Chapter Nine

Of all things that came with being a duchess, Theo's favourite was the box at the theatre. Her father had never been able to afford one, and there was such ignominy in sitting in the stalls that they had never been.

Nathanial had a box.

And it was the grandest box she had ever seen, with an unparalleled view of the stage. For the first time in her life, she was able to sit at the front of her box and wave to her acquaintances, knowing that she— she— was a source of envy.

It was extremely satisfying.

Annabelle, her eyes equally wide, stared at the view. "You can see so much from up here," she breathed.

Theo waved at Lady Tabitha and grinned, dispelling any impression of a great lady. "Isn't it fun?" she asked, glancing at Nathanial who offered them both a quietly amused smile.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Sir Montague, sitting in the stalls with two gentlemen and a lady. The lady, with auburn hair coiled elegantly at the back of her head, was one of the most beautiful she'd seen. If she'd been sitting with anyone but Sir Montague, Theo might have been tempted to ask her name. But although she and Nathanial were friends again, she suspected his opinion on Sir Montague hadn't changed.

"And the stage," Annabelle gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. "Theo, look ."

Before Annabelle could comment on any more, the curtains rose, and a whispering silence fell across the crowd. The opera began, a beautiful lady taking centre stage, and Theo couldn't resist leaning towards Nathanial, her voice concealed by the swell of music.

"Is your opera dancer performing tonight?" she whispered.

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Only, I know men have opera dancers, or perhaps an opera singer, and I wondered if one of those ladies was yours." She placed a hand on his knee and his eyes flicked down to the contact. "Don't worry—I don't mind."

"It's not a question of whether you mind, Theo." He stopped and glanced at the stage, and the beautiful ladies standing upon it. One in particular was especially striking, with a head full of blonde curls and red lips. Theo felt a pang at the idea Nathanial could be in love with her. "As it happens, I don't have an opera dancer, and if I did have one—" He groaned and rubbed a hand across his face. "This is not something we should be discussing. Not here, and not like this."

"Don't worry, Annabelle is not attending to a word we're saying."

"That's not the point." He took the hand on his knee and gently removed it, as though its presence there bothered him. Theo glanced up at him, surprised to find a trace of redness across his cheekbones. "We are still in public. And this isn't something well-bred ladies discuss."

"I'm not a well-bred lady, I'm your wife."

"Even more reason you shouldn't be asking those sorts of questions. "

"But you would confess it, if she was?"

He groaned again. "Lord, Theo. Yes, you wretch."

Satisfied, she turned back to the stage. The scene had changed now; a man and a woman stood opposite each other and sang, their voices soaring above the orchestra, winding and twisting together in harmony that spoke of loss and love and grief. The words were in Italian, but Theo didn't need to understand them to feel the heart of the music. It tugged at her, beckoning emotions she didn't know she was capable of feeling as the woman pressed a hand to her chest.

Unexpected tears stung her eyes, and she blinked, pressing her mouth together so her face didn't betray her.

Wordlessly, Nathanial took her hand once more, his thumb smoothing circles across her skin. His fingers laced between hers, and she held on tight, letting him anchor her. There was something reassuring about the warmth of his hand; it lit something in her chest that the music drew out and cultivated.

He didn't look at her, and she didn't glance at him, either. Despite this, she was somehow aware of his proximity in a way she hadn't been before. Perhaps it was the way the on-stage lovers embraced, but for the flicker of a moment, she wondered what it would feel like for a lover to embrace her in that way.

What it would feel like for Nathanial to embrace her in that way.

The curtains dropped. For a heartbeat, she thought Nathanial might not release her—that perhaps he felt the same reassurance and comfort and newly budding awareness from the way their fingers locked together—but his hand loosened.

She snatched hers back and held it to her chest.

Annabelle wiped away tears. "That was wonderful. I didn't know music could . . ."

Theo pulled off her dratted glove, where Nathanial's warmth still lingered, and fixed her attention on anything but his face. Hers was a little warm. "Yes," she said, distracted. "It was spectacular."

"I'll get us some refreshments," Nathanial said, and Theo nodded without looking at him. As soon as he left, she peered over the edge of her box into the milling crowd below. The beautiful, auburn woman was still seated, exchanging smiles with a gentleman Theo didn't recognise, but Sir Montague was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps they were not together after all.

"Who are you looking for?" Annabelle asked.

Theo did not know how to explain she was searching for a distraction from her husband's presence.

"I'm not looking for anyone," she said. "I'm just looking. In the box, you can see everyone."

Everyone, that was, save the elusive Sir Montague. He would have been the ideal distraction.

