"I'm sure you flatter me too much," replied Sophie. "Oh, look"—she pointed with her fan—"he has dropped all his balls."
"Not the best of entertainment. Come, love, we should go to supper."
"Oh, no, I couldn't leave without knowing what happens to the"—Sophie couldn't for the life of her remember a single name of a character in the play they'd been watching—"the young woman with the soldier."
His hand at her elbow exerted pressure. Why was it that things that sounded like everything she'd ever wanted proved to be much less in reality? And how was she going to simply enjoy the play and the theater experience and extract herself from the blatant attentions of Lord Algany? Why hadn't she thought beyond the opportunity to wear one of her new gowns and get a glimpse of the stage?
"Surely, we need to wait for Sir Gresham and Mrs. Simms."
Lord Algany leaned so close, his alcohol-tinged breath stirred her hair. "We don't need them."
Sophie swallowed hard and turned to face her escort. He leaned closer, and she shied back. "You are too close, sir." She snapped her fan open between their faces.
"Your beauty is hard to resist."
Sophie rolled her eyes. Lord Algany's compliments were a shade oily and made her feel unclean. His fingers continued to toy with a strand of her hair. He grinned as if he realized his approach was making her uncomfortable, but he didn't mind her aversion as long as it was temporary.
Sophie wanted to yank away. The door to the box opened and Sir Gresham and his lady friend entered, just in time to stop Sophie from snapping Lord Algany's straying fingers with her fan.
Lord Algany stood as Mrs. Simms moved forward and handed Sophie a glass, "There you go, love. Thought you might want to wet your whistle."
Mrs. Simms took her seat and the two gentlemen sat back down. Sophie took a sip and nearly choked. The punch could have been to pugilist school, it packed such a wallop. She looked up to catch Mrs. Simms direct a wink at Lord Algany.
Lord Algany slid an arm around Sophie's waist. "The third act is about to begin. Are you sure you wouldn't rather leave? Sir Gresham and Mrs. Simms would forgive our departure."
Sophie whispered, "I am married."
"Yes, my dear, that was clear. It's also clear that you are not staying with your husband."
"Really, I'm happily married," insisted Sophie.
"No such thing, love, but I'll make you happy." His squeeze didn't do the trick.
"Lud, you certainly could make me happy by letting go of me."
"More one for caresses, are you?" Her companion slid his hand up her back.
Lord Algany's practiced touch sent a cold chill down her spine. His gaze dropped to the neckline of her gown. Sophie shivered.
Her evening gown exposed a powerful lot of skin. While she felt reasonably covered when wearing her wrap, Lord Algany had insisted on draping it over the back of her chair. And now one of her hands was tied holding the glass of punch she didn't want. She jerked to her feet and reached for her wrapper.
Lord Algany was too quick. He smoothed her wrap over her shoulders. His hands lingered much longer than necessary and pressed her toward the door. She had no idea how she would get out of this situation. But between Mrs. Simms, who didn't seem to be all that she should be, and Sir Gresham, who had met her father's standards for respectability a few months ago but must have been unduly influenced by the evils of London, and the cooing between them, help from that quarter wasn't likely.
"I should like for you to take me home, now."
"I would be most pleased to take you to my home," Lord Algany whispered in her ear as he whisked her out into the nearly empty hallway.
She supposed she should have listened to Victor's advice, but she had been in plenty of ticklish situations and made her way out of them before.
Her normal predicaments were usually bouts with getting stranded—such as parting company from her saddle in the woods, clinging to the side of a house or losing a dogcart wheel—but she had no doubt she would manage to untangle herself from this situation.
She almost stomped her foot in frustration. "Look, my husband shot his man in the last duel he fought."
"Makes it all the more exciting, does it not? Here, love, I assure you he shall not catch me." The man put both his arms around her and pulled her against him. "We could remove to your hotel room, should you prefer."
Sophie bent backward to escape his grasp. "I should not prefer. I can see I shall have to ask one of the footmen to fetch me a hackney, for you, sir, are no gentleman."
He let her go. "I should not force myself upon you. Let me take you to supper."
