Chapter Eleven

G od would smite him any moment now.

For the last hour, Dorian had been sitting in his theater box silently comparing what Christ endured while marching to his crucifixion to that of a night at the theater with his mother and a young lady vying for the role of wife. Beethoven's musical rendition wasn't nearly dark enough, in his opinion.

Miss Edwina Humphry hadn't said more than ten words to him all night. He'd tried. Lord, how he'd tried. In the carriage, he'd asked after her family ("Fine, thank you"), pets (none), hobbies (sewing, charitable acts), interests (dancing), and opinion about the domestic law Parliament was considering—which he'd made up on the spot and didn't actually exist. Each answer essentially settled into a general "Yes, Your Grace. I'm sure you know best."

Infuriating. Despite the lack of conversation, she'd pasted on a demure smile and had the audacity to flutter her eyelashes at him. Flutter. Her. Eyelashes. All evidence of intelligence and wit seemed to have vanished under the weight of his lukewarm interest. If one could call a single waltz and his mother inviting her to the theater without his knowledge "interest."

The depth of his frustration told him the earlier decision to take his time choosing the next Duchess of Holland had been the right one. A certain luscious bookseller complicated things. Even without thoughts of Caroline Danvers muddying the waters, Miss Humphry wouldn't be the right candidate.

There wasn't anything wrong with her personally. But there wasn't anything right either. Nothing to suggest they could carry on together for the foreseeable future. He'd decided to dance with her because she'd been witty during the few moments they'd spoken before that event.

Now the poor woman seemed petrified to do more than smile and nod in response to whatever nonsense he spouted. When he'd whispered as much to his mother as they'd climbed the stairs to their box, the dowager had replied coolly, "Well, I should hope so. It shows she's aware of what an honor it is to carry the Holland name."

Which was no help at all and made Dorian want to retreat to Martin House Books, where he could listen to the cousins' conversation and perhaps sneak a few more kisses from Caroline. The blonde flirt, Constance, was a whirlwind but extremely entertaining, and the mousy-haired Hattie had a sense of humor that usually had him hiding his grin behind the nearest book.

The thought he'd briefly entertained that morning of how his father would have dealt with an attraction to someone like Caroline crossed his mind once more. Their time in the library had felt easy, free of complications. She'd conversed with him the same way she did her cousins, and he'd enjoyed a blessed reprieve from the pressure that came with social interactions within the ton.

The performance droned on, until his left butt cheek tingled from sitting too long. Dorian shifted. It was impressive that Miss Humphry managed to impersonate a statue so convincingly. Did the woman not need to move occasionally? It made him want to study her face to see if she even blinked, but he didn't want her to misconstrue the attention.

As he considered the situation, he couldn't avoid drawing parallels between the woman beside him and his late wife. Both were well-bred and educated to be the wife of a man in his position. At ease in society. If he had to hazard a guess, he'd say Miss Humphry was about the same age Juliet had been when they married.

Which, given fifteen years had passed since, was too bloody young.

No wonder they didn't have anything to talk about. Of course, the letters they'd found today were proof that he and Juliet hadn't discussed everything either. Romeo—whoever that was—thanked her for helping "the children" in the second letter. For a brief moment, his brain had spiraled down twisted paths where he calculated dates to determine if Juliet might have somehow had children without anyone knowing, while he'd been on the Continent. That level of deception was impossible when factoring in the few visits he'd made home. The more likely scenario was that Romeo convinced her to financially support a cause involving children. Might this Romeo person be where Juliet's missing money had gone?

The dowager rapped his arm with her fan. "Sit still. You're squirming like a child," she hissed through clenched teeth, never taking her eyes off the stage.

Dorian turned to Miss Humphry. "I need to stretch my legs. I'll be back shortly."

"Would you mind bringing me a glass of lemonade when you return, Your Grace?" With that one request, she'd doubled her word count for the evening.

"Of course."

Dorian closed the heavy velvet drapes behind him and stepped into the hall like a man gulping fresh air after a year in a prison cell. "Fuck, I'm in hell," he whispered.

A hell of his own making, though, and that fact was unavoidable. Not for the first time, he wondered what would happen if he didn't die young, like the other men in his family. The dowager was gray-haired but otherwise immune to the passage of time. She would likely outlive them all. What if Dorian found a wife, sired an heir, then had to live forever with his decision?

It was enough to make a man consider running away from home.

Instead, he set off down the hall, going nowhere in particular but intent on staying there as long as possible before he had to return to depressing Beethoven and a silent companion. Checking his pocket watch, he estimated he could be gone for fifteen minutes before pushing the boundary of polite behavior.

Down one hall, around a corner, and then down another hall he didn't recognize. Dorian wandered with no destination but did so with purposeful strides so he looked like he was going somewhere important. People tended to leave one alone when one looked like they were in the middle of doing something.

After a while, he became aware of footsteps following him down a passageway and around a corner. Dorian turned to see who it was and stopped in surprise. Like he'd conjured her from thin air, Caroline walked toward him. He greeted her with a smile.

"All I can think about is you, and now you've appeared." As she approached, her expression didn't change. "Has something happened? You look so serious." While his heart pounded happily at the sight of her, she appeared less enthusiastic about seeing him. In fact, Caroline had yet to meet his eyes. Part of him wondered if she'd keep walking by if he hadn't stepped in her path.

A theater hall was far from private, so he couldn't do more than brush her hand quickly and ask, "Are you all right?"

There was that damned pause again before she gave him the same benign close-lipped smile she'd offered a dozen times before. Before he'd kissed those lips. Before he'd begged to hear her thoughts. "Good evening, Your Grace." Fully weaponizing etiquette, the minx dipped into a curtsy.