Just as she was thinking how pleasant it would be to exit the box and find someone to converse with, Sir Montague himself bowed in the doorway. "Forgive me," he said as he looked directly at her, his dark eyes intense. In a rush, Theo remembered the power over her those eyes had. "I could not resist presenting myself to you as soon as I knew you were here."

Theo tapped Annabelle on the leg so she would stop gawking. "Sir Montague! I believe we have not met since Almack's."

"We have not. Are you enjoying the theatre, Your Grace?" He advanced further into the box at her motion.

"Exquisitely," she said. "Sir Montague, please allow me to present my sister, Lady Annabelle Beaumont."

"Lady Annabelle." Montague's dark eyes scanned Annabelle, whose cheeks, unusually, flushed. "A pleasure. You share your sister's beauty."

Annabelle was complimented into silence. Since Theo's marriage, she'd received far more attention from gentlemen, but she did not seem to relish it the way Theo had. Sometimes, Theo thought her sister would rather read than attend balls.

Yet Sir Montague made her bite her lip and glance down at her hands.

Theo fixed Sir Montague with a stern glance. "You are forbidden from flirting with my sister, if you please."

"My apologies. The compliment was meant equally for you."

"I am an old, married woman now," she said, trying and failing to hide her pleasure at the lazy smile Sir Montague sent her.

"Married you may be, but I will not allow you to be old." His smile sharpened, and Theo could not stop looking at the blade of his mouth. "If you are, I must be decrepit."

Theo laughed, surprised. "You can hardly be so very old."

"I am past thirty."

There were more than ten years between them, and at least in terms of experience, Theo felt the difference keenly. The thought brought a pang with it—why would a man so much older and experienced want someone as young as her?—and she cast a cursory glance into the stalls. And frowned. There was Nathanial, undeniably Nathanial, speaking with the auburn-haired lady she'd noticed before.

The same one she could have sworn Sir Montague had been seated beside.

Coincidence, she was certain.

Yet there was something about the way the lady smiled, with razor intent, that put Theo's teeth on edge. "Who is that lady?" she asked lightly.

Sir Montague glanced where she indicated. "Mrs Stanton," he said, though there was something reserved about his tone, and he sent her a hesitant glance. "Though you must not credit me with giving you her name—I doubt hers is a society the Duke would want you to keep. "

As Theo watched, this Mrs Stanton laughed and put her hand on Nathanial's arm—a possessive gesture that he did nothing to shake off. As Theo watched, she leant up and whispered something in his ear, her body uncomfortably close to his.

And Nathanial, to Theo's horror, smiled.

To think he had the gall to tell her off for dancing and flirting with Sir Montague.

"This Mrs Stanton does not appear to be someone of whom my husband disapproves," she said, the lightness of her tone failing her. "In fact, it seems quite the opposite."

Annabelle sent her a helpless look that she ignored; instead, she turned back to Sir Montague. He was handsome, all right, with that thin mouth and hard jaw—and eyes that spoke of danger and hardship and something else she couldn't identify. Perhaps it was a good thing Nathanial was currently preoccupied with another woman; it gave her the luxury of more time with Sir Montague.

And if her husband was so taken with red-headed beauties that he forgot to get his wife a drink? Well then, perhaps his wife would be so preoccupied with Sir Montague that she forgot her thirst.

To her disappointment, there was very little time left in the interval, and Sir Montague only stayed a few more minutes, offering a teasing commentary on their mutual acquaintances—many of whom he had known for far longer than she—before departing. Annabelle only had time to splutter " That was Sir Montague?" before Nathanial arrived in their box with two glasses of lemonade.

"You took longer than I expected," Theo could not help saying as she accepted her drink.

"My apologies." It may have been her imagination, but he did not seem as easy-going as he had been before he left. "I met an acquaintance in the stalls. "

Annabelle watched the conversation unfold with equal parts horror and dread, but Theo ignored her. "Which acquaintance?" she asked.

"Merely an old friend. I'm sorry I kept you waiting."

An old friend , was it? Theo didn't believe that for a second. Aside from the fact the lady in question was distressingly beautiful, she had seen the way this Mrs Stanton had laid her hand on Nathanial's arm, and that spoke of proprietorial intent.

Knowing she was behaving irrationally, but with the irrepressible urge to exact some sort of revenge, Theo tossed her head. "No matter," she said as the curtains rose. "Sir Montague was good enough to come and entertain us in your absence, and I can assure you we had an excellent time. Did we not, Annabelle?"

Annabelle made an inarticulate comment.

"Did he, indeed?" Nathanial asked quietly.

