Taming the Rake by Monica Mccarty Page A

their arrangement weeks ago. He’d intended to do so earlier this evening, but he’d forgotten his promise to take her to the theater. However, when they returned to her house on Curzon Street after the play, he would make his intentions known. He sighed, thinking of the long, tedious night ahead of him. He’d hoped to avoid any prolonged bouts of hysterics, but given the fiery Gallic passions of Simone, he thought it unlikely.
    “The Duke of St. Albans’s daughter.”
    “That is not what I meant. Who is she to you?”
    “She is of no consequence.”
    Simone made a short sound of disbelief. “I can see that,” she said.
    He gave her a sharp, censorious look. Simone forgot herself. She had no claim on him. It was not her place to pass judgment on his interests—imagined or not.
    Perhaps realizing she’d overstepped her bounds, Simone appeared at once contrite. “Forgive me, darling.” She batted her heavily kohled eyelashes. “It was foolish of me. Of course, you would not be interested in such a lady. She is hardly your type, non ?” She pressed her gigantic bosom against his arm, expertly shifting the bodice of her gown to reveal the pale pink tips of her breasts.
    But rather than inspire lust, the obvious ploy only filled him with distaste.
     
     
    As the first act wore on, Gina did her best to ignore the couple in the box opposite. Only once, right before the curtain fell, did their eyes meet. Jolted by the intensity of the connection, her carefully controlled expression dropped, revealing some of the uncertainty she felt. And just for a second, Gina thought she saw his expression shift. Something resembling discomfort flickered in his eyes before he once again ignored her and turned back to the stage.
    The moment was lost.
    “Is something wrong?” the duchess asked.
    Gina forced her gaze away from the couple in the box. “No, of course not,” she answered coolly.
    The duchess studied her knowingly, letting Gina see that she knew exactly what had caught her attention. “You look flushed.”
    “It’s a trifle warm in here, that’s all,” Gina explained, waving her fan emphatically.
    “Hmm.” The duchess’s gaze flickered over to Coventry’s box. “If you are sure that is all, I will have your father fetch us some refreshment at intermission.”
    Gina looked past the duchess to her father, who was also watching her with a strange expression on his face. He hadn’t missed the exchange and looked alternatively shocked and upset. The duchess leaned over to whisper something in his ear and he stood up to leave, almost too quickly.
    Thankfully, the duchess chose not to question her any further and the opportunity for conversation was lost when a steady stream of callers began to make their way to the duke’s box. Determined not to betray her interest again, Gina forced her eyes from Coventry’s box for the remainder of the evening.
    But the play and Miss Siddons’s performance, which Gina had so looked forward to, were irreparably tainted by the forced meeting and continued presence of Coventry and his strikingly beautiful mistress.
    Gina’s pride still rankled, but it was the sick, burning feeling in her chest that truly alarmed her. Not wanting to think about why, she vowed that such an occurrence would not happen again. The woman would have to go.
     
     
    Coventry slid his finger behind the collar of his shirt and yanked. The blasted cravat was too tight, and the air in the theater had suddenly turned stifling. He wiped the back of his hand across his brow. He shouldn’t care what Lady Georgina Beauclerk thought. He was free to have a dozen mistresses if he chose. But the unmistakable fact was that he did care. The intensity of her gaze felt like a slap. But rather than amuse or anger him, he’d felt a sharp twinge of shame for his actions. Though he’d be damned if he knew why.
    She was pursuing him, not the other way around. And he’d made perfectly clear his disinterest. She’d