MISTRESS TO THE MARQUIS by Margaret McPhee Page B

and Mrs Siddons’s. Maybe I just want to see how her performance has developed.’ And part of that was true. But only part.
    Linwood did not look convinced. ‘Your presence will not go without comment.’
    ‘Because Alice was once my mistress? Am I never to set foot in the Theatre Royal again?’
    ‘No one is saying that.’ Linwood met his gaze. ‘But what happened to the clean severance?’
    ‘The severance was clean. Alice understands the situation as well as I do. There is nothing between us save for civility.’ But he was lying. There was something very much more than civility between them. Something that was driving this compulsion he felt to see her.
    ‘It is not as if I have lost sight of what I am doing. I will be at Almack’s tomorrow.’ There was no harm in just seeing her. He drank the brandy down and glanced away towards the window. It changed nothing, save made him feel better. ‘I will have myself a wife before the Season is done, Linwood. I have to. There can be no two ways about it.’
    ‘I understand that it is “over” between you and Alice, but have you considered that when it comes to finding a wife there is always next Season?’ asked Linwood.
    Razeby smiled and met Linwood’s eyes. ‘No, my friend, there is not,’ he said quietly. It was as close to telling him the truth as he could come.
    Linwood’s eyes searched his as if seeking to glean the answer that was there. But Razeby held his gaze, steadfastly refusing to give away anything more, until at last Linwood, with a tiny incline of his head, acknowledged defeat and dropped the challenge.
    Linwood topped up their brandy glasses. ‘Well, in that case, Razeby, you had better spend this evening in the company of an old friend at the theatre.’
    * * *
    Alice stepped out on to the stage that night. It was another full house. The part came naturally to her. She closed off her mind to all of real life and just let herself be this other woman. She acted. And it was almost as exhilarating as teasing Razeby across a room, but nowhere near as dangerous.
    His box was empty, just as it was empty every night. But her eye caught a glimpse of figures in Venetia’s box. Alice slipped her gaze to her friend and saw not only Venetia and Linwood. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of Razeby sitting there with them. She turned her eyes away, careful not to allow herself to be distracted.
    It meant nothing, she told herself, but her heart quickened all the same. He had just come for an evening at the theatre. But following on from Dryden’s and White’s and the benefit ball, she knew that was not the case, that really his presence here did mean something. Alice just did not want to think precisely what.
    * * *
    He would not be in the Green Room. He would not dare. She knew it, yet the first thing she did when she walked in there was to look for him.
    But Razeby dared.
    ‘Miss Sweetly.’ He bowed.
    ‘Lord Razeby.’ She curtsied. Her heart leapt at the sight at the sight of him, her nerves shimmered in delight. She could not stop herself from smiling.
    All attention in the room was upon them for all it feigned otherwise. Every conversation was conducted with half an ear on theirs.
    She could not avoid him. Could do nothing other than treat him as if he were any other man.
    ‘I trust you enjoyed the play, my lord.’
    ‘More than I could have imagined,’ he replied.
    ‘Then perhaps your imagination is a little lacking.’
    ‘On the contrary, Miss Sweetly, my imagination is most excellent. I have often been complimented upon it.’ She saw the message in his eyes.
    She was the one who had complimented him on it...when they were making love.
    Something exciting and bold and deliciously dangerous whispered between them.
    ‘Your acting talent has blossomed and taken on a new and vibrant dimension.’ He smiled.
    ‘Mmm,’ she said, sharing the smile. ‘I think I’ve heard that somewhere else. And there’s you laying claim to a most