Page 32 of A Bride for the Rakish Duke

“My goodness, that gown! Where do you think she had it made? Shall I ask?”

“Such exquisite beading. I have not seen its like since I was young.”

Lydia fought the urge to smile as she continued toward the main doors of the Opera House, where a crowd was mingling before they were called to their seats.

But as Lydia stepped through, it was as if the curtains had been drawn back and the performance had already begun. Gasps and hushed muttering rippled around the foyer, many of the clustered groups falling silent mid-sentence, their shock contorting their faces.

There was still noise babbling away, but to Lydia, it felt as if everyone had gone completely quiet. And their stares were louder than their whispers.

Furtively, she searched the crowd for any sign of Will. She had arrived rather late in the hope that she would not bump into him until he was already in his private box.

Breathing a sigh of relief when she did not find him anywhere, she approached the box office. “Excuse me.”

The man standing there made no attempt to hide his dumbfounded stare. He blinked and shook his head, snapping out of it. “Uh… yes,Mademoiselle, how may I help you?”

“I have no ticket, but I think my husband is here this evening,” she said in the soft, sultry voice she had been practicing. “I was wondering if you might be able to do something to secure me a seat.”

His throat bobbed. “Who is your husband,Madame?”

“The Duke of Stonebridge.”

His eyes bulged in a panic. “Apologies, Your Grace. I did not know. Please, forgive my ignorance for referring to you improperly.”

“There is nothing to forgive.” She flashed a bright smile. “I am new to the title, so even I have trouble remembering.”

His expression relaxed into a smile of his own. “His Grace is already situated in his private box. Number four, up the staircase. No need for a ticket.” He shouted back over his shoulder, “John, might you take my place while I escort Her Grace to her box?”

A younger man came to replace the first, who let himself out of a side door.

“This way,” he said, and Lydia followed, flushing beneath the gaze of so many who were wondering aloud who she was.

Up the staircase and along a curving hallway furnished with a rich red carpet, the enormity of what she was about to do hit her nerves with a mighty blow. Part of her had, perhaps, hoped that her husband would not be in attendance or that she would be denied entry. But as her guide halted and said, “Here we are,” she realized she had passed the point of no return.

After four days of researching seduction, listening to Mary’s endless tales of how to handle a man, heeding Emma’s advice about flirtation and how to win a husband’s affections, then one entire morning of primping and preening, she was about to see her husband again.

The man from the box office knocked and then opened the door, gesturing for her to step inside.

“I already said I did not want anything,” came Will’s voice from beyond.

With a breath, Lydia breezed in, her head held high. “What a pity, for it seems someone has ordered you your wife.”

CHAPTER 13

William stood up sharply, as if he had sat down on a pin. For a second, he did not recognize the glittering, breathtaking goddess standing in front of him.

Her strawberry-blonde hair had been teased into curls and fashioned into a loose bun, allowing more locks than usual to fall free around her face. Her lips were redder than he remembered them, as if she had lightly dabbed them with the juice of a blackberry—subtle but disarming, making it impossible for him to look away from her mouth.

At least, it would have been impossible if it had not been for that gown drawing his gaze lower. It was of the deepest emerald green, almost black in the dim light of the private box, shimmering with what must have been thousands of lighter green beads. The capped sleeves were short, exposing the peaks of her freckle-dusted shoulders, and the neckline was low enough to drive any man to distraction. Trimmed with gold lace, it was as if she had meant to highlight her tempting bosom.

A ribbon of greenish gold cinched in her waist in a fashion that would undoubtedly see her name in the scandal sheets. It was not the done thing—even he knew that. Yet, he could not stop staring, admiring her dramatic silhouette.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, recovering as quickly as he could.

She swayed her hips as she walked closer… and continued right past him to the right-hand chair. “I have come to watch the opera.”

“You are supposed to be at Stonebridge,” he said, moving behind her. He gripped the top edge of her seat and leaned in, aware that the entire auditorium was probably observing them. “I thought you did not tolerate cheating.”

She stared straight ahead. “I am not cheating. I am here to watch the opera, then I plan to leave to spend the evening at my sister’s townhouse.”

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