As though sensing her attention, Ralston turned his head to look at her. She inhaled sharply as their gazes collided, trapped by his glittering blue eyes, intent and unreadable. He tipped his head, almost imperceptibly. She understood the meaning implicitly. Thank you.
She mirrored the action.
Not trusting herself to disguise her emotions, she turned back to stare unseeingly at the crowd building in the theatre, impatient for the opera to begin and distract her from his presence in the box.
The performance should have begun a half an hour earlier, but, sadly, society rarely attended the Theatre Royal for the opera…most certainly not on the opening night of the season. No, one attended the opera to see and be seen, and the owners of the theatre knew well how to keep their patrons happy.
Callie returned her gaze to Juliana, watching with pride as she spoke gracefully to the dowager duchess and, in full view of the entirety of London society, made the older woman laugh. Perfect.
“You appear rather proud of yourself.”
A flutter of excitement coursed through her at the rich, amused voice so close to her ear. Willing herself to be calm, she met Ralston’s blue eyes, and said, “Indeed, I am, my lord. Your sister is doing exceedingly well, don’t you think?”
“I do. The evening could not have been more perfectly arranged.”
“It was Mariana’s idea to use Rivington’s box,” Callie pointed out. “Our sisters seem to have become fast friends.”
“Due, in large part, to your intervention, I imagine.”
Callie dipped her head in silent acknowledgment.
“Very well done.”
She quashed an odd desire to preen at the praise as the theatre’s chimes rang, signaling the beginning of the performance. On cue, the visitors took their leave, and Ralston offered Callie his arm. “May I accompany you to your chair, Lady Calpurnia?”
Callie slid her hand along his arm, accepting his escort, attempting to ignore the sizzle of awareness that shot through her as they touched. It was the first time they had seen each other since the evening in the tavern. In the carriage. The first time they had touched since she had been in his embrace.
Once she was seated beside Benedick, Ralston claimed the seat next to her, his nearness overwhelming her senses. She was enveloped by his scent, a combination of sandal-wood and lemon and something thoroughly male. She resisted the temptation to lean toward him and breathe deeply. That certainly wouldn’t do.
She searched for a conversation that would distract her from his nearness. “Do you enjoy the opera, my lord?”
“Not particularly.” His words were laced with indifference.
“I am surprised to hear that,” she said, “I was under the impression that you enjoyed music. After all, you have a pianoforte—” She stopped short, darting a quick glance around the box to determine if anyone were listening to their conversation. She couldn’t well discuss his pianoforte in mixed company.
He raised an eyebrow at her statement, saying dryly, “Indeed I do, Lady Calpurnia.”
The man was taunting her. She would not rise to it. “Well, of course everyone has a pianoforte these days.” She pressed on, refusing to look at him, instead babbling, “I have heard that the performance tonight is unparalleled. The Barber of Seville is a lovely opera. I am particularly fond of Rossini. And I have heard that the singer portraying Rosina is brilliantly talented. I cannot remember her name…Miss…” she trailed off, comforted that they were on safer conversational ground.
“Kritikos. Nastasia Kritikos,” he provided.
The words washed over her. Nastasia. Understanding dawned.
I had not wanted to make this more difficult than it had to be, Nastasia.
Dear Lord. The opera singer was his mistress. She looked up at him, meeting his calm, unreadable gaze.
“Oh,” she said almost inaudibly, unable to contain the syllable.
He remained silent.
What did you expect him to do? Announce to all within hearing that the mezzo-soprano was his mistress? The same mistress for whom he mistook you on the evening you arrived indelicately in his bedchamber?
No, it was for the best that he not pursue the conversation, she decided. Cheeks aflame, she leaned forward in her chair and looked over the edge of the box, wondering if she would survive an escape attempt over the side. Likely not, she thought with a sigh. She turned back, meeting his now-amused gaze. He was enjoying her embarrassment!
“Too far to jump, I should think,” he said conspiratorially.
He was infuriating.