There wasn’t any rush. They’d be here for hours yet.
“Thank you,” he whispered back.
No matter what she discovered, she’d brought him close.
So, so close.
Even though she’d already communicated her message, she left her head in the same position, partly on his shoulder, partly against his chest. Neville stiffened, attempting to communicate displeasure, but could do nothing about their positions short of rudely pushing her away.
She did not move. So, they remained as they were, looking like lovers. Tawdry. Overeager. Careless of their public dignity. Everything Neville fought, when in the presence of the lady he truly desired.
But shocking as their positions would have been if he’d been in his usual place in a box up above, he noticed a few others around them taking similar advantage of the dark. The man next to them wrapped his arm around his lady’s waist, trailing his fingers up and down her long glove.
Neville swallowed roughly before averting his gaze.
Why must he closely follow rules the men around him seemed perfectly willing to break?
He heated with a surge of jealousy—not for the woman leaning against him, but for the easy expression of intimacy she displayed, an intimacy he could never allow himself to share with Millicent.
He forced his mind back to the problems at hand, pondering, instead, the identities of the ladies Lord Willard might have brought.
They couldn’t beyoungladies, considering the presence of all those bucks. Willard had implied he’d spent the morning’s early hours carousing in brothels with those same men. Surely, even he would not expose a gently bred young lady to them as a group.
His mother, Lady Eltenham, perhaps? With one of her friends?
He sighed in sorrow for the ladies, forced to spend the evening in the company of such men.
The music paused, and the sound of Willard’s distinctive whisper echoed down from above.
“Your seat, my sweet.”
Neville, along with everyone else in the pit around them, turned.
Millicent?
His blood went so cold so fast, he must have made an unintentional noise, and Millicent’s gaze dropped from the stage to him.
He snapped his head back around before she could recognize him.
“That’s the man,” Mrs. Cartwright whispered. “That’s the man who lures pretty merchants’ daughters to their ruin. Several, in fact, including Temperence, the young woman you seek. I’d wager he’s brought his next victim with him tonight.”
Neville turned to look up at Millie. He swallowed roughly in horror.
Over Neville’s dead body.
Chapter Six
“Several,” Neville repeatedunder his breath. He could hardly wrap his mind around the word’s implications. “Several?”
“More than I can recall.” Mrs. Cartwright turned back to the players.
This close to the stage, their bodies were both cast in shadow, but light from the two large lamps suspended from the ceiling reflected off her face, casting an unholy glow over her eyes.
Or perhaps the peculiar glimmer radiated out from within.
She’d a far-away look—far away and yet completely riveted. Natural in a theater, when one is absorbed by the players on stage. Only she hadn’t been paying attention to the lines.
With creeping certainty, Neville’s understanding evolved. Mrs. Cartwright was not seeing the play, but something entirely different, though equally vivid. She had a frozen, unfamiliar expression. He’d met with Mrs. Cartwright on multiple occasions. Hell, he’d even flirted with her tonight. But now, she appeared like a stranger, just another face in the crowd.