Page 64 of Romanced By the Orc

Albion wondered how Comtesse de Flarine, rumored to be attending as the Regent’s special guest, would react to the performance. Nerves bedeviled his head and heart.

He desperately wanted to share the burden with his wife. To share all of his fears. That he was still the stringling. Still a coward. And could never lead a successful rescue of those in danger, no matter how many times he had done it before. The doubt. The shame of his past.

Now, he knew he could not entrust her with his secrets.

Once he’d learned the vile news that she was helping Reginald Addington, he had slipped into his customary persona—theAlbion Higgins everyone knew, not burdened with any serious thoughts, let alone wit. Apparently, that personality had become his natural suit of armor, designed to save him from the vagaries of his heart.

None of this changed the fact that he still adored Diana Stewart. But love alone did not a grand partnership make. How many failed English marriages proved that maxim true? Without the option of divorce, couples remained married, including those whose early romantic sensibilities toward one another had long since evaporated in the face of reality.

Not that he regretted his attachment to Diana Stewart. Like an Orcan couple, they entered their union with open eyes. The passion he felt for her was naught but an inconvenience.

Albion could not indulge in such mischief with her again. Not in good conscience. He would continue to use her Orcan name, but she would never truly be “Daisy.” They were destined to live separate lives. Shallow appearances were all that human Society valued and that they could accomplish.

His eyes rolled upward at the soaring ceiling domes inlaid with gold and silver. He mustn’t dwell on these maddening thoughts. He forced them into a private compartment in his mind, which he kept carefully locked and did his best to ignore.

At any rate, the opera made for a perfect excuse to attend to the business of his alliance. The denizens of thetonfilling the boxes this evening were obsessed with socializing. After a cursory look through their lorgnettes to assess who in attendance merited attention during the intervals, they busied themselves with sending servants out to make the proper inquiries and invitations. Even were a head or two to turn his way, Albion Higgins looked altogether like his usual amiable self, a pleasant and somewhat empty-headed smile on his face and a pair of his own customized brass-framed opera glasses periodically brought to his eyes.

It was one of the few times he could meet in public with the brothers, William and Edward Langley, without fear of undue suspicion. Before the brothers arrived in his box, Diana had set off mingling, leaving Albion with a quarter-hour alone with the Langleys.

“Thanks to your cousin, we received new intelligence regarding the Comtesse’s eldest son,” William said, keeping his voice low enough not to carry on to the other boxes but sufficiently loud for Edward to hear from Albion’s other side.

William inclined his head toward Comtesse de Flarine and her two children, in attendance at the pleasure of the Prince Regent. She had taken a temporary residence in the royal box, greeting well-wishers with tragic nods and murmured words. The Comtesse was dressed all in black, mourning her husband, mourning her homeland. Perhaps prematurely mourning her eldest son.

“Jacques is still in peril, I take it,” Albion said in a low voice.

“The state of the situation is worse than we thought,” Edward said, with the ferocity that distinguished him from his more level-headed brother. “The Duke of Rostin plans to make an arrest. Then, he will set a date for some sham of a trial. An order for summary execution is expected shortly thereafter.”

“And will be carried out forthwith,” Albion murmured while tracking the progress of the Prince Regent through the various boxes on the mezzanine level.

“We must act at once,” Edward said.

“With all due prudence,” his brother added. “Jacques is scheduled for arrest within a week’s time. But we still have a narrow window in which to smuggle him out of Chamberly. His name is on the third of three lists.”

Albion adjusted his opera glasses to greater magnification. He focused on the Regent as he walked back toward the box whence he’d come. His Royal Highness was dressed to the nines forthe evening, matching the opulence of the Opera House itself—crimson tailcoat in the military fashion with ribbons and star-shaped medallions, born of his station rather than courage in battle, affixed to his chest. A royal blue sash and gold epaulets completed the marital look, though the Regent’s valet had also found space for a puffed cream-colored cravat of a style Albion had not yet seen elsewhere in London.

Duncan would have dismissed such shallow frippery and sung praises for the more sensible architecture and wardrobes of their homeland. On the other hand, Albion envied the Regent’s new cravat and decided to acquire a similar one. It seemed he really was a Bond Street beau at heart. That didn’t mean he wasn’t also an orc, driven by honor and purpose.

“This time, I intend to travel to Chamberly myself,” he said quietly. “To ensure all goes smoothly.”

For once, Edward did not protest, though his shocked expression spoke for him.

“But how so, my lord?” William asked.

“I shall visit the Sisters of Benevolence. I am only waiting for Dunc to assist me so that I might travel as soon as possible.”

“How soon?” Edward said. “I am more than capable of traveling at a moment’s notice, if that’s the issue.”

“There are myriad issues. It does not reflect poorly on you in the slightest.” Albion had to hand it to Dunc: much as he pushed back when tested, once he made a decision, he came through immediately.

“How may we be of use, then, my lord?” William asked.

Before he could respond, Albion spotted his wife heading toward the box. He stared at her, helpless, his gaze soft as his heart jumped riotously in his chest.

Some unknown dressmaker had secured the pattern for the Orcan gown. Even to Albie’s trained eye, the design looked a keen tribute to the style of the ladies of his land. She hadfavored one of the jewel tones those esteemed women wore, a rich blue topaz gown, structured to emphasize both her curves and her muscle tone, daring pointed cap sleeves highlighting the bare upper arm and firm triceps before her pristine skin gave way to long evening gloves dyed to match the gown. But over the sleeves, numerous bangles, both gold and silver, adorned her arms in the Orcan fashion. Around her throat, the sapphire he’d given her gleamed in the light from the crystal chandeliers overhead.

A true Lady of the Hidden Realm. Just as she had promised. The mere sight of her stirred intense passions, regardless of his attempts to fight them.

Love. There it was. A burden he must bear stoically, like any good orc.

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