Page 14 of Mr. Notorious and the Nefarious November

“Is it only a rumor?”

“Would you like to see for yourself? Mayhap we should move to a darker corner of the box, and you could investigate.”

Her cheeks colored. “No, thank you. We were discussing Lady Charles.”

He’d quite forgotten. “Were we?”

“Yes, your friend had her locked up in the countryside.”

Munro sat back. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said. A few years after he wed her, he took up with one of the demimonde, and I believe Caroline took issue with the relationship. He tired of her complaints, labeled her hysterical, citing her enjoyment of novels as proof, and had her locked away in some remote property he has in the west of England. No one has heard from her for at least two years.”

Munro didn’t doubt a word she said. Husbands had done much worse. “What about her grandfather? Can he not exert his influence?”

Beatrice sighed. “As though the old marquess would take the side of a female.”

This too made sense. Most men only concerned themselves with their sons and heirs. Daughters and granddaughters were an afterthought, if one thought of them at all.

“And you wonder why I refuse to marry again. I’m fortunate her fate isn’t mine.”

The chatter in the opera house began to dim, only slightly, as the singers took their positions and the orchestra began to play. “Solomon would never have done that to you,” Munro said, notcertain why he was defending her late husband. In the end, the two of them had been rivals for her affections.

“You don’t have any idea what Solomon would or would not have done,” she said. “I don’t think any of us knew what he was really like. Until it was too late.”

She could see her words troubled Munro. She couldn’t claim she’d spoken them by accident. She’d wanted to hint at her late husband’s cruelty and judge the reaction of his former best friend. Had Munro known that side of Solomon or had he reserved it for behind closed doors?

On stage, a woman sang an aria in Italian, her voice rising and falling in feigned sadness. The emotion in the music was what had always resonated with Beatrice. She felt it in her entire being.

Finally, after several minutes of silence, Munro leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I didn’t want you to marry him because I knew he’d never be faithful. But I swear on my father’s grave, I had no idea he could be cruel. Did he hurt you?”

She glanced at Munro, meeting his eyes, now quite dark with what she suspected was anger. “He’s dead now. Let’s not resurrect his memory.”

Munro’s face fell as she all but confirmed her mistreatment at Solomon Barnet’s hands. But she was still surprised when she felt Munro’s gloved hand take hers. No one in the theater could see their clasped hands, but Beatrice still felt a slight thrill of excitement at the thought that she was doing something even remotely inappropriate. But then Munro always brought out her reckless side.

“You remember this theater was where we shared our first kiss?” he whispered to her, his gaze on the stage and not on her.

Of course, she remembered that. She was surprised he remembered that first kiss. Surely, he’d kissed so many women he couldn’t keep count. She said as much, and his lips actually formed a pout.

“You think I would forget the first time I kissed you? I remember everything about that night.”

“I remember my father wouldn’t allow you to enter our box. He sent you away, but you waited to ambush me when I stepped out to go to the ladies’ retiring room.”

“I was merely enjoying the relative quiet of the corridor outside Baron Haddington’s box. Opera has never been my favorite, though I’ve grown to appreciate it more. It was mere coincidence that we met in the corridor like we did. And might I add, your maid certainly abandoned you quickly enough. I don’t recall you begging her to stay and protect your honor.”

“I was quite smitten,” she admitted. “How could I not be when you always looked so adorably disheveled? Your hair was always too long and hanging over your brow. I wanted to sweep it back and out of your eyes. That or straighten your cravat. Really, your valet should have been taken to task.”

Munro laughed. “The poor man had his hands full between Dudley, Arthur, and me. You, on the other hand, never looked anything less than perfect. You wore my favorite gown that evening, the peach silk with the white lace. You always looked so beautiful in that.”

Beatrice felt her breath catch in her throat. She tried to take another breath, but it felt as though a hand squeezed her lungs. “You remember what I wore?” The words sounded choked as she forced them through her tight throat.

“Of course. And you had those little white flowers in your hair. You know I plucked one out and kept it pressed between the pages of a book.”

She stared at him. Munro Notley was the absolute last man she would ever expect to do something so sentimental. She told herself to end the conversation there. She had a plan for the evening, and she was already regretting that she would have to leave early. She’d enjoyed Munro’s company more than she’d thought she would. Moreover, she did not want to know the answer to the question lingering in her mind. She would not ask it. She would not bring it up.

“Do you still have it?” she asked, mentally kicking herself for asking it anyway. “The flower?”

“It’s in my copy of Byron’sThe Corsair. Come to my chamber later, and I’ll show you.”

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