Chapter Ten

T he Theatre Royal Drury Lane bustled every night the curtains weren't dark, but the crowd tended to be particularly unruly or distracted when the prince regent was in the house. After all, when else were the masses in the same building, let alone the same room, as the profligate royal? Caro craned her neck to stare up at the luxuriously appointed private boxes and their inhabitants.

With Prinny on hand, everyone else was watching the royal box to the right, leaving all of them open to her curious gaze. Silks shimmered in the flickering light of countless candles, and a veritable mine's worth of gems winked from necks, wrists, fingers, and earlobes.

"Makes such a fuss wherever he goes," Gerard muttered from beside Leo.

"Everyone is probably trying to witness a scandal in person, rather than read about it in the papers tomorrow," Caro murmured, distracted by the happenings around Lady Caroline Lamb. As usual, the woman who'd made herself infamous through her affair with Lord Byron was surrounded by a motley crew of hangers-on. While clearly Quality, those filling the seats in her theater box were likely split between genuinely caring about her and wanting to be on hand should she do something they'd pick over later like vultures.

Almost against her will, Caro's eyes strayed toward one specific seating alcove high above her hard wood bench. A shame such a luxurious box sat empty, but then the Duke of Holland hadn't made an appearance at the theater since his wife passed away. Or so Constance had said before Caro set out for the evening.

Caro had never followed the ton's gossip beyond the usual newspaper fare, but since working in the Holland townhouse, she'd bent her ear toward tales about a certain duke. Thanks to Constance, and the few things Holland had shared, she felt she had a decent grasp on the situation. At least, as much as an outsider in every conceivable way could.

The view of certain empty theater seats disappeared as the man in front of her jumped to his feet. "Watch where yer goin', harebrained lummock!"

Leo wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled them both back, shifting precariously on the bench to avoid the two men. Despite his maneuver, the spilled pint of ale now decorating the front of the offended man's trousers reached her gown as well. A dark splash marred the skirt of her best dress, and she grimaced. All around them, men and women either leaned away to avoid the conflict or stood to lend their aid should the beer-soaked man's clenched fist be put to use.

"Apologies, Caro. We can move to another seat if you wish. Leo, are you all right?" Gerard asked.

"I'm unscathed," came Leo's wry reply. His hand on her shoulder tightened as if preparing to guide her from the fray.

A spike of irritation at the men around her came and went when the beer spiller apologized loud enough to be heard above the raised voices, appealing to the injured party's compassion. The offer to buy the man a pint of his own probably didn't hurt either. What was nearly a situation involving blows dissipated to nothing as the pair set off to buy beer and likely form a lifelong friendship. Neither of them noticed the sodden state of her gown as she plucked the wet fabric from her thigh in a feeble attempt to dry it.

"We will pay to have your dress cleaned," Leo offered.

Gerard nodded. "The washerwoman Leo found for us is a miracle worker. I don't know how he manages to comb the streets and find nothing but those who excel at what they do, but I'm grateful for it."

Leo grinned. "It's a gift. I found you, didn't I?" He shifted his attention to her. "Just say the word and we will move."

Caro shrugged. "No need. The danger has passed, see? Now, if people start throwing things at the prince and there's real danger in the pit, I'll happily vacate our seats."

Her friends exchanged a rueful smile, and Gerard said, "The minute someone throws a rotten cabbage, we're whisking you away."

"Let us hope these fine folks wouldn't disrespect Beethoven to such a degree." Caro smiled and clasped the playbill for the evening. "I'm looking forward to hearing Mrs. Dickens sing. The papers say lovely things about her."

It was familiar, this back-and-forth with Gerard and Leo. Perhaps as a solicitor, Gerard dealt with too many of the rougher elements of society, so he was constantly on guard to every possible threat. His protective nature was a comfort, if sometimes a bit much. It was always a treat to see him with Leo, and to witness that care and concern turned toward his partner.

The men who'd squabbled over spilled beer returned moments later, chatting merrily as predicted, and took their seats as Miss Smith finished yet another reading from Paradise Lost .

In Caro's opinion, the opening entertainment left quite a bit to be desired. Or perhaps that was her ingrained antagonism toward her vicar father rearing its rebellious head. In any case, her mind and eyes wandered back to the empty Holland box.

That wasn't empty any longer.

In evening dress of black and white, looking far better than any man had a right to, sat the duke. All evidence of their passionate kisses had been erased. The curls she'd tugged to guide his mouth, and the cravat she'd left rumpled and creased, had been replaced with his usual standard of pristine polish. Holland stared at the stage with a vacant expression that could be mistaken for attentiveness by anyone who hadn't spent every available moment studying his face. On either side of him, a woman fluttered and fussed with the harried air of those arriving late to an event. Caro recognized the steely gray curls of the dowager, but the other woman was a mystery.

Dark hair, delicate bone structure, and a fine gown displaying her décolletage to perfection. She was beautiful.

