Page 50 of A Lady of Means
Moria could only do what she had always done.Lean into it.
And so here she sat, on opening night, between the man she was pretty sure she was starting to fall in love with, and her chaperone.So many eager eyes looked in her direction throughout the play to see if she was angry or hurt, whether she knew about it or was as surprised as everyone else.
Somewhere in another box, she saw the Duke of Andover looking as handsome and polished as always and was that…Kate Herring?Good god, perish the thought.Both were looking at her, and when they saw her looking back, trained their eyes and binoculars back on the