"Oh, yes—and he was excessively charming. I do not think I've met a man as charming in my life. But you can be assured, Nathanial, we were perfectly discreet."

"In a box where everyone can see you?" His nostrils flared. "Yes, perfectly discreet."

Though she smiled, Theo was aware of an urge to cry. "At least I did not whisper in his ear before everyone," she said, and he glanced at her sharply. She didn't dare look at him. "I would not go that far, I assure you."

"Theo—"

"It's beginning." She leant forward, holding her opera glasses before her eyes though she saw nothing through them. For the entirety of the second half, she watched the performance with every appearance of avid interest. But even though when the on-stage lover died, she allowed a tear or two to slip down her cheek, Nathanial did not take her hand again.

To Nathanial's surprise, when he went downstairs the next morning at eleven, it was to see Theo hadn't yet risen. After waiting for some time, and having read the morning paper in unusual detail, he made his way to her dressing room. He found her there as he'd predicted, dabbing perfume on her wrists and for all intents and purposes perfectly ready to go down.

She glanced up and saw him in the mirror as he entered without knocking, and he noted with chagrin that the expression on her face was momentarily stricken.

"You may go, Betsy," she said coolly.

"Yes, ma'am." Betsy glanced at him before she left, her rather round face betraying a hint of anger.

"You have loyal servants," he commented, brushing an invisible fleck of dust from his cuffs. "I congratulate you."

She turned back to her reflection in the mirror and the two red spots that gathered there. The dress she'd chosen today was a frothy concoction in pale green that dipped daringly low.

"If you came here to congratulate me, you could have done so downstairs," she said.

"I might have done if you'd deigned to appear. But I believe one of the privileges of having a wife is the liberty of entering her dressing room without condemnation."

Her eyes—eyes he now noticed looked a little red-rimmed—flashed to him. "And are you much in the habit of entering dressing rooms?"

"There are certain questions ladies ought not to ask," he said, strolling forwards and examining the jewellery that lay on her dressing table. "And before you protest that you are no lady, you are my wife and a duchess."

"I shall take that as a yes. "

"You may take it any way you please." He brushed his fingers across a familiar diamond-encrusted necklace. "You haven't worn this since our wedding day. I'm surprised—it looked well on you."

"They are more your mother's jewels than mine."

As he glanced down at her bare neck, he found himself tempted to run his fingers along it, to see if she would shiver the way he imagined she would. Ever since that first night, when he had looked down at her in that flimsy nightgown, he had been aware of something he hadn't before.

Attraction.

He hadn't known, until that moment, how soft and lush her body was, and what her hair looked like when it fell over her shoulders. He hadn't known how tempting it would be to kiss lips that had parted for him almost as an invitation.

But they had agreed their relationship would not be along those lines; she was his friend, not his lover, and she was very clearly looking elsewhere for entertainment. He could not force himself on her now.

Yet as he met her gaze in her reflection, his fingers itched with the urge to touch her and explore just how responsive she could be.

"Those jewels belong to the Duchess of Norfolk," he said, tucking his hands behind his back to remove all temptation. "As that is now your title, they belong to you. And they would go delightfully with your dress."

She didn't so much as glance at them. "They're a little heavy."

"I see."

Her throat tightened as she swallowed, but she merely continued rubbing her wrists together.

"I have made my opinion about Sir Montague plain," he said, watching her face in the mirror. Her lips parted in a sharp, soundless gasp, but she otherwise didn't move. "Will you not trust my judgement on this?"

For the first time, she twisted to face him fully, and although he had every intention of focusing on the matter at hand, the dipped neckline of the dress was particularly enticing, and there was a becoming flush on her face.

"Your judgement?" she asked, her voice tight. "And why should I trust your judgement on Sir Montague when you were consorting with another lady right before my eyes?"

"Mrs Stanton—"

"Is also associated with Sir Montague. If she is allowed to make his acquaintance, I hardly see why I should not."

He had seen Juliet and Montague together—that was part of the reason he had consented to speak with her in a way he would not usually have done. But if anything, that was another reason why Theo shouldn't associate with Sir Montague.

"Because Mrs Stanton is not a lady," he said. "And Sir Montague is not, as I can verify from experience, a gentleman."

"And what?" she enquired, arching a brow, "makes a gentleman, if Sir Montague is not and you are?"

He bit back his anger. "If you must ask that question, you wouldn't understand."

"Don't speak to me as if I were a child."

"Would you rather I treated you as my wife?" A dangerous question; a wife sitting before him with such mingled hurt and defiance in her eyes called for more than he could give.

Even if, at that moment, he would have very much liked to give it.

"I would rather you treated me as an equal."

