12. Chapter Twelve

Wellspring spent the carriage ride staring at his shoes, and Katrina Harrington epitomized haughty politeness. Although they made a handsome couple, and they both wore smiles, they had as much chemistry as a pair of dying slugs. Thank the Lord, the dangerous Elizabeth Fletcher exuded personality, or Evan would have leaped from the moving carriage to avoid the awkwardness.

They pulled in front of the theater none too soon. Without waiting for the footmen, Evan shoved the door open and escaped from the vehicle. He greedily inhaled the salt air as if he'd been suffocating. It pained him to watch Wellspring extend a hand to help Katrina down. But he needed to face the truth. There was no perchance or mayhap about it. This strange new ache was jealousy.

'Twas not as if he wanted to marry the chit. Forever was a preposterous proposition. However, he wanted to spend the present moment with his hand in hers, sharing a conversation void of malice. Then he wanted her in his bed, his face buried between her thighs, her nectar on his tongue.

Since this was not the time for a pego, he pushed thoughts of Katrina to the side and assisted Elizabeth from the carriage.

"Is it not lovely, Kat?" Elizabeth asked as she steadied herself on the cobblestones.

If only Katrina smiled at Evan the way she beamed at the theater.

In all fairness, the exquisite old auditorium was an architectural masterpiece. The newly installed lights illuminated the carved colonnade, and care had been taken to paint and scrub the facade of the three-story building as if it were a palace fit for a deity.

To reach the front portico, Evan's party wove through the elegant carriages, colorfully dressed theatergoers, and fruit vendors. A girl carrying a basket of flowers approached. Preoccupied by a street performer juggling glowing sticks, Evan took too long to secure his coins from his pocket. Therefore, Wellspring purchased roses for both Katrina and Elizabeth—nothing like feeling like an ungentlemanly arse. But the sticks glowed, for crying out loud.

Katrina held the red flower to her nose and inhaled. "Thank you, Alexander."

The grinning earl might be bamboozled, but Evan was not gullible. Katrina Harrington would rather have a diamond tiara from an enemy than a rose from a lover.

Soon, the four of them were seated in the most splendid of boxes, looking down at the stage, Evan and Wellspring bookending their lovely companions.

"Oh, Alexander. How did you manage such fine seats?" Katrina asked.

What an apple polisher she was. Evan internally rolled his eyes, for the seats had easily been obtained by Harrington. It was not as if a miracle had been performed. Relations to the king procured anything they desired.

"I had nothing to do with our box," Wellspring said. "We have your brother to thank for this view."

Begrudging Wellspring Katrina's affection when the earl was so bloody good and honest was plain mean-spirited. Evan might be many things, but he was not hostile or cruel. He could stomp around like the jealous fool he was or make the best of the evening. The decision was easy. He'd enjoy the show and the company. He had no desire to bed Elizabeth Fletcher after the debacle at the masquerade, but he might consider her a friend and a suitable companion. She was lovely and full of life, after all.

"Please excuse me," Elizabeth said. "I must visit the necessary. I shall return in a few moments."

Evan was unaware that ladies, besides his sister Georgiana, had personal business to attend to. Didn't they all just shite perfume and flowers? He chuckled.

Katrina rose from her seat. "Would you like me to join you?"

"No!" Elizabeth said a bit too forcefully for a woman pardoning herself to a private space. "I shall go by myself."

The chit was definitely up to something wicked.

Her scowl intense, Katrina dropped back into her chair. "If you do not hurry, you shall miss the beginning of the show."

Elizabeth slid through the curtain partition. Since Katrina and Wellspring faced forward, they didn't see the reason for Elizabeth's hasty retreat. But, ever curious, Evan caught a glimpse of him.

How disappointing. So much for enjoying Elizabeth's company. Frederick Montague was probably sneaking out of the brightly lit theater to escort Miss Fletcher down a dark alley where he'd lift her skirts and fuck her senseless, spurred into a frenzy as the theatergoers clapped at the play. At least that is what Evan, randy bloke that he was, would do with an eager woman. So why had he passed on the amorous maid?

Mayhap he should forget about that encounter because analyzing it made his head ache.

Robbed of Elizabeth's company, and with Katrina and Wellspring consumed in their awkward attempts at courting, all that was left was to enjoy the show. If only the bloody thing would start and save Evan from his misery.

Although… since Elizabeth was probably rutting in some hideaway, he could occupy her seat. The one right beside Katrina.

He slid onto that chair and inhaled Katrina's intoxicating scent.

Halting her discussion with Wellspring about "the most magical stage sets I've seen," she peered over her shoulder at Evan.

