Page 25 of Becoming Lady Dalton
His heart leapt into an erratic beat.
Not considering the way she’d kissed him yesterday. His entire body tensed as awareness of Viola pulled his skin as tight as a violin string.
“Do you want a chair?”
Piers startled out of his reverie. “I’m sorry?”
“I asked if you wanted my seat. I’m taking a break from my daughters’ company. They can be overwhelming, even for me.” A stout man with a drawl so thick that Piers needed a moment to translate his words into plain English pressed against his side. The boxes were small, and the ladies’ gowns took up most of the space.
“Not a fan of the theater, are you, Mr. Kilpatrick?” Piers asked. The man’s grey hair still retained a hint of his offsprings’ red. There was no denying that he was speaking with Mr. Kilpatrick, the obscenely wealthy American merchant and father of the three women. Piers could hardly call them ladies, no matter how fine their gowns.
“Only when it involves women wearing substantially less clothing than Mrs. Siddons there.” Kilpatrick winked.
Though Piers had attended enough performances to know exactly what Mr. Kilpatrick referred to, the idea that a man would speak so coarsely within hearing of his own daughters curdled his stomach. The Americans were awful. All of them.
“I shan’t keep you, then.” He bowed and moved to let the man pass. He was about to follow Kilpatrick out when scorching awareness crept up his spine.
Across the theater, Viola had raised her glasses and pinned them on him. Piers swallowed. Tonight, she’d chosen a violet brocade gown with gold braid trim at the waist and sleeves. Her hair was pinned artfully above her neck in a cascade of curls. The effect was utterly charming.
“Ten dollars says you can’t get an introduction to Havencrest,” said the separate sister as the noise of clapping faded.
“Fifteen says I can.”
“Twenty says I marry him and become a duchess,” said the third Kilpatrick sister, prompting a peal of laughter from her sisters.
Piers could stand no more. He ducked out. In the passageway, he discovered a lady searching the floor as if looking for something. “Is everything all right?” he inquired. At this rate, he’d never make it to the box occupied by the baroness and Viola.
“I’ve lost a bracelet, enameled gold with rubies. I’m retracing my steps to see if the clasp broke.”
“I wish you luck,” Piers offered, making a halfhearted scan of the carpeting. There was, quite obviously, no jewelry in the vicinity. “If I should find anything, I’ll be certain to return it to the front desk.”
“Thank you, sir.” The lady moved on, her blond head bowed in search of her missing ornament.
“Lord Dalton?”
He whirled. “Viola.”
“Mrs. Cartwright,” she reminded him gently as she moved closer. Piers’ heart beat erratically as he grazed her waist with his forearm, not quite pulling her close against him but wanting to. Viola smelled faintly of lilacs and honey. Her curls gleamed in the low light.
“I found I could no longer bear the company this evening,” she said, leaning closer to him and sauntering down the hall.
“You mean, your admiral’s conversation leaves something to be desired?” he clarified, tucking her arm into his elbow.
“Gran appears to find him delightful. I’ve suggested she marry him, if she’s so keen on Admiral Saxon.”
“I wholeheartedly support the baroness finding happiness with the admiral, if it leaves you to me, Viola.”
This time, the widow frowned briefly at his use of her given name. Too bad. She couldn’t go back to pretending there was nothing between them—not after kissing him like that.
“She wouldn’t, of course. What’s entertaining in small doses quickly grows cloying on closer acquaintance.” Viola cast him a sly glance. “Your companion this evening appears to have found a fast set of new friends. Are the Kilpatrick sisters as bad as the rumors make them out to be?”
“Worse. Mercenary, uncouth and ill-mannered.” Piers shuddered.
Around the turn, they came upon the blond woman who was still looking for her bracelet.
“Any luck?” Piers inquired.
“Not yet. I hate to think it might be stolen,” she said. “London is overrun with cutpurses and criminals nowadays. Something ought to be done about it, don’t you think? A lady ought to be able to attend an evening at the theater without light fingers plucking her finery.”