Then it hit him. She wasn't being polite. Caroline Danvers was furious. At him, if he had to guess.

"What have I done?" Keeping his voice low, he gently guided her toward another turn in the hall. Perhaps they could talk there.

"I hope you're enjoying your evening, Your Grace." Never had such monotone platitudes boded so poorly for him.

"I'm not, actually. Seeing you is the best part of it." The next hall was equally well lit but had a snug, shadowed alcove off to one end, large enough to fit two. Perfect. Dorian tugged her into the space and lowered his mouth to her ear. "For the love of heaven, woman, would you please tell me why you're trying to kill me with politeness?"

"I wouldn't want to keep you from your night, Your Grace. I'm sure you have people to see other than a lowly bookseller." There was nothing self-deprecating in her tone. Instead, the words rang as a challenge, daring him to step one more foot out of line so she could flay him alive.

Wait… He met her stony gaze. "You're jealous." He reached to trace her cheek and reassure her but stopped with his hand midair when she glared.

"Touch me with that finger and I'll bite it. You don't get to caress my face and tell me I'm remarkable and make my head spin with that mouth of yours, when there's a woman sitting with your mother in your box down the hall."

"Ah, there's the real Caroline. I missed you." Instinct told him smiling would not go well, so he refrained. Barely. "The woman in my box is Miss Edwina Humphry. I danced with her once and was relieved to return her to her chaperone at the end of it. Mother invited her to join us this evening without my knowledge. Yes, she's one of the women Mother asked me to consider as a wife."

Caroline bit her lower lip and stared over his shoulder. He dipped his face to be in front of hers. "However, Miss Humphry will not be my duchess. I won't lie to you, Caroline. Remarrying was a higher priority recently, although I wasn't particularly keen on the idea. It's even less appealing after kissing you. However, if something happened to me without an heir, the title and everyone depending on it for their livelihoods would suffer. At some point, I'll have to assess my options."

Slowly, to give her time to shy away, he brought his fingers to her cheek again. This time, she didn't move—or threaten him—but her eyes were still stormy. "The only woman I am thinking about is you. The only woman I am kissing is you. I don't know what happens next, but I can assure you I'm not slipping into shadowed doorways or alcoves with anyone else."

Caroline turned her face and kissed his palm, then said, "I didn't like looking up and seeing you with her. I don't have any experience with jealousy. It's not a comfortable emotion."

Of course she'd be sitting in the pit and not in a box. It was on the tip of his tongue to invite her to join him when she said, "Overall, this hasn't been a terribly enjoyable evening. As soon as my friends are ready to leave, I'll be returning home."

Dorian shifted to lean against the wall beside her, so her shoulder snugged against his arm. He dropped a kiss on her hair. "The performers are talented, but the subject matter is a bit shit, isn't it?"

She laughed. "God, it's all so depressing . Next week Edmund Kean will be here playing Shylock again, which everyone claims is brilliant. Why are we subjecting ourselves to this, instead of returning in a few days?"

"I have the excuse of being dragged here by my matchmaking mother. Who are you here with?"

"Friends who live down the street."

He was quiet a moment. "I imagine it's different down on the floor. In the box, you feel like you're on display. Every reaction to a play, everything you do, is right there for everyone to see."

"I'll take the anonymity of the floor, thank you. Even if it is a bit rowdy. With the right companions, it can be fine. Some people only come to shows to cause trouble, so if you can avoid those, it's all right."

"You said it hasn't been enjoyable this evening. I hope my presence didn't ruin your night."

Caroline settled heavier against his side, and he smiled. Hiding in an alcove with her was more entertaining than anything else he'd done since entering the building. "Well, I nearly bathed in beer, warranting a thorough washing of my skirts before I can wear this gown again. Then I narrowly avoided being caught in the middle of a brawl over said spilled beer, and two men proposed to me. Frankly, I'm ready to go home."

A fiery pinch near his heart made him pause, then shake his head. "Does it make you feel better to know that hearing about two men proposing to you makes me jealous?"

She smiled up at him and rested her cheek on his shoulder. "It does, actually."

He gazed down at her, and having her so close and comfortable made a ball of tension he hadn't realized he'd been carrying loosen under his ribs.

"I like your smile. You should do it more often," she said.

"You give me reasons to smile."

When she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, he sensed their time together was ending. "I should return to my friends."

Reluctantly, Dorian checked his watch and winced. "I need to go back to the box as well." He laced his fingers with hers and pushed off the wall. "Please tell me I'll see you soon."

Her grin was saucy. "You'll see me soon."

"And will I kiss you soon?" Dorian pulled her hand, reeling her closer to his chest.

The curve of her mouth was sweet under his, opening for him immediately. Losing himself in the feel and taste of her would be too easy, and he'd be left wanting more. As they drew apart, Dorian kissed her hand before dropping his hold on her. "Do me the kindness of not accepting any offers of marriage before I see you again."

She arched one brow. "Do me the kindness of not making any offers of marriage before I see you again." Caroline held out her hand, offering a handshake agreement.

His laugh made him feel lighter than he had all evening, but he took the offer and shook on it. "Agreed."

Far more than the fifteen minutes of freedom he'd allotted himself had passed, but thankfully Dorian was able to find a glass of lemonade for Miss Humphry on his way back to his seat. And a quarter hour later, when the short comedy piece—likely on the program for the sole purpose of preventing everyone from dying of boredom—made the audience's laughter fill the room, Dorian searched the long wooden benches below for one woman in particular.

With over three thousand people in the theater, he shouldn't feel disappointed when he failed to spot Caroline in the sea of faces. But he was.