He grinned at her.

She glared at him before again facing Wellspring. "I heard that the set for this show has over a thousand paper flowers, making you feel as if you are in a magical forest," she said.

Evan could pout about being left out, or he could join their conversation.

He leaned across Katrina. "Springy, do you remember when we saw As You Like It at Cambridge?"

Before Wellspring could respond, Katrina whirled on Evan. "We are discussing this set, and that is Elizabeth's seat." She waved at Evan's lap. "She will be returning any moment."

What a termagant. Evan swallowed the obscenities tickling his tongue. First and foremost, her cousin was preoccupied with a man and probably wouldn't be returning anytime soon. Second, he would get out of the chair when he was good and bloody ready.

"The show is starting." Wellspring pointed to the rising curtain.

Katrina gasped. "How beautiful."

Evan tore his gaze from Katrina to take in the stage. Dozens of trees had been crafted from papier-maché, the brightly painted leaves creating a canopy over the characters. And yes, thousands of colorful flowers dotted the stage.

Evan tried to concentrate on the show. Alas, it was no use. Not with her beside him, her rose and reticule ready to topple from her lap each time she sat forward.

He knew not a single thing happening on that stage, but he was aware of every breath Katrina took. He also knew she clasped her hands together when she was delighted. She bit her lip when she fretted. And when she gasped, he wanted to capture it in his mouth.

Needing to be closer to her, he scooted his chair until they almost touched. She would hardly notice or take offense since she was enthralled with Hermia and Lysander.

She giggled at something, as did the rest of the audience. Perchance one of Puck's pranks?

She giggled again. A sweet, tinkling laugh. Hardly that of a spoiled lady. If only Evan could fill a bottle with that joyful sound. He could open it anytime he wanted to warm himself. Or, perchance, he could entice her to spend time with him and make her laugh. Although he made her grimace, most people found him downright amusing.

Unable to control the ache coursing through him, he brushed his hip against hers.

Her breath hitched. He expected her to balk at his touch, move her leg, and glare. Instead, she closed her eyes and exhaled the breath she'd been holding.

This was all too bloody confusing. Did Katrina detest him or desire him?

He'd assumed she still hated him because of the cursed frog. But, maybe, just maybe, she feared her attraction to him, making her disagreeable in his presence. He, for one, was terrified of the feelings she elicited in him. Dare he test fate?

As if approaching a skittish bird that might fly away at the slightest movement, he slowly and gently pressed his hip against hers.

She did not flinch. Quite the opposite, she met his pressure. Her eyes closed, and her bosom heaved in time to her shallow breaths.

He nudged her ankle with his.

Never in his wildest dreams would he have guessed her response. But the arrogantly proper Lady Katrina Harrington gently tapped the side of her ankle against his. Heat shot from his hip to his toe.

Springy, the poor fool, sat unaware of Evan's betrayal. Evan was doomed to the eternal flames of hell unless he did the right thing. He needed to tell his mate about his attraction to Katrina.

"I'm sorry, mate," he could say. "I know you are courting Katrina Harrington and are considering asking her to be your wife. But I find myself drawn to her. Since she so rarely smiles in my presence, I want to make her giggle. When we touch, I burn. I ache to kiss her. And I fantasize about fucking her. But no, I do not plan to marry her. For I do not plan to marry any chit until the hair on my head is good and gray and I'm a shriveled old prune. So, are you agreeable to me making love to your girl?" Mayhap he should soften the blow by adding, "I'm sure you would be happier in the end since you'd prefer to bugger a bloke."

Frigging bollocks. He needed to work on his confession. But for now, he would savor Katrina Harrington's touch, incinerating his skin through layers of clothes. The irony. He'd tupped too many lasses to count, and the most erotic moment of his life was a tap to his ankle by a fully clothed woman.

Smelling of sweat and sex, Elizabeth bounced into their box, strands of hair tumbling from her coiffure. "I am sorry I took so long. I ran into an old friend, and we lost track of time chatting."

'Twas as if his lungs were ripped from his body as Evan relinquished his chair to Elizabeth. The scent of her libidinous encounter was too much to bear with his senses already heightened.

"Excuse me," Evan said around his ragged breaths. "I require fresh air." Once steady, he strutted through the curtain and down the hall. He smiled and waved at everyone he passed. It wasn't until he was outside the theater and away from prying eyes that he let go of his emotions.

"Bloody hell," he growled as he kicked at an innocent clump of grass. Thereupon, he stomped about, grumbling under his breath until the audience poured out the exit.