Page 55 of Teach a Rogue New Tricks
She inched closer, and he found himself stuck to the ground, incapable of moving. Her limber fingers reached up and straightened his cravat. “Leave the man be. You did what you could. If you push him, you may yet cause a bigger scene.”
“Who knows what he’s doing right now, who he’srevealinghimself to.”
She patted his cravat. “I’m proud of you.”
“What? Why would you be? I almost cursed horribly in front of you.”
Her soft smile melted him like a pile of butter in the sun. “You recognized a man doing something wrong and tried to stop it, to shield others from its impact. I told you you were ready.”
He shoved his fingers through his hair. “I, well, I don’t—” His tongue tied in knots.
She tucked her arm under his once more, heedless of who might see. And why not? Not a one of these people knew them. She’d never had a season, and any of his old acquaintances would not frequent a place like Astley’s. He pulled her tighter to his side.
“Let’s explore the inside.” She tipped her chin up and smiled at him. “Thank you.”
“You act like I’m some gallant knight in shining armor.”
“Your armor is rather dented and dusty. But I’ll have you know your sense of chivalry is still intact.” She pulled him through the door.
A small old woman stationed at the door and dressed head to toe in pink satin, pearls, and a sky-high gray powdered wig, winked at him and held out a hand. She swayed her rather strong looking hips and curled her fingers then laid her hand out flat again.
“Oh, yes.” Cass handed her the required entrance fee.
She winked again in thanks. “I recommend the second-floor balcony. It’s not crowded right now, and your fine lady will have a clear view of the action below.”
“Thank you.” Cass ushered Ada toward a staircase, presumably through which they could reach the second-floor balcony.
Ada stopped him with a gentle press of fingers to his forearm. She looked not at their grand surroundings, but at the doors.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I’m probably wrong, but I’m afraid we’re being followed.”
“Followed?” Cass looked down at the milling crowd inside the ornately decorated amphitheatre, this time with more urgency. His muscles tensed, clamping Ada to his side. If she moved, he’d know. If anyone threatened her, he’d have her behind him and away from the threat in an instant. “By whom?”
Ada peered at the entrance. “I noticed them in the courtyard. Two ladies. Can’t see their faces. Hoods pulled down low. Right there.” She nodded.
He looked. He turned his arm until his palm faced up and then threaded their fingers together. “Do not worry. They look small. I’ll keep an eye on them.” Surely, he could protect Ada from two tiny women. But what if… What if the womenknewhim? In the biblical sense? The types of ladies he used to frequent had a knack for the theatrical, after all. Astley’s would be a draw for them. He’d forgotten to tally them into his acquaintances early. Never would have done that a year ago. He had changed. He should investigate further what that meant, that his change could be measured in consideration (or lack thereof) of the lightskirts he used to frequent. Nothing good, surely.
His favorite curse words gathered in his mind. He flicked them all away. If the women approached them, he’d be ready with polite and gentlemanly language, the better to show Ada how much he’d learned from their short acquaintance. How different the present Cass from the past one.
He tugged her up the stairs, but she kept looking back over her shoulder. When they reached the top of the steps and walked farther onto the landing, she finally gave her full attention to their surroundings.
She rushed forward, out of his embrace and stopped at a wooden balcony looking out into the arena. The balcony railing looked rather frail to Cass.
Ada seemed not to notice. She waved him froward. “Come see!”
He eyed the railing as he joined her. “Don’t lean on it too much. It looks unsteady.”
“Nonsense. Look!”
He did. It looked much the same as most theatres he’d been in, round and surrounded by balconies, but the stage seemed larger and only a portion of the performance area. It sat at one end—if you could call it that—of a ring.
In the ring stood a simply massive man who wore no shirt. His muscles probably had muscles, and he hefted a trunk over each shoulder and walked them round the ring.
Ada leaned over the banister. “I’ve heard Astley had a strong man. I wonder how he got so strong.”
“The trunks are probably empty. It’s a trick,” Cass grumbled. “Now get away from the railing.”