Caro wanted to hate her on sight. And part of her did, which was surprising. Having never had the opportunity to be jealous, she didn't realize she had it in her.

But Lord, did she ever.

The sight of the woman and the duke attending the theater under the chaperonage of his mother might not have stung a week ago. But mere hours had passed since she'd been tangled with that man against his bookcases and wrapped in his arms, running her fingers through his hair. At last, she'd left her mark on the perfect duke, and it had been glorious.

He'd left his own mark, not as easily combed and pressed away—a patch on her neck where his late-afternoon scruff had rubbed against her skin and left a graze. Until now, she'd cherished that mark as proof that their heated kisses weren't a dream.

Caro covered the beard burn with her hand and forced her attention back to the front, where musicians were beginning to play Beethoven's interpretation of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. Despite the depressing subject matter, it was difficult not to be moved by the talented layers of musicality Beethoven brought to the stage.

"We should have looked at the playbill before bringing you here tonight," Leo murmured.

"We thought this would be an enjoyable night away from your responsibilities. Instead, we've brought you to a sermon put to music," Gerard whispered.

Caro grinned. "You forget my father was clergy. As sermons go, this is far more entertaining and remarkably short-winded."

Leo, always the optimist, said, "At least the comedy sketch from Mr. Bartholomew should liven things up. I've heard he's brilliant but hard to work with. When we were in line outside, I overheard someone say he didn't get the final script to the actors until this afternoon."

"Really? Ugh, I feel for those poor actors. If he's as amusing as they say, Mr. Bartholomew should end things on a high note."

Gerard offered a crooked smile. "Don't try to make me feel better. It won't work. I'd hoped for a lighter evening, or at least a romantic drama. Maybe even Romeo and Juliet ."

She was rolling her eyes before he'd even finished saying the name of Shakespeare's play. " Romeo and Juliet does not qualify as a romantic drama. Two lust-addled children making poor decisions in the name of sex is not romantic."

Beside her, Leo sputtered, "It's a classic, Caroline."

"So are any number of other questionable works written by men who liked the sound of their own voice." She shifted to face her friends, leaning close to avoid annoying those around them too terribly much. "When looked at objectively, you have to agree that Romeo was inconstant, flitting from Rosaline to Juliet within seconds, due solely to the appearance of an absolute stranger. And Juliet returns his favor based on what, exactly? Because he paid attention to her? After which, they destroy themselves and their families because they had the communication skills of beach pebbles, proving that they were indeed children in need of naps rather than kisses."

Gerard's rolling rumble of laughter—entirely inappropriate as the actors on stage sung of Christ's impending crucifixion—made her smile in return. "You see, Caro? This is why I respect you so much. You think with your head, not your heart. There's not a sentimental bone in your entire body."

Hearing Constance's words from a few nights before repeated, albeit with a slight variation, made Caro blink as she struggled for a reply. "Is… is that how you see me?" It was on the tip of her tongue to blast a cannonball-size hole through their idea of her and tell them their unsentimental friend wrote erotic novels. That she'd chosen to write erotic fiction specifically due to the genre's consistently higher sales numbers was a fact she'd keep to herself.

Before the urge could overwhelm her sense, Gerard continued. "Your logical brain is your greatest asset, my dear. You would be a fine companion for any man but especially for one like me, who values your open mind as well. To that end, Leo and I would like to have a conversation with you."

Leo placed his hand over hers. "Please hear us out before answering."

What was happening right now? Caro glanced around, but no one seemed to be paying attention to their conversation. Up in his box, the duke was lending an ear to something his young companion said. He nodded but didn't smile. Not that his lack of smile meant anything. Holland claimed to have wanted Caro for nearly two years, and he'd been unsmiling the whole time.

Gerard said, "We are realizing something needs to change. It has been made clear at work, although not in so many words, that I won't advance in the firm while unattached. They see single men as unreliable, while a married man is viewed as stable."

"They've never let an unmarried man join the higher ranks. Not once," Leo added.

"Over the last few months, there have been comments asking when I will marry," Gerard said.

Violins joined the wind section as notes intertwined and swelled around them, providing a counter rhythm to the heartbeat pounding in her ears. "Gentlemen, what are you saying?"

They exchanged a look. Leo said, "We would like to propose an arrangement that meets all our needs. Except for occasional events with the firm's partners, you could have your own life, your own schedule. There would be no other demands made of you. Between the two of us, we could provide adequate financial support. Perhaps a little cottage like you've mentioned. You could do whatever you wanted with your time."

The music softened as Mrs. Dickens finished her solo.

One part of Caro's mind was aware of the theater and her fellow patrons.

A woman in Prinny's box teetered dangerously over the railing, and the crowd below began betting on which would fall loose first—the woman herself, or her breasts from her bodice.

In his box, the duke rose and moved toward the curtain behind their seats.

But it was the practical part of her that surfaced from the shock and spoke. "Are you… are you proposing marriage, Gerard?"

"Yes, of course. What else would we be talking about?"

All around them, the audience burst into applause.