Page 12 of Mr. Notorious and the Nefarious November

She didn’t want to be caught ogling his penis, so she slid her gaze lower, to his shapely calves clad in white stockings. He wore plain black pumps, and his feet were crossed at the ankles as he leaned negligently against the doorjamb of the parlor at the base of the stairs.

Well, clearly all of her efforts were for naught. He looked supremely unimpressed.

“Good evening, Mr. Notley,” she said when she stood before him. The familiar weight of her cape settled on her shoulders as Jones did her work. But when the maid moved to tie the cords at the throat, Munro waved her away.

“I’ll do that.”

Jones cleared her throat meaningfully but stepped out of the way, and Beatrice took a breath as Munro’s elegant hands took the black silk cords of her cape and tied them into a bow. She caught the scent of citrus and bergamot, the bergamot just a fleeting afterthought, and the room seemed to spin. “You look ravishing,” Munro said, his voice low and seemingly just for her. “Absolutely ravishing.”

Then he stepped back, lifted one hand, and slowly pulled a glove over the bare skin of her throat.

Get hold of yourself,Beatrice ordered.He is doing this on purpose!If he thought she’d swoon because he used the wordravishingand gave her a look, he would need to think again. She was no debutante. She was a widow who had been married to a rake. She knew all the rake’s tricks.

“Where are you taking me tonight, sir?”

“The opera. Arthur gave me his box for the evening.”

Beatrice all but let out a sigh of relief. Viscount Notley’s box was quite public and easily observed. After all, the only reason to buy a box was to be seen. She needn’t worry that Munro would try seducing her once they were seated together in the dim theater.

But she probably should worry that she was disappointed there’d be no seduction. And when he offered his arm and she felt the heat of him under her gloves, she was even more disappointed—not only at the prospect of a chaste evening but at her own wanton thoughts.

Chapter Four

Beatrice did not disappoint, Munro thought when he saw her descend the staircase of Notley House. She’d not chosen the green dress that made her eyes look even larger and greener than usual by accident. Her olive skin was golden and lovely, and as they reached their box for the evening, his mouth went dry when she revealed that expanse of skin again after sliding her cloak off. No question that she intended to tempt him with those long curls over her shoulder. He wanted to wrap one about his finger, tug her close, and claim that plum-colored mouth of hers.

Instead, he tried to focus on what she was saying with that lovely mouth—something about the opera on the Continent. Notley made certain she was comfortable in her chair and then gave her his full attention.

“Or did you not take time from your busy schedule of debauchery to attend any operas?”

“I attended several,” he said, “though I prefer plays to the opera.”

Her brow furrowed. “We should have gone to Covent Garden or Drury Lane.”

“Why, whenyouprefer the opera to plays?”

She blinked. “You remember that.”

“I remember everything about you.” He’d meant the statement as a show that he cared about her, but he saw the flash of suspicion in her eyes and knew he’d sounded too much the scoundrel in that moment. Munro wished he knew how to seem less of a rake in her eyes.

“Of course, I went to the Paris Opera,” he said, and was pleased to see she leaned forward with interest. “I had to go more than once as it was so beautiful that I could hardly take it all in. The sights, the smells, the colors—and then there was the theater itself.”

She laughed, a genuine laugh, low and throaty. “I’m sure the Parisiennes know how to make an appearance.”

“So do the English,” he said, glancing at her. “But I think my favorite opera house was Teatro La Fenice.”

“In Venice?”

“I heard the most beautiful singing there. I’m not in favor of male castration, but when you hear a castrati sing, the sound is…I don’t know how to describe it. It’s otherworldly. It’s like the sound of an angel.”

She nodded, her gaze locked with his. “Yes, that’s the perfect description. I heard the great Velluti once. The entire audience was enraptured by him. The sound was so pure and innocent and yet it possessed so much depth.” She put her hand on his arm, and Munro didn’t think she even noticed. In that moment, he hardly noticed anyone else in the theater. It felt as though the rest of the world had faded away. “Do you think the castrati sing with so much passion because they have suffered so terribly?”

“The intersection of art and pain is always part of any great performance, but particularly so with a man who has given up his life and his manhood for his art.”

“Yes. That’s it exactly.”

“Munro Notley!”

Munro was jolted back to the present by the booming voice behind them. He and Beatrice turned to see Lord Charles Cheltenham standing at the rear of the box. Munro stood and went to shake his friend’s hand. They had been at school together, first Eton then Oxford.

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