Thea gasped at the magnitude of it all. Why, there had to be five levels of private boxes, all filled with an assortment of gaily dressed people. Branches of candles extended out every few boxes, illuminating some areas better than others, but everywhere her flitting glance landed, a new and dazzling sight met her eyes.
The spinning, jumping ballerinas cavorting across the stage; a full orchestra playing in front; and behind the musicians, the writhing pit of masculine voices and shapes, only half of whose attention was focused on the performers, the others—like Thea—craned their heads to inspect the individuals lining the boxes on either side.
Some of the occupants stood near the openings, gazing raptly at the stage, others conversed, paying no heed to the spectacle they’d come to see, and others…well, more than one box had the curtain pulled for complete privacy and if she wasn’t mistaken—it was difficult to be certain, given the distance and amount of smoke the many candles gave off—but across the expanse, in one of the highest boxes, she thought she glimpsed a pair of exposed breasts just before they were covered by two broad palms and both bodies disappeared into the shadowed recess—
Thea swallowed hard and quickly returned her attention to the private box she was privileged enough to enjoy tonight.
Chairs. There were several. She blinked as they came into focus.
Oh Lord, levitate me right to Lincolnshire! Lord Tremayne had barged into the wrong box—for two of the chairs were occupied.
The impressions of grandeur still brimming in her mind, one thought screamed above the others: Escape!
She reversed direction but he’d come up behind her, his hard body preventing retreat. His breath caught audibly as he took notice of their company.
Then everyone spoke at once.
“Tremayne?”
“Daniel?”
“Ellie!” burst from the man behind her, the immovable force who curved one hand around the side of her waist with a tense grip that should have hurt—but oddly didn’t. “Wylde. What…”
The other man gained his feet, giving the impression of pure, lean elegance. He was immaculately turned out, not a strand of dark blond hair askew. But his lips? Those were definitely off-kilter as he shot her a contemplative look. A single look that conveyed various emotions: curiosity, speculation, censure perhaps? (And she’d thought Lord Tremayne had an intense manner?) Stepping toward them, he said, “Appears we both chose the same night.”
When the woman stood and came to his side, Thea tried again to edge around Lord Tremayne. The bite of his fingers stayed the impulse.
What should she do?
The slight blonde fixed her with a decidedly inquisitive stare.
Under ordinary circumstances, Thea was confident she could hold her own. But this was anything but ordinary. Associating with Sarah and Lord Penry and others of the demimonde ilk was one thing. But a man did not mingle his mistress with his—
His what?
Who were these people to Lord Tremayne? His friends?
Strangling the strings of her reticule so tightly it was a wonder they didn’t snap, she gave a fast, modest curtsy to both the lord and his lady (as competently a curtsy as one can make when their waist is shackled). “Pardon us for the interruption,” she said since no one else seemed inclined to speak since the initial outbursts. “We’ll take ourselves off, let you return to your evening alone. Forgive us.”
But though she again pressed into the brick wall that was Lord Tremayne, he refused to waver. And though Thea knew they had to leave, the scrutiny on the other couple’s faces was growing.
It was as though she dreamed the next few moments when the woman stepped forward, ignoring the indrawn hiss of her companion, to offer a shallow curtsy of her own. Her eyes flicked back and forth between Thea and the man behind her. “Daniel, aren’t you going to introduce me?”
“Ellie,” Lord Tremayne said again and his breath brushed across the top of Thea’s head, sending a wicked shiver racing across her nape.
How could he stand there? Cage her there as well?
They must leave! This woman was Quality. Unmistakable breeding shone in her perfect manner, in her exquisitely coiffed hair and extravagant dress, both of which she wore without a speck of the self-consciousness plaguing Thea.
Already, she’d had to stop herself from fiddling with feathers and checking her bountified bosom. Just how secure—
“Mrs-Hur-well.”
Thea heard the ragged syllables come from overhead and for a startled second didn’t recognize them as her name.
What was he doing?
She spun within his grip, thankful the glossy material allowed the move. “Lord Tremayne,” she said through barely moving lips, the words fast and low, “should we not vacate and leave the box to your friends?”
He ignored her. Ignored her words, that was.
Because right there in the dim interior of his box, partitioned off from the adjoining neighbors but fully visible to anyone with exceptional eyesight in the boxes across, he lifted her hand, inclined his head and turned her to face the other couple.
“Thea, Lord Wylde and his wife, my s—”
Good God, man, some remnant of Daniel’s conscience railed. You can’t introduce your fancy piece to your sister. Bloody hell, he couldn’t even acknowledge her, not in front of a gently bred female.
Gads. What was he thinking?
Losing it, he was. The ability to think. To act. To behave as he ought.
And why in blazes had that sentence flowed like silk when everything else he’d uttered in the last hour faltered forth like dirt-encrusted flies?
The crux of it was he wanted the two cherished females in his life to meet, to get on with each other as well as he—
Cherished? Thea?
Aye, so she was, he could admit to himself, and as she was also tugging on his arm to the point he should fear losing it, he really ought to behave with decorum.
So he tightened his hold on Thea’s hand and started backing out. “A-p-pologize. We’ll go elsewhere—”
“Wait!” Ellie’s raised voice surely raised more than one eyebrow in the vicinity. “Don’t go. Not yet.”
On the
