. A dissolute whisper swept through his silent ponderings.

Kiss her.

“What unnerved you?” he asked again, rendered nearly immobile by the delicious tension building between them. It was too soon to indulge in a kiss, but suddenly it was the only thing he could think about.

Kiss her.

He glanced up from her mouth and was startled to find her eyes fixed on his own lips. The worry that had consumed those peridot depths only moments before was now replaced with something much warmer, something like anticipation. And she was not struggling to free herself from his gentle hold on her chin. Rather, it seemed she was ready to melt into him at the slightest provocation . . .

In a flash, Evanston knew what had unnerved her. She did not want to resist him. Maybe she didn’t think she could. It was exactly what he yearned for, but it scared the hell out of him too. Never had he thought it would be so easy to lose two of his closest friends. That’s where this would end up, were he to pursue it.

Thomas released her and quickly crossed to the door of his private box. He stood with his back to her, gripping the doorknob for a few long moments to collect himself before finally turning back around to face her. This was Eliza, his best friend’s sister and a friend to him in her own right. He needed to put a stop to this fantasy that had somehow taken root before it went too far. It wasn’t as if he lacked for female companionship. It made no sense at all.

“We know many of the same people, Eliza,” he muttered. “While I cannot guarantee to never encounter you at various engagements here in London, I can pay you the courtesy of not meddling in your affairs. I will not seek you out, nor will I ask you to dance, should we meet at a ball. If only you would, likewise, refrain from lying to me, I imagine we could coexist in peace.”

Disappointment sliced through his chest, but he was relieved that he’d said the words. Did he spy a similar disappointment darkening her features?

“I’d imagine so,” she whispered.

“You should return to Sir James before he sets out to find you.”

Eliza’s mouth twisted in a halfhearted attempt at a smile. “I don’t believe he would be so improper as to leave his box during the performance.”

With a quick motion, he pulled open the heavy door.

“Well, I certainly would,” he muttered under his breath, before disappearing into the gloom of the theater.

“Welcome home, my lady. I hope your evening was pleasant?”

Patterson fussed over Eliza as she divested herself of her cloak in the foyer. With a wan smile, Eliza pulled on each gloved fingertip and regarded her lady’s maid.

“I’m not sure pleasant is the proper way of putting it, but it was diverting nonetheless.”

Patterson’s brown eyes grew large. “Things did not go well with Sir James, my lady?”

Eliza laughed softly. In her opinion, although many employers would disagree, Patterson’s concerned candor was one of her finest traits. That, and she was staunchly loyal, having served the family since Eliza’s first season, which seemed like ages ago. She had unflinchingly accompanied her young mistress into London, dried her tears on the eve of her marriage, shared the joy of her impending birth, then held her hand through the depths of hell and back. The two women were close, probably closer than most ladies and their maids. This afforded her a certain kind of comfort, particularly in the absence of family and friends.

“Things with Sir James were good,” she answered.

The maid rested her palm over Eliza’s discarded vestments and stared at her. “That is hardly a rousing endorsement.”

“Oh, no. He is very much a gentleman,” Eliza said as she mounted the staircase. “The theater was lovely, and Sir James was a fine companion. I had a marvelous time. It’s just—”

“Yes, my lady?”

Eliza sighed as the pair reached the top of the stairs, turning around to face Patterson. “I can’t imagine being his wife.”

Patterson smiled, her eyes filled with empathy. “I suppose these things have been known to take time.”

“Yes, but even with Reginald I think I could always envision it, regardless of how I felt about it at the time. With Sir James, I can’t. Even though he is handsome and respectable. It’s just that . . .”

She was having a hard time putting her finger on exactly what bothered her when the unlikely answer popped into her head.

He’s not Evanston.

Not that picturing Thomas as her husband was any easier. Frowning, she shook her head and forced herself to use reason. “Landry has many admirable qualities—”

“Moustache . . .” Patterson stated succinctly, opening Eliza’s chamber door.

“I am certain that the man is more than just a moustache!” she exclaimed with a chuckle, setting her reticule on the vanity table. “Why, between you and Caroline, you’d think that was all there was to him.” Eliza gazed absently while unfastening the pearls from around her throat and sliding off her emerald earbobs. “His demeanor cooled as the night wore on, although I suppose I did give him some cause for complaint.”

The maid laughed off her assertion. “Nonsense, my lady. What could you have possibly done?”

“Well . . . I left him alone to confront Evanston as the show was beginning.” Eliza scowled down at her hands as she relinquished the jewels to Patterson, her expression darkening. “I wish to know how one man can possibly be so vexing!”

