She caught a glimpse of the duke's dark head bent over the hand of a beautiful red-headed lady in a box directly opposite her own. Without taking her eyes away from the chatting couple, she reached behind her for the opera glasses the duke had left on his seat. Then she could clearly see the deep, bejeweled cleavage of the titian-haired lady and the way she clasped the duke's gloved hand to her bosom. With a disgusted sound she focused on the other occupants of the box and discovered Angelique, aglow in peach satin, pearls and diamonds flashing in her beautifully styled hair.
The strange tension coiled within her relaxed as the duke turned to Angelique and kissed his way up her bare arm to her shoulder. Elizabeth almost dropped the opera glasses as the duke murmured something and Angelique winked in her direction. Flustered at the duke's discovery of her perusal she hastily swung around and stared into another box.
As her vision cleared she realized she was looking at her half-sister, Mary, and her mother. Mary was dressed in a simple white muslin frock with a blue sash that matched her eyes. Elizabeth's throat constricted as Mr. Forester leaned forward and patted Mary on the shoulder, his face the picture of paternal pride.
They looked like the perfect family. Elizabeth struggled with the familiar feeling of being unwanted that had plagued her since her mother's remarriage. With a determined effort, she looked over the other occupants of the box, wondering if any of the gentlemen clustered around her stepfather were suitors for Mary's hand.
Her hands locked on the opera glasses as she recognized Sir John Harrington's best drab olive green coat and severely tied cravat.
"Mrs. Waterstone...Excuse me, Mrs. Waterstone. Would you like some wine?"
Nicholas's question jerked her away from her puzzled imaginings and she dropped the opera glasses like a guilty child. She accepted a glass of wine and allowed Nicholas to settle beside her. She encouraged him to talk as she tried to think of a way to introduce the topic of Sir John into the conversation.
When Nicholas ran out of things to say, he refilled her glass from the bottle in the ice bucket. She thanked him and said idly, "Is Sir John not able to join us this evening? He told me that Mozart was his favorite composer."
Nicholas clinked his glass against hers and downed the contents in one enthusiastic swallow. "Sir John is here, but I believe the duke asked him to sing for his supper."
Elizabeth raised one eyebrow and Nicholas grinned. "Excuse the dreadful pun, Mrs. Waterstone, but the duke asked Sir John to ingratiate himself with some of the more prolific gamblers of the ton. I believe that is where he is now. Why, have you seen him?"
"I believe I saw him on the other side of the theater when I was looking at the crowds."
"Ah, yes, I sent him after young Lord Molyneux."
The duke's calm voice intruded on their conversation and Nicholas hastily relinquished his seat. After a swift glance at Elizabeth, the duke picked up her fan and plied it with great dexterity in front of her flushed face.
"Molyneux is only twenty, but he seems to have decided to drag himself and his esteemed family into debt and disgrace before he even reaches his majority. His father is a minister in the war department and I fear he might be a valuable contact for the French."
Despite the duke's languid tone, Elizabeth's heart thudded so painfully against the confines of her corset that she was surprised the duke couldn't hear it.
"Where exactly did you see Sir John, Mrs. Waterstone?"
She pointed to the box where her mother sat and waited, her hands clasped together in her lap, while the duke directed his opera glasses onto the occupants.
"It seems as if you were correct, my dear. I can see Lord Molyneux making sheep's eyes at an insipid blonde and Sir John conversing with your step-father at the back of the box."
"The blonde is my half-sister, Mary Forester, Your Grace. Most people think her a diamond of the first water," Elizabeth snapped.
The duke studied her. "I stand corrected. You, of course, would know far more about female beauty than I ever could."
Nicholas stifled a laugh and the duke turned to him. "Nicholas, I spoke to your sister, Hortense, earlier and she wants to know why you didn't honor her with a visit after the first act."
Nicholas went as red as his hair and his face assumed a sulky expression. "What does she want with me? Did you not tell her I was well and happy?"
The duke stared at Nicholas for a long time as the warning bell sounded for the start of the second act. When Nicholas dropped his gaze to his scuffed shoes, the duke spoke again, a compulsive edge to his voice.
"I did indeed tell her that you were well." He paused as Nicholas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Perhaps she would prefer to hear the words from the ungrateful wretch she helped raise?"
The duke turned his back on a clearly crushed Nicholas and returned to his perusal of Elizabeth. "Is everything all right?" he murmured as the music swelled and rose from the orchestra pit. "Have I set your mind at rest?"
Elizabeth stared at the stage where the female chorus stood, arranged in graceful circles, ready to perform. "Why should you think I was troubled, Your Grace?"
The duke leaned forward and settled his mouth over the pulse that throbbed at the base of her throat. "Because I'm beginning to learn how your mind works, my dear. The magnificent lady whom I visited at the interval is Nicholas's oldest sister, Hortense. Did you see the likeness?"
Elizabeth attempted a shrug and then froze as the duke bit down on her raised shoulder, sending a thrill of heat straight to her stomach. "I was not aware of your movements, Your Grace. I was too busy enjoying the scenery."
"Liar..." the duke breathed against her ear and then gently nipped it. "And I did not send Sir John after your stepfather. You may rest easy on that score as well." His fingers slid down the curve of her throat and shaped her breast. "It was just a coincidence that he happened to visit your step-father's box."
Elizabeth said nothing as the duke sat back and fixed his attention on the stage. She stared blindly at the colorful blur of figures as a hint of unease stayed with her. It was unlike the duke to bother to explain anything. Was he beginning to care about her feelings, or was he trying to allay her suspicions?
By the time the opera finished and Nicholas was dispatched for a scolding by his sister, Elizabeth still hadn't made up her mind. She almost jumped when the duke touched her elbow and held out her cloak in silent invitation. They didn't speak as they made their way down to the carriage. It was not until they were well under way that Elizabeth realized that Nicholas was not with them.
"Where is Nicholas, did we forget him?"
Gervase smiled and reached forward to kiss her gloved hand. "He has gone to have a late supper with his sister and Angelique. I don't expect him back until they have soundly abused him and made him feel like an ignorant clod, which is only what he deserves."
He contemplated Elizabeth's averted profile. It worried him when she went quiet as it usually meant she was thinking too hard. He suspected that his glib explanations of the comings and goings in the theater had failed to address her concerns. How much more would she worry if she knew Mr. Forester was indeed the object of Sir John's attentions?
Enough to damage the whole of his delicate operation, he feared, and hid a sigh. "I don't want you attempting to crack the code this evening, Elizabeth. I want you to go straight to bed."
"Alone, or with you, Your Grace?"
Gervase held his breath as his body came alive at her shy invitation. Having sampled her delights on the previous night, his lustful nature craved more. He pictured her naked in his arms, offering herself to him. He could almost feel the slick heat of her against his hardened flesh as he slowly slid inside her, inch by pleasurable inch. His fingers tightened on his cane.