Page 12 of A Marriage Most Convenient

None of them knew his secret identity or the fact that he had stolen from a great many of them. He couldn’t deny that it still thrilled him that he could enter this establishment as Edmond Mabson, heir to Viscount Saddler, then become the rakish Jack of Hearts and free them of their baubles without them having any idea who he was underneath that simple, black mask.

That was the way with Society. It was not an advantage he’d considered when he’d started this charade, but it quickly became evident. They simply did not want him to be caught; that would ruin their fun. Certainly there were some who were outraged by his behavior, his sister for one, but most perceived him and his petty thieving as little more than a parlor trick. Though his theft had served a greater purpose. One that had refilled his family’s fortune—a fortune that rightfully belonged to them—long ago lost on one of his mother’s more dangerous whims. The rest of the jewels he’d taken, the ones who belonged to other people, he still had those. Stashed away in his home waiting to be returned, but he still had not quite figured out how to do that.

As if Charlotte could sense someone watching her, she turned around to search the crowd, but Edmond slipped into the shadows while everyone continued to their seats. When he stepped back out, she had disappeared.

The lights in the opera house dimmed and Charlotte sat back, rolling the edge of her program into a small tube between her fingers. It was lovely to sit in the boxed seats; they were far more comfortable and plush than the unforgiving wood of the general seating below. And it gave her a better advantage to scan the room in hopes of identifying Jack.

She and Willow had each agreed to do so once seated in their respective boxes. Willow had sternly lectured her on the importance of not being too reckless in her quest to unmask Jack. As many times as that infernal kiss had replayed in her mind over the last two weeks, she had almost convinced herself that she would be able to recognize him. That the mere sound of his voice, or the curl of his lips, something would register and she’d realize his true identity. So far that had not happened. She’d been staring at men’s mouths so much in the last couple of days though that she had realized there were an astonishing number of gentlemen in London with bad teeth.

She held up her opera glasses and surveyed the boxes opposite her. Surely someone who stole so many jewels could afford a box at the opera. Thankfully, some light remained, so she was able to make out most of the people. In one box she found Lord Sandifer, a handsome man, but far too old to be Jack. His two sons were seated next to him, but one was too fat and the other too short. Come to think of it, neither of those boys looked like their father. Perhaps Lady Sandifer shared her favors with other men in town. Charlotte knew such things happened between married couples, but it had always bothered her. Her parents had never strayed from one another, despite their vast age differences and their struggles, and she respected them both for it.

Onward to the next box. Mr. Padgett, not an aristocrat, but he moved in their circles due to his extreme wealth. He certainly had the right build, athletic like Jack, but something in the way he moved didn’t seem right. His mannerisms didn’t seem to align with what she’d noticed of Jack. Still, she made a mental note to keep him on her list.

Continuing on, she passed one of the most powerful matriarchs in society and her four daughters, but no men in sight. Then onto Lord Jasper and Viscount Terrydale who sat together. Closely together. Interesting.

Her sister poked her in the ribs.

“What?” she whispered.

“Pay attention,” Frannie whispered, then motioned to the stage. “You’re looking in the wrong direction and people are going to notice.”

Charlotte noted that Lord Blaine sat attentively watching the performance.

She looked back at the stage, but simply could not concentrate on the opera. She’d not yet seen Don Giovanni, the famed opera by Mozart, and had always found the tale of the great lover, Don Juan, of interest, but tonight her mind wandered too much. And, in truth, she’d rather read a book about the elusive seducer than listen to the words sung in Italian. Perhaps she should excuse herself for a moment to clear her head.

“I have a bit of a headache, and it’s distracting me,” Charlotte whispered. “I’m just going to step out for some air. I’ll return shortly.”

Frannie frowned, but nodded as she turned her attention back to the performance.

Charlotte stood and quietly inched her way through the curtains at the back of the seating box. The lighting was still rather dim as she made her way along the empty corridor beyond. Using the program, she fanned herself. It was unseasonably warm outside and that wasn’t helping the heated temperature in here.

“Miss Reed, I do believe you might be following me,” a voice said from behind her.

Her stomach plummeted to her feet. She stilled. She knew that voice. She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly before turning to face him. He stood much closer than she anticipated. She swallowed and hoped her voice would not betray her nerves. “Perhaps it is you who follows me, sir.” Her heart beat a rapid tattoo.

Jack smiled a crooked smile, one full of arrogance and mischief. “Perhaps so.”

“I can assure you I have no jewels worth stealing,” she said, pointing to her empty throat. “This,” she pointed to the large jeweled pin at her bosom, “is nothing more than paste and cut glass.”

He chuckled, but she detected no real humor in his laugh. “I am not after your jewels.” He said nothing more, but continued to eye her as if there was more to be said. As if he were, in fact, after something when it came to her.

In vain, she tried to think of something clever to say, but words failed her. She wished she could see his eyes more closely. Detect the precise shade. As it was, she couldn’t even determine if they were light or dark. Same with his hair. As with any fashionable gentleman, there was so much pomade slicking it back, it could have been any color. And the dimness of their current hiding place wasn’t helping matters.

A shiver raced down the back of her legs.

“How is Lord Blaine this evening?” he inquired.

She frowned. “How did you—”

Again his lips quirked in a grin. “I saw you earlier. He has a lovely box.”

“Yes, the seats are quite nice.”

“Precisely the kind you deserve I suppose,” he said and she thought she detected a hint of derision in his tone.

“I would love to take the credit, but I’m afraid, I am only accompanying my sister this evening. It is she who has caught Lord Blaire’s eye,” Charlotte said.

He tsked his tongue. “While your sister is quite pretty, I have always preferred raven-colored hair to the fashionable blondes.” He reached out and wrapped his finger around one of the strands brushing her shoulders.

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