She’s the one who asked me to come to your aid.” He proceeded to explain, and though Aidan suspected Julia of having a bit of fun at his expense, he couldn’t argue that he rather deserved a bit of teasing about Felicia.
Though he hadn’t received a formal invitation from Marlowe to join them, he was too glad to be away from Vale’s box to quibble about the impropriety of it. Fortunately, Marlowe tended to be casual in such matters and was amused to learn he’d been the means of rescuing Aidan from the clutches of a grasping debutante. The viscount provided him with a seat in their box and invited him to supper at the Savoy afterward. Aidan, who found the Marlowe family quite enjoyable company, chose to accept.
Paul returned to his own seat, and Aidan barely had time to greet Marlowe’s mother, wife, and two sisters before the lights dimmed and the curtain went up. He took the seat offered to him beside Marlowe’s sister Phoebe, giving her a smile as he sat down, then he leaned back in his seat with a heartfelt sigh of relief. He didn’t care much for Wagnerian opera, but the lurid refrain of a Valkyrie was a vast improvement over Felicia’s chirps and squeaks.
He feared tonight was a perfect example of what he had to look forward to in the coming months. Rounds of parties he wasn’t interested in attending, awkward introductions, interfering parents, prying eyes, gossip columns, and tiresome, often downright silly conversations with hundreds of women, all in the hope of finding just one he could envision spending his life with, a woman who was both attractive to him and appropriate to be a duchess. Then, of course, he’d actually need to have the luck—absent of late—to get her to the altar.
Beside him, Phoebe Marlowe shifted in her chair, making him slide a considering sideways glance at her. Phoebe was an attractive woman, certainly, with cherubic cheeks, dark brown hair, and blue eyes. She also had brains and a sense of humor. But when he tried to see himself married to her, he couldn’t quite envision the picture. He liked Phoebe, but he’d first met her at the house party where Beatrix had broken their engagement, and the associations were a bit awkward. That episode had been a difficult and embarrassing one and something he’d rather not have a constant reminder of for the rest of his life. And his liking for Phoebe was a lukewarm one at best, one that had not deepened upon closer acquaintance. Phoebe, he suspected, had similar feelings. And yet, did it matter? He was looking for a suitable duchess, Phoebe was certainly qualified for that role, and yet, the idea of marrying for suitability now left him cold. Why?
Either that, or you’ll bore each other to death . . . you crave the forbidden fruit.
As Julia’s words echoed through his mind, Aidan’s gaze lifted to the Danbury box on the other side of the theater and he reached into the breast pocket of his evening jacket for his opera glasses.
She was smiling, her head tilted to one side as a man Aidan had never seen before whispered something in her ear. Whatever it was, it made her laugh. He wondered if the man was her latest lover, and anger surged through him, anger that only deepened as he realized its cause. He was jealous.
Appalled, he studied her laughing face and wondered what the hell was wrong with him. Like himself, the other man was only one in a long line of her conquests. He knew she wasn’t worth his concern, and her love affairs were none of his business. Yet, even as he reminded himself of these things, jealousy continued to wash over him in a hot, smothering wave.
Aidan lowered the opera glasses and tilted back his head, staring at the gold-and-white ceiling of the Royal Opera House, angry with himself for these savage, primal feelings he could not seem to control. He had always wanted her, ever since that day on the footbridge when he was seventeen, and despite everything, he still wanted her. No matter how much time
Though he hadn’t received a formal invitation from Marlowe to join them, he was too glad to be away from Vale’s box to quibble about the impropriety of it. Fortunately, Marlowe tended to be casual in such matters and was amused to learn he’d been the means of rescuing Aidan from the clutches of a grasping debutante. The viscount provided him with a seat in their box and invited him to supper at the Savoy afterward. Aidan, who found the Marlowe family quite enjoyable company, chose to accept.
Paul returned to his own seat, and Aidan barely had time to greet Marlowe’s mother, wife, and two sisters before the lights dimmed and the curtain went up. He took the seat offered to him beside Marlowe’s sister Phoebe, giving her a smile as he sat down, then he leaned back in his seat with a heartfelt sigh of relief. He didn’t care much for Wagnerian opera, but the lurid refrain of a Valkyrie was a vast improvement over Felicia’s chirps and squeaks.
He feared tonight was a perfect example of what he had to look forward to in the coming months. Rounds of parties he wasn’t interested in attending, awkward introductions, interfering parents, prying eyes, gossip columns, and tiresome, often downright silly conversations with hundreds of women, all in the hope of finding just one he could envision spending his life with, a woman who was both attractive to him and appropriate to be a duchess. Then, of course, he’d actually need to have the luck—absent of late—to get her to the altar.
Beside him, Phoebe Marlowe shifted in her chair, making him slide a considering sideways glance at her. Phoebe was an attractive woman, certainly, with cherubic cheeks, dark brown hair, and blue eyes. She also had brains and a sense of humor. But when he tried to see himself married to her, he couldn’t quite envision the picture. He liked Phoebe, but he’d first met her at the house party where Beatrix had broken their engagement, and the associations were a bit awkward. That episode had been a difficult and embarrassing one and something he’d rather not have a constant reminder of for the rest of his life. And his liking for Phoebe was a lukewarm one at best, one that had not deepened upon closer acquaintance. Phoebe, he suspected, had similar feelings. And yet, did it matter? He was looking for a suitable duchess, Phoebe was certainly qualified for that role, and yet, the idea of marrying for suitability now left him cold. Why?
Either that, or you’ll bore each other to death . . . you crave the forbidden fruit.
As Julia’s words echoed through his mind, Aidan’s gaze lifted to the Danbury box on the other side of the theater and he reached into the breast pocket of his evening jacket for his opera glasses.
She was smiling, her head tilted to one side as a man Aidan had never seen before whispered something in her ear. Whatever it was, it made her laugh. He wondered if the man was her latest lover, and anger surged through him, anger that only deepened as he realized its cause. He was jealous.
Appalled, he studied her laughing face and wondered what the hell was wrong with him. Like himself, the other man was only one in a long line of her conquests. He knew she wasn’t worth his concern, and her love affairs were none of his business. Yet, even as he reminded himself of these things, jealousy continued to wash over him in a hot, smothering wave.
Aidan lowered the opera glasses and tilted back his head, staring at the gold-and-white ceiling of the Royal Opera House, angry with himself for these savage, primal feelings he could not seem to control. He had always wanted her, ever since that day on the footbridge when he was seventeen, and despite everything, he still wanted her. No matter how much time
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