Page 63 of Teach a Rogue New Tricks
Nora nudged her with an impatient elbow. “Are we going in or not?”
“Most certainly going inside.”
All thought melted away once Ada stepped foot over the threshold of the theatre. The inside proved even more magnificent than the drawings she’d seen in the papers that arrived weekly at Cavendish Manor—gilded and golden, sparkling and ornate, a temple for the arts.
She followed the others into the box her father had rented for the season, sat in the front row, and leaned over the balcony. Chandeliers high overhead illumined the audience as well as the stage. Gas lamps outlined the stage, glowing like an ethereal otherworld.
Nora leaned close. “Look!” She pointed to a couple sitting several boxes to their right. “It’s Willow and Bax.” She waved, and the couple waved back.
Ada waved, too, but her muscles felt like pudding. Wind rushed through her ears. Cass would be here soon, and his brother sat across the way.
What would come of it? Reconciliation? Or otherwise?
She turned to Nora. “Have you heard what Father did?”
Nora shook her head, her gaze sweeping over the occupants of the theatre.
“He invited Lord Albee. Here. Tonight.”
Nora’s head swung round, her eyes wide.
“And Lord Albee accepted the invitation.” Ada cast a nervous glance toward the door behind them then across the way toward Willow and her husband.
“Does Papa know who he is?” Nora hissed.
“I do not know. Surely not. If he did, he’d not have invited him.”
“This is a mess, Ada. You cannot continue to see him or let Papa think he’s other than he is. Because Papa willnotbe pleased when he finds out. And he will eventually.”
Her father was a digger, a man in constant pursuit of truth. He’d not approved of Lucas, a perfectly respectable gentleman, and that did not bode well for Cass.
Not that she needed her father to approve of Cass. Fathers only needed to approve marriage prospects. And she did not consider marriage with the man. No, she considered something quite different with Cass—a night of passion.
She flushed, ripples of anticipation washing over her. Would he agree? Or would she need to seduce him? She laughed.Seduce him?She was learning to be brazen and bold and unconventional, but she was no temptress. If he did not wish to share passion with her, if his mind wound toward the marriageable instead—perish the thought—she’d merely let the matter drop. She smiled. And find her way to Italy. Nothing would stop her, after all. Perhaps she’d follow her cousin and her father’s assistant, Gwendolyn, to wherever they planned to travel next. She could be their assistant, especially in matters of language and translation. She closed her eyes and reveled in the champagne bubbles that idea popped along her skin.
But shadows edged the fizzy delight. When the golden-tinged bubbles popped, they dropped down a dark well of longing because…
She did not want Cass to reject her. She wanted a night of passion with himandItaly. Hmm. She’d grown greedy since discovering her backbone.
She leaned over the railing, focusing on the play she would soon see. She’d read Lord Byron’s poetry, of course, but to see a play of his re-enacted on stage! A shiver raced up her spine. Would it be as dark asChilde Harold’s Pilgrimageor as scandalous asDon Juan? Would it make her heart stop and stutter like some of his poetry?
She wrapped her fingers around the railing, pushing closer to the glittering world below.
The curtains parted, and Ada’s gaze swung toward the stage, her ribs pressed against the rail.
She chuckled, remembering Cass’s voice from earlier in the day at Astley’s saying—
“Move away from there. You’ll fall.” A warm hand pressed lightly on her shoulder and tugged her back. “I do not tease.”
She gasped and turned.
No memory, that voice, that warning. The man sitting behind her, partially hidden by a curtain, loomed very real. She almost jumped to her feet and wrapped her arms around him, but just in time, decorum glued her to her seat. His brother sat across the way. She would not bring attention to their box’s new occupant.
She offered him a small, secret smile instead. “Good evening, Lord Albee.”
He removed his hand from her shoulder and leaned into the back of his chair. “Good evening, Ada. Are you enjoying yourself so far?”
“Yes, but”—she nodded toward the box holding Willow and Bax—“your brother is here. Perhaps you should leave.” She returned her attention to the stage.
