“Excellent.” He took a deep drink from his glass, then said, his words slightly slurred, “Do you care for art?”
Slightly taken aback by his question, Callie said, “I—Well, yes, my lord.”
Oxford traded his empty glass for a full one, and said, “I should like to escort you to the Royal Art Exhibition next week.”
Resisting the urge to question the Baron’s motives, Callie realized there was no easy way to escape this invitation. Instead, she said, “That would be lovely, my lord.”
“What would be lovely?” The lazy drawl indicated the arrival of Ralston. Callie refused to rise to his bait.
Oxford, however, seemed more than eager to share their conversation with the marquess. “I shall be escorting Lady Calpurnia to the Royal Art Exhibition next week,” he said, and Callie couldn’t help noticing the boastfulness in his tone.
“Is that so?” Ralston said.
He didn’t have to sound so disbelieving. “Indeed, it is, my lord. I am eager to see this year’s exhibition.” She placed a hand lightly on Oxford’s sleeve. “I shall be lucky to have such an escort.”
“Not as lucky as I shall be,” Oxford said, his gaze not straying from Ralston.
Before Callie could wonder at the strange emphasis, the theatre chimes rang, signaling the end of intermission. Oxford took his leave, first bowing low over Callie’s hand, and saying, “Good evening, my lady. I shall look forward to next week.”
“And I, Baron Oxford,” she replied with a little curtsy.
He then turned a broad grin on a stone-faced Ralston. “Good night, old chap.”
Ralston did not reply, instead staring down the young dandy, who laughed off the cut direct and tipped his cane at the marquess before leaving the box. Callie watched him go before saying. “You didn’t have to be so very rude to him.”
“He’s got nothing in his head but teeth,” he said, matter-of-factly.
Ignoring the fact that she had said the exact words only days ago, Callie ignored his and resumed her seat. When Ralston took his place next to her, she ignored him, instead looking resolutely at the stage, willing the curtain to rise.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the arrival of a footman with a silver tray, upon which was a folded message. Ralston took the proffered note with a nod of thanks for the messenger and turned the sealed parchment over in his hand, sliding a finger under the wax to open it.
Callie couldn’t stop herself from peeking at the page as he looked at it. It was a short missive, only visible for a flash before he folded it closed. But Callie could not have missed the message—or its meaning.
Come to me.
N.
Ralston and Nastasia were still lovers.
Callie choked back a gasp, turning sharply away and pretending to be completely absorbed by the performance, which had just begun.
Her mind reeled. She shouldn’t be surprised, of course. She should not be thinking of the other evening—of the betrothal ball, of their embrace in his carriage. She should not be wondering why, if he was involved with Nastasia, he had thought to kiss her.
But, of course, she did wonder.
And what of his sister? Surely he wouldn’t accept the invitation. Not tonight, of all nights. It was Juliana’s first night in society!
Sadness and outrage warred within her for the first two scenes of the second act. When, at the start of the third scene, he stood and abruptly left the box, outrage won.
No. She would not allow him to ruin his sister’s first night out. Not after all that Juliana had done to ensure its success. Not after all that Callie had done to ensure its success. Not to mention the others, who had also cast their support for his sister.
How dare he risk it all? And for what?
Her anger rose. She squared her shoulders. Someone had to think of Juliana.
Turning to Benedick, she whispered, “The champagne appears to have gone to my head. I am going to rest in the ladies’ salon.”
Her brother leaned forward, taking note of Ralston’s disappearance. Meeting her eyes, he said quietly, “No adventures, Callie.”
She forced a smile. “No adventures.”
And she left the box.
Hurrying along the dimly lit hallways of the theatre, her mind raced, wondering if she would find Ralston before he destroyed Juliana’s chances at success. Callie would wager Allendale House itself that he’d escaped to meet his paramour in this very theatre more than once in the past—he likely knew the shortest path to Miss Kritikos’s dressing room. She could not help the little exclamation of disgust that came with the thought.