It took the maid a moment to overcome her surprise at Eliza’s lack of etiquette. “I’m assuming you are referring to the viscount, and it is because he wishes to vex you, my lady.” She cleared her throat and crossed to the bureau. “So, Lord Evanston was at the opera tonight?”

“He was, as a matter of fact.”

The maid raised her eyebrows knowingly. “And did he deign to compliment your appearance?”

Eliza glanced sideways at her. She had not divulged the particulars of her attraction to Evanston, nor the fact of their kiss when she was younger. However, being an exceptionally perceptive person, it was possible that Patterson had managed to glean some truths regardless.

She thought back to their interaction in the hallway. “No, he did not,” she replied, although Eliza had not missed the appreciative gleam in his eyes, nor the way they had lingered over her body. Still, she was reluctant to take too much comfort in the act. She had a feeling that any woman dressed nicely had a chance, to some extent, of catching his eye.

Patterson released the final hook on her dress. “I have wondered at the way he looks at you, my lady. You should be careful.”

Eliza couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her as she stepped out of her dress. Thomas had said the same thing to her, although whether he meant it was something she would never know. She gazed pensively at her reflection in the looking glass; a young woman clad in her corset, chemise and stockings stared back. There was something oddly appropriate about seeing herself this way while musing about Evanston’s motives.

The idea of the woman in red with him tonight, in a similar state of undress, made her surprisingly envious. She had to imagine that the black-haired beauty and her catlike grace was much more to his liking than Eliza could ever be. He would want a woman who held no doubts about herself. Not one who had spent the past two years mourning in solemn celibacy. Although the mirror told a different tale, Eliza couldn’t help but still feel like a little girl sometimes. After all, she had been the baby for so very long, with Thomas nine years her senior and William nearly the same.

Well, if Eliza didn’t have the sense to protect herself, William would certainly do it on her behalf. And even if she had wished for Thomas to court her, could she ever imagine such a man being open to marriage? Although he’d been kind to Rosa in the past, she knew that Evanston held no love for children, and that locking him into such an arrangement would only serve to create resentment. Not to mention the bitterness she would feel when he returned to his gaming clubs, bored with her at last, in an effort to pretend she did not exist.

But had he not come perilously close to kissing her at the theater? Or had that simply been her, longing for him? If only she could know the true nature of his feelings, it would at least satisfy her irritating curiosity.

Insatiable curiosity.

Her brows furrowed. She kicked herself for dwelling on him again.

“As is the usual way of things, I suspect he’s up to no good,” she finally replied, shedding her corset and relishing her first deep breath in hours. The undergarments followed, quickly replaced by a plain white nightdress.

Patterson collected her crumpled garments and folded them neatly over her arm. “Knowing the viscount, it could be anything.” She paused. “It could even be you.”

He promised not to meddle. Told me he wouldn’t even ask for a dance.

“Unlikely,” Eliza countered, lowering herself into the chair before the vanity.

The maid said nothing, only approached from behind to give her shoulders a friendly squeeze. “Well, Sir James will have another opportunity to woo you at the ball this weekend. He does seem quite taken with you, my lady. I’m sure all awkwardness will be forgotten by then,” she said with a smile.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Eliza said with a sigh and a smile.

“Would you like me to assist with your hair before I leave?”

“No, thank you. Good night, Patterson.”

“Good night, my lady.”

Dipping into a low curtsy, Patterson departed the bedchamber, closing the door tightly behind her. Eliza extended her arms above her head to remove the pins holding her coiffure in place, and her hair tumbled over her shoulders, the blonde curls untwisting to finally rest in haphazard fashion against her back. She reached for her silver hairbrush, then glanced down, her hand stilling in midair.

Her beaded reticule rested on the vanity. She seized it, rummaging through the contents until she found Lord Evanston’s calling card. Slowly she withdrew it, gazing at the simple rectangle. A flush of embarrassment rose as she recalled the viscount’s words to her earlier that evening.

I assumed since you felt strongly enough about it to carry it in your reticule, that you would wish it returned.

Her fingers tightened around the card. She ought to throw the wretched thing into the fire and be rid of it once and for all. Instead, she found herself raising it to her nose, inhaling as her eyes drifted shut, as if she might detect some hint of the man who had given it to her. Eliza brushed her thumb gently over the surface of the card.

She glanced at the glowing fire just a few feet away.

Then hurriedly, greedily, she shoved the card back into her reticule.