Page 23 of The Lady Plays with Fire

Fortunately, Graham knew the rest of that pithy couplet, the admonition to drink deep from the wellspring of knowledge. Better to learn as much as one could.

At long last, intermission put an end to the pretense that any of them, except possibly Julia, was there to watch a play. Perhaps he could get more information straight from the source.

“Tell me,” he said, speaking over the fading applause and the rising conversation as all but Mrs. Hayes stood. “What is your impression of the performance, Miss A—?”

Before he could complete the sentence, both Miss Anna Clearwater and Miss Agatha Clearwater—he had not paid enough attention to know which was which—whirled to face him, their expressions eager. Julia turned too, albeit more slowly.

“My daughters know so little of the theater,” said Lady Clearwater, with a warning glance to silence them before they could venture an opinion. “I’m sure they would benefit more from hearing your thoughts on the play, Lord Dunstane.”

So, Lady Clearwater meant to give him an opportunity to pontificate. Hardly surprising. In the world of fashionable society, a young lady was expected to shape her sentiments to match the gentleman’s, no matter what.

Julia dropped her gaze to the floor, as if trying to hide her face, though not before he thought he glimpsed a smile. Was she recalling her own jibe about his discriminating tastes?

“I assure you, ma’am,” he replied to Lady Clearwater, thinking about the shocking things he could reveal to innocent young ladies about the theatrical world, “they would not.”

Lady Clearwater was undeterred, however. “You are right, of course. This is no place for serious conversation. I wonder, my lord, whether you might join us one evening—say, the day after tomorrow—for a small entertainment at home among friends: supper, cards—”

“And dancing, Mama?” added one of the Misses Clearwater, sounding hopeful.

Lady Clearwater smiled warmly at her daughter before turning the expression on him. “Whatever would most amuse our guests.”

He knew just the sort of small entertainment to which Lady Clearwater referred, neither small enough for a man of his solitary disposition, nor entertaining to a man of his understanding.

When he did not immediately answer, she coaxed him with a playful tap of her folded fan against his shoulder. “Surely, my lord, you have not returned to London after all these years merely to attend a few plays?”

Perhaps not. But neither had he come to Town to put himself at the service of a matchmaking mama.

If and when he became convinced of the necessity of a wife—or, more accurately, the necessity of an heir—he would look elsewhere than among the English beau monde.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a movement, the slightest shrug of Julia’s shoulders. As if she might now be suppressing not just a smile, but a laugh. As if she found his predicament amusing.

“Mrs. Hayes will be among the company, I hope?” he asked archly. If the answer was no, Lady Clearwater was being unpardonably rude to her friend. “And Miss Addison—her niece?”

Lady Clearwater’s smile faltered, but she caught it before it fell away from her lips entirely. He could not blame her for wanting to avoid the possibility of Julia competing for suitors with her daughters. Absent exceptional dowries, the Misses Clearwater would surely lose.

But if Julia was determined to stay in London, then she ought not to be excluded from every proper entertainment but the theater. After all, despite her present position, she was a gentleman’s daughter and a nobleman’s sister. Not just a lady’s companion, but a lady.

“O-of course,” Lady Clearwater insisted, though it was abundantly clear she had intended no such thing.

At last, he had succeeded in gaining Julia’s full attention. Her head snapped up, and she fixed him with a look—not quite of anger, he thought, but astonishment. As it had that afternoon, a blush darkened her cheeks, deepening the blue of her eyes.

Would her skin be soft as a rose petal? Warm to the touch?

His touch?

Would she blush so readily, so prettily at the offer of a kiss?

His kiss?

Oh, but the knowledge he wanted was dangerous, indeed.

Julia’s mouth popped open, the sure prelude to a protest.

“In that case,” he said, forestalling her, “I would be delighted.” Then he bowed, signaling his intention to depart. “Enjoy the rest of the play.”

“You’re leaving?” exclaimed one of the Misses Clearwater, making very little effort to hide her disappointment.

“You won’t stay to see how it ends?” pleaded the other.