The few people in the hall were watching them. She didn't want to make a scene, but she did not trust Lord Algany. Although if worse came to worse, she wouldn't hesitate to toss the contents of her glass in his face and then kick him in the shin. She was fairly sure she could outrun him if he had to hobble along. "If I have your word that you shall behave as a gentleman for the duration of the evening, I should very much like to see the rest of the play."
Just when she thought she had regained control of the situation, he slammed her in the stomach with a smooth look of concern on his handsome face and a low disquiet radiating from his voice. "You must tell my why your husband neglects you so."
"He doesn't neglect me." Only by chomping down on her tongue was she able to refrain from saying he didn't even know she was in town—which went exactly to Lord Algany's point.
Without her being aware of it, he backed her against the wall. "If you were my wife, I shouldn't allow you to wander about London alone."
"I haven't been about London alone. He doesn't neglect me." Her protest sounded puny. Keene simply . . . forgot she was alive. She blinked.
"Never mind, I've seen you about town, anyway." Algany leaned closer.
"No, you haven't, not alone." She could feel the heat of his body shrouding the welter of emotions his observation provoked.
"Yes, with Wedmont. Are you tired of him already? I assure you I could better supply you with gewgaws and fribbles."
"I don't . . . he doesn't supply me with anything."
"Doesn't he? I seem to recall Lord Wedmont recently took a bullet. Was it for you, pet?" Lord Algany placed a long index finger alongside his nose. "Here I had dismissed the rumors of a woman being the cause of your husband's and his fight."
Keene had shot Victor over a woman? Sophie's heart took an unexpected jolt.
"I've heard that they have often played cards since then. Odd to duel one day and be bosom buddies the next. Could it be that Wedmount won the rights to you?"
His eyes caressed her face, while he was careful not to touch her. All the while, he made her feel as if he was. How had she allowed him to encroach so? "Quit, you beast." Sophie smacked the man on the shoulder with her closed fan. "Lord Wedmont is a good friend of my husband, and he has been nothing but circumspect."
"Feisty little thing, aren't you." He smiled and gripped her wrist. "Be assured that you might dance a pretty dalliance, but in the end you will be mine."
Nothing had prepared her for these cat and mouse seduction games. Neither Keene's nor Lord Algany's. Perhaps her father hadn't been so wrong about the evils of the city influencing the behavior of its residents. What was worse, in a depraved way she yearned for personal knowledge of the sins she was trying to ward off, but not from Algany. Sophie shoved him with all her might.
He stumbled away. An expression of shock faded into a smug grin. "Too fast for you, Sophie? You have only to say what you want." He traced a finger down her jaw. His touch made her uncomfortable. He lifted her gloved hand and kissed the back.
She didn't want to be alone with him. "I want to go back to watching the play."
"And we shall have a midnight supper afterward?"
"We shall do nothing afterwards, sir."
"Mustn't tease, pet. You could do much worse than me."
Sophie shook her head and walked back into the box. She leaned over Sir Gre
sham's shoulder and asked if he would be sure to escort her home after the play. She suffered an agony of a wait as Mrs. Simms appeared affronted and Sir Gresham looked torn. "Mrs. Simms, you won't mind the delay if he should see me home first, will you?"
Lord Algany smiled as if secretly amused. Sophie couldn't help but think his teeth resembled a ferret's. "Have a seat, Sophie. The play is resumed."
Not knowing what else to do, Sophie reclaimed her seat. Would she have to make a scene? Cry for help? She leaned over the edge of the box. Jump to safety in the pit?
Lord Algany's whisper tickled her ear. "Forgive me, my angel, if my eagerness has put you off. You are temptation incarnate to this mere mortal man. If you should gift me with nothing more than a kiss this evening, I should consider myself blessed by all the heavens."
"Oh, bother," muttered Sophie.
"Are you enjoying your drink, Mrs. Davies?" asked Mrs. Simms, leaning forward.
"Quite. Thank you," answered Sophie as she raised the glass to her mouth and let the liquid lap against her lip. She didn't swallow and lowered the glass quickly. Where could she pour out the remainder?