They were equals. They were friends. Or at least, they had been before this maddening interlude. Was this another thing he risked losing to this sham of a marriage? Frustrated, he turned and paced the room as she continued to powder her little nose, her back tight. When he next glanced at her, however, he sighed and slowed, coming to stand behind her once more. "I didn't come here to argue with you, Theo."

"No, you merely came here to order me about." She put both hands on her lap and kept her gaze steadfastly on her reflection. "When you asked me to marry you, we agreed we would not intrude on each other's private lives. You showed no interest in me before, and there is no need to start now."

"The difference is now you are my wife."

Her gaze snapped to his. "I did not think that was going to change things so much."

Neither had he, but that was before. Before Montague had made his way back to London, before he had known what it might feel like to want the lady he was bound to forever more. Those factors complicated matters, and he wasn't certain precisely how he would navigate them. What he wanted was an uncomplicated marriage and a cousin far, far away. Neither of those things had come to pass; now, it felt as though he was fighting for a sliver of his wife's attention.

But, if he did not, Montague would be sure to claim it. She was ready, in fact, for him to claim it. Nathanial could not let that happen.

Further discussion would be fruitless, however, so he merely said, "You should wear the diamonds," and left the room.

Theo spent the day avoiding Nathanial. She went for a drive past Hyde Park in the phaeton Nathanial had given her on her marriage, flirted with every young gentleman she saw, and met her mother and sister. Then, she went shopping and spent an obscene amount of money on shoes and a hat with a large feather. Nathanial would hate it, which was her primary reason for its purchase .

Once she returned home that evening, she fully intended to unexpectedly leave for a soiree. That had not initially been her plan, and she was rather tired, but anything would be better than spending time with her husband. That would teach him for lecturing her and telling her to wear diamonds she didn't like.

Except, she concluded reluctantly, she did like the diamonds. And they would go beautifully with her evening dress. She touched them, thinking about the way Nathanial had touched them, and the way he had looked at her in the mirror. Her stomach did an odd little leap at the memory.

Perhaps, though she hated to admit it, the situation was not wholly his fault.

She would wear the diamonds. Then, if he chose to apologise, they would right things between them and all would be well again.

Betsy said nothing as she clasped the diamonds around Theo's neck, and when finally Theo descended downstairs, a few scant minutes before she needed to leave, she was conscious of an odd feeling. Butterflies writhed uncomfortably in her gut, and she had to take several deep breaths before she pushed open the door to the library.

Nathanial, as she had known he would be, was sitting in an armchair before the fire, a book in his hands and his ankle propped against his knee. He was the picture of domestic comfort, and the sight almost compelled her to leave. She would have done, if he had not looked up at her entrance, and if an expression of surprise and pleasure had not crossed his face.

"Theo." He put his book down, and she tried not to be aware of the way his gaze took in every inch, lingering on her neck. On the diamonds she now wore, tying herself publicly to him even when he wasn't escorting her. "You look remarkably dashing. Are you off out? "

She toyed with the hem of her gloves. "Lady Finchley is throwing a soiree."

"I had not known you had thought to attend."

"I had not until recently."

Silence settled between them, but Theo was determined not to break it first. She had come to him, and now the ball was in his court; he could choose to accept her peace offering, or he could reject it and she would leave.

He rose, and she inhaled sharply as he approached her, pausing only when he was a scant few inches away. "Theo," he said, his voice low, and sighed. He took her hand, his thumb tracing patterns across her glove. "I have no wish to argue with you."

"Then don't," she said hastily.

His voice was dry as he countered, "Don't provoke me." But the constant movement of his thumb was both distracting and reassured her that his anger, like hers, had burned itself out. "Shall we call a truce, my dear?"

"It depends," she said, tipping her head back as she looked at him with a slight smile he returned. "Will you come barging into my dressing room to lecture me if I ever displease you?"

"That entirely depends on whether you remain in your dressing room, delaying breakfast, so you can avoid me."

She was betrayed into smiling fully, and his mouth twitched even as he stepped back. Absurdly, she felt almost bereft without his hand around hers. "A truce," she agreed, absently massaging the place his thumb had been.

As though he could not help himself, he leant forward and kissed her cheek. "There is little chance I can match your style, but I shall try. Allow me five minutes to change."

Five minutes would not be long enough for him to change from his day clothes to evening wear. "Nathanial, you cannot think of coming with me."

"Why should I not? You should have a male escort. "

"That is not so very important," she said shyly. "It is an informal affair, and I am married."

"Five minutes," he repeated, tweaking one of her curls. "And Theo? The diamonds look good on you."