Angelford turned and glared at Stephen.
The curtain rose and they took their seats. Unfortunately, Calliope was positioned so her leg was brushing Angelford’s. She could feel the heat emanating from his leg and tried to surreptitiously move closer to Stephen. Angelford bent away from her, helping Stella arrange her dress, but as he sat back, his legs were even closer. There was nowhere for Calliope to move, so she tried to ignore the flurries in the pit of her stomach.
She folded her clammy hands in her lap. Angelford crossed his ankles and brushed her leg. A flash surged through her and perspiration gathered on her brow.
Calliope again considered how to move out of leg-brushing range without drawing attention. She turned her head slightly and received the full impact of his gaze.
He was smirking.
Anger coursed through her. He had been toying with her the entire time. How typical of a rake to poach on a friend’s territory.
She gave him a dark look then fixed her eyes on the stage. Her thoughts were in tumult during the entire first act of the opera.
James’s blood pulsed. It was Miss Stafford. He had known her from the first moment he spied her in the lobby, although he had to credit her for the disguise. It was very good.
Her appearance and hair color were completely changed, but the stormy eyes were the same. She was doing a credible job disguising her voice, although the melodic tones still shot tingles up his spine. Her elusive scent and outraged expression had been the final nails in the coffin of her disguise.
She was an enigma. What game was she playing? What caused her to go from a dowdy lady’s companion to a gorgeous courtesan? And what the bloody hell was she doing with Stephen?
The latter was the question foremost on his mind.
Stephen had just returned from a sensitive government assignment and it was uncharacteristic for him to have a mistress. Why had he selected this woman? How had they really met?
James brushed a resigned hand over his left sleeve and straightened his perfectly tailored jacket. He was going to have to investigate, make some inquiries in the ton.
That meant attending more functions, which he’d never enjoyed. They were trite and endless, even if necessary. Not many people would describe the beau monde as a soothing group, but James had quickly figured how to use them to his advantage. The ton was very much like a continual business negotiation, and James was an excellent businessman. Having to rebuild a fortune made or broke a man in the business world.
A thought nagged at him. He had been attending numerous functions, but had selected only the affairs he knew Lady Simpson would accept, and thus Miss Stafford. The realization made him irritable, so he pushed it aside.
What was she doing here? James had sensed her presence before spotting her in the lobby. When he turned he had expected to see spectacles, cane and dowdy garb. Instead he had seen a barely clad, sparkling beauty, reveling in the attention she attracted.
The sense of connection had grown stronger as she neared, and when she had met his eyes, her identity had been confirmed.
Perhaps she was a spy. At least it would explain his odd reactions to her. It was a cheering notion.
The first act of the opera ended and the assemblage rose. Gentlemen and their escorts began their promenade through the lobby, making connections and showing off their finery. It was business, after all.
Stella spoke to Esmerelda as they excused themselves and exited the box. Stephen turned toward James and leaned back in his chair, casually crossing his ankles to mimic James’s posture.
"The ladies will be fine. Now, do you want to tell me what’s going on?"
James shrugged nonchalantly. "Just enjoying the evening at the opera. "
Stephen continued to stare at him. "Mmmm, yes, that would explain why I felt I was being warned off my own companion."
James kept his face unchanged, but he mentally chastised himself for the slip. Stephen was too observant.
"Don’t know what you mean."
Stephen’s eyes narrowed and James diverted the conversation. "Isn’t it too soon after your return from the continent to make such an acquisition? Are you sure she’s legitimate?"
Stephen’s face abruptly softened and his eyes twinkled. "Oh, I have nothing to fear from that quarter."
His expression disgruntled James and made him uncharacteristically press the subject.
"Something strange is going on. There is something odd about the situation and how you two met."
"This is a first." Stephen grinned. "The Marquess of Angelford, jealous."
James frowned. "I’m not jealous. I’m concerned about you."
"As you will."
James’s frown deepened and his voice rang with emphasis. "Believe me, women are not worth the trouble. Getting foolish over them makes a man weak."
Stephen continued to smile at James, but his voice was directed past him. "My dear, did you find anything interesting?"
James turned to the box entrance and saw the chestnut-haired beauty shooting daggers at him. He hadn’t heard her approach and wondered what the hell was wrong with him.
He was off his game.
She had obviously overheard his last remark, and he wondered why he felt a twinge of regret. He had meant every word. What was it about her that made his conscience rear its ugly head?
She turned to Stephen. "I had hoped we could leave. I’ve had enough of Rossini’s opera for the evening, and I think we can find better ways to occupy ourselves." She threw him a saucy look and moved her body invitingly.
James’s own body flared, as did his temper, but Stephen was staring at him so he schooled his face into lines of boredom.
Stephen was clearly enjoying James’s discomfort.
He rose and took her hand. "Yes, darling, a wonderful idea. Good night, James, and say farewell to Stella for us when she returns."
Stephen drawled the darling and each new syllable grated more than the last. They exited the box and left James inside, perturbed.
He willed his body back to normal. His reactions were always unpredictable around her. The only predictable aspect was there would be a reaction.
There was something strange about that girl. He had never been able to resist a puzzle, and he had never encountered one he couldn’t solve.
He would expose her secret.
Chapter 3
"I didn’t realize you and James were acquainted," Stephen said when they were safely ensconced in the carriage.
"We aren’t," Calliope responded. The words came out more tightly than she had planned.
He gave her an assessing look. "I thought our plan was to remain for the second act."
"After the exciting intermission I thought the second act might seem interminable. All of those ideas racing around in my head with no outlet."
Stephen leaned forward. "What are some of your ideas?"
Calliope launched into a description of the various sketches she had planned, successfully distracting his attention from the subject of Angelford. She still hadn’t figured out how she was going to tell Stephen that she had slaughtered his best friend in the papers.
Stephen laughed at her opera descriptions and offered suggestions of his own. They tried to one up the other’s ideas all the way back to the Adelphi Theatre.
The ride was merry until Stephen said, "Like you, James has a keen eye for observation. Someday I think I’d like to hear the two of you plotting sketches together."
A pounding noise caused the carriage to shudder as lightning split the sky. Calliope tried to laugh at Stephen’s comment, but failed. A nervous sound rolled from her throat. Luckily the carriage stopped and she was saved from the conversation.
Stephen threw an old greatcoat over her shoulders and hurried her to the theater’s back entrance just as the rain began. "I will come by tomorrow afternoon so we can plan our strategy. Good night, Calliope. It was quite an interesting evening."