unrelated female was bound to come out, then where would she be? On the streets for real. Besides, the clerks and farmers she was like to wed were too far beneath her. Wealthy merchants only wanted titled daughters of the aristocracy for their sons, so their grandchildren could be accepted where they themselves never were.
No, Miss Partland would do better with that school of her own, he thought, not acknowledging how relieved he was to eliminate a husband from Kitty’s future. She was wonderful with Nanny’s grandchildren, and had even begun teaching Lizzie to read. Nanny adored her, and he himself found her intelligent and capable and steady. Kitty was a good sport, too, taking the catcalls and the ogling better than he was, ignoring them in favor of the glittering surroundings. Courtney was praying for the blasted opera to begin. A strong-lunged, love-stricken soprano never held more appeal.
At the first intermission, Courtney escorted Kitty out of their box and down the corridor to get some air and a lemonade. Scores of young gentlemen lined the hall and the stairs, waiting for just such an opportunity to meet Chase’s new dasher. Rather than stop to talk to the rattlepates, Courtney held Kitty close by his side and whispered to her—about the opera, but the loiterers were not to know that. As the viscount planned, they thought he was whispering sweet words of love. He intercepted smirks, winks, and a few fingers laid alongside noses.
A handful of acquaintances were too determined to be introduced for Chase to ignore. When one of these old school chums or former fellow officers planted himself in their path, Courtney had no option but to present his companion, Miss Kitty Parke. He held her hand in his, though, so none of the bounders could play the gallant by slobbering over it. Then he quickly hurried her away, claiming a burning thirst, before the lascivious lowlifes could shower Kitty with Spanish coin or personal questions. That heavy-handed flattery could only be embarrassing for a girl not used to it, and any inquiry more pointed than her opinion of the opera was an invasion of her privacy, too dangerous to their masquerade, and a scoundrel’s strategy.
Courtney knew how these basket-scramblers operated:
they showed interest in the latest comet, disdaining the female on their arm. They feigned fascination with the new dazzler’s person, swearing entrancement by her beauty, when all they wanted was to pry her away from her current protector. The man with the most desirable mistress, the man whose mistress was desired by the most men, rather, was considered a hero in this benighted society. To them it was all a game. Well, Kitty was no pawn. She was under contract to him, by Jupiter. And when Courtney was done playacting his rake’s role, she was not going to be handed around from man to man like a horse on the block at Tattersall’s. He wasn’t sacrificing her virtue to protect his own.
On the other hand, a chap didn’t call out a close friend for staring at his mistress’s bosom. Hell and damnation! Courtney gulped down his lemonade, then rushed Kitty back to their seats in his blessedly empty box.
* * * *
At the next intermission, Courtney was determined to stay in the box, even should Kitty profess a parched throat. Then Algie came to visit. How could the viscount tell his oldest friend to go to the devil?
Lord Algernon Lowe wouldn’t have listened anyway, he was too busy pumping Kathlyn’s hand up and down, slapping Courtney on the back, and grinning. “I knew you wouldn’t let the home team down, old man. Wagered Woodbury a pony on it, I did. But you sly dog, you, keeping such a treasure under wraps. Can’t blame you, of course. The foxes are already slavering at the henhouse, heh heh.”
Before Algie could embarrass them all any further, Courtney asked, “Is Woodbury with you?” Algie and Vernon Woodbury, Bart., were nearly inseparable members of the Corinthian set.
Algie took his
No, Miss Partland would do better with that school of her own, he thought, not acknowledging how relieved he was to eliminate a husband from Kitty’s future. She was wonderful with Nanny’s grandchildren, and had even begun teaching Lizzie to read. Nanny adored her, and he himself found her intelligent and capable and steady. Kitty was a good sport, too, taking the catcalls and the ogling better than he was, ignoring them in favor of the glittering surroundings. Courtney was praying for the blasted opera to begin. A strong-lunged, love-stricken soprano never held more appeal.
At the first intermission, Courtney escorted Kitty out of their box and down the corridor to get some air and a lemonade. Scores of young gentlemen lined the hall and the stairs, waiting for just such an opportunity to meet Chase’s new dasher. Rather than stop to talk to the rattlepates, Courtney held Kitty close by his side and whispered to her—about the opera, but the loiterers were not to know that. As the viscount planned, they thought he was whispering sweet words of love. He intercepted smirks, winks, and a few fingers laid alongside noses.
A handful of acquaintances were too determined to be introduced for Chase to ignore. When one of these old school chums or former fellow officers planted himself in their path, Courtney had no option but to present his companion, Miss Kitty Parke. He held her hand in his, though, so none of the bounders could play the gallant by slobbering over it. Then he quickly hurried her away, claiming a burning thirst, before the lascivious lowlifes could shower Kitty with Spanish coin or personal questions. That heavy-handed flattery could only be embarrassing for a girl not used to it, and any inquiry more pointed than her opinion of the opera was an invasion of her privacy, too dangerous to their masquerade, and a scoundrel’s strategy.
Courtney knew how these basket-scramblers operated:
they showed interest in the latest comet, disdaining the female on their arm. They feigned fascination with the new dazzler’s person, swearing entrancement by her beauty, when all they wanted was to pry her away from her current protector. The man with the most desirable mistress, the man whose mistress was desired by the most men, rather, was considered a hero in this benighted society. To them it was all a game. Well, Kitty was no pawn. She was under contract to him, by Jupiter. And when Courtney was done playacting his rake’s role, she was not going to be handed around from man to man like a horse on the block at Tattersall’s. He wasn’t sacrificing her virtue to protect his own.
On the other hand, a chap didn’t call out a close friend for staring at his mistress’s bosom. Hell and damnation! Courtney gulped down his lemonade, then rushed Kitty back to their seats in his blessedly empty box.
* * * *
At the next intermission, Courtney was determined to stay in the box, even should Kitty profess a parched throat. Then Algie came to visit. How could the viscount tell his oldest friend to go to the devil?
Lord Algernon Lowe wouldn’t have listened anyway, he was too busy pumping Kathlyn’s hand up and down, slapping Courtney on the back, and grinning. “I knew you wouldn’t let the home team down, old man. Wagered Woodbury a pony on it, I did. But you sly dog, you, keeping such a treasure under wraps. Can’t blame you, of course. The foxes are already slavering at the henhouse, heh heh.”
Before Algie could embarrass them all any further, Courtney asked, “Is Woodbury with you?” Algie and Vernon Woodbury, Bart., were nearly inseparable members of the Corinthian set.
Algie took his
Similar Books