"What do you say, sweetness?" whispered Algany.
"If you deliver me safely to my hotel, I might consider giving you a small gesture of my regard." A slap sprang to mind as an appropriate response, not that Sophie had ever slapped anyone ever before. Not that she had anyone to blame but herself for being in this predicament. No one other than Keene had ever pressed her for kisses, and truth to tell, he hadn't pressured her hardly at all, at least not until that moment in the snow, after their marriage.
She had been warned that gentlemen weren't always gentlemanly, but in her limited experience they had always been. But her circumstances had changed. She was no longer thought to be a naive miss who deserved shielding, but a married woman on her own without her husband's protection.
She stared at the stage without really seeing the players. She had a whole act to think of a way out of this situation. Problem was, she was much better at just doing than at planning. And without being on her home ground, she would have to rely on someone else's assistance.
Instead of planning an escape, her mind kept returning to the fact that Keene and Victor had fought a duel over a woman and it wasn't her.
"Drink your punch, my dearest," urged Lord Algany.
She took another fake sip. She suspected she would need all her wits about her when she made her bid for freedom.
* * *
Keene and Victor had circled the pit three times now with no success in spotting Sophie.
"Perhaps she didn't come here after all," suggested Victor.
"Letty said Covent Garden theater," said Keene grimly.
"Maybe her maid misunderstood. Who is Sir Gresham anyway?"
Keene shrugged. That he didn't know, bothered him. Letty's assurance that the man had spent time in the Farthing household didn't particularly ease Keene's mind. This Gresham fellow could very well be the father of Sophie's baby. A cold sweat rolled down Keene's back. Sophie was his wife now. He wouldn't tolerate her continuing an illicit affair.
What if she had left already? What if he was too late to prevent her indiscretion?
"There she is!"
"Where?"
A smattering of applause marked the end of the play and Victor grabbed his elbow and yanked him toward the doors.
Keene searched the boxes for his wife. On the third tier where a young woman stood with her back to the stage. A man beside her was draping her wrap around her creamy-white shoulders. The heat of attraction singed him. Who was she?
He felt oddly divorced from the scene as he realized the young woman had stirred him in a way no one but Sophie had since he proposed. But it couldn't be Sophie. A halo of short golden curls covered her head. Sophie's hair was long, and everything she wore was completely closed to the throat.
"We've got to hurry. I swear they weren't there a moment ago."
The man in black left his hands on the woman's shoulders far too long, and leaned in close to her ear, his suave good looks striking a deep resentment in Keene. Algany was a rake of the worst sort, the kind who always persuaded a woman to grace his bed, once he set his sights on her. Who was this latest victim?
"Come on," urged Victor as he tugged on Keene's arm.
Algany moved even closer and pressed his lips against the creamy column of the young woman's neck. Her gloved hand landed on Algany's shoulder.
No, it couldn't be Sophie. Yet the scene playing out above him riveted his attention. The tense urgency of Algany's seduction radiated across the crowded theater.
Keene tried to shake off his fascination with the drama playing out before him. He had a missing, pregnant wife. His situation clawed at him. For a moment he hoped he wouldn't find her, at least not in the way he feared he would find her.
"Come on." Victor tugged on the dark sleeve of his jacket.
Keene dismissed the familiarity of the young lady from his mind as Victor led him through the maze of hallways and up the stairs. He hadn't spotted Sophie, but he trusted that Victor wasn't leading him on a wild goose chase.
Victor muttered curses under his breath and tugged Keene along with increased urgency. They wove their way through the exiting patrons.
In his disjointed thoughts, Keene noticed the way his jacket fit Victor's shoulders like a second skin. He hadn't allowed Victor time to return home to change, just loaned him another jacket and proper evening breeches. He might as well furnish the man with a complete wardrobe, he had loaned him so many clothes of late.
They drew to a halt near the crowded doorway. Just ahead, Algany guided the young woman with his arm around her waist.
"Stop!" shouted Victor.
She turned around slowly.
Her shorn curls gleamed in the gaslights, but Keene knew without a doubt who she was.
Victor thrust him forward, the coward. Sophie blinked, her blue eyes mirrored by the satin of her wrapper. Algany stepped between Keene and his wife. Keene hardly saw him. He leaned to the side.
Keene sensed more than saw Victor drawing Lord Algany away. People shouldered their way around them to the exit, but Keene felt rooted to the spot.
Sophie turned her head. Keene watched the arch of her neck, the profile of her obstinate chin. He sensed her shifting emotions almost better than his own. Her surprise filtered over him as she said tentatively, "Keene?"
Victor stared. Algany wore a look of supercilious amusement. Keene didn't know which was worse, the audience for the retrieval of his truculent wife, the place he found her in or that Algany was in the process of seducing her. Where the hell was this Sir Gresham?
How had she come from attending the theater in the company of a man who had convinced her father he had enough moral fiber to be a guest in their family home to being in Algany's company? Not even a familial relationship obliging tolerance would have induced Daniel Farthing to condone Algany's presence within ten feet of his daughter. And how well did she know him? She didn't look like the innocent he'd left behind at his father's house.
Anger frothed in his gut. He leaned forward to demand to know what she was about, but a different question left his lips. "What the hell have you done to your hair?"
TWELVE
Sophie swallowed hard. "Hello, Keene."
"What are you doing here?" Keene's angry question assassinated Sophie's hopes.
"Seeing the play." Her dreams of admiration and appreciation for her new look writhed on the ground about her fashionably slippered feet. She refused to look down at them. Dashed hopes didn't deserve notice.
Keene crossed his arms in front of his chest. She knew that posture. Oh, lud, here they went.
She stared at her husband who was not really a husband. Why had he married her?
"What have you done to your hair?" he thundered, and gripped his arms harder as if to hold himself back from beating her to a pulp.
He hated her hair. Her expectations shriveled into a tig
ht knot inside her gut. She lifted her jaw ever so slightly and said, "I rather think it suits me."
Victor had stepped back and watched their exchange with an avid interest. "I should like to go back to my hotel. Victor, if I could impose upon you for a ride—"
"No!" Keene looked startled at the vehemence of his protest.
"Sophie, we should leave for our supper now." Lord Algany leaned over her shoulder.
"Don't touch my wife," said Keene in a low growl, anger radiating in waves from him.
Victor leaned forward. "We need to get out of here."
"Odd place to find one's wife," said Algany negligently, removing a snuff case from his pocket. "Come, Sophie, my pet, you may still leave with me."
Sophie turned. "Victor, would you be so kind as to see me home?"
Keene grabbed her upper arm and propelled her down the stairs and out the door. Algany's laugh followed her.
"Don't you mean to do something?" Victor trotted along behind them.
Keene stopped and spun around. "What am I to do? Kill him for escorting my wayward wife to the theater? She doesn't look like a woman forced to dress in fine feathers to see a play. I should kill you for concealing her presence in town."
Victor drew up stiff.
"For heaven's sake. All you men speak of is shedding blood. It quite sickens me. Victor only did as I asked him." Sophie tugged her arm out of Keene's hand and marched forward toward the street. "All I wanted to do was see a play."
Keene grabbed her shoulder. Sophie extended the glass of punch from under her wrapper rather than let the slopping liquid spill on her new gown.
His grip softened and then slid away. He circled around her. "Do you understand what could have happened? Algany wouldn't have taken a no from you." Keene's gaze dropped to the glass she held. "Bloody hell, are you drunk?"
"No, I'm not drunk."
Keene took the glass from her. "What are you doing with this, then?"
"I had thought to pour it on the gentleman if he became boorish."
"Then, what?" asked Keene.
Sophie shrugged. "Do tip it on yourself, and we'll see." She moved around Keene and once again headed for the street. She had no particular plan once she reached it, but she didn't care for Keene's anger. Her chest hurt to think her efforts to improve her image hadn't brought her one step closer to his esteem. He hadn't even noticed, other than to criticize her hair. The changes had had about as much effect as a bird's breath against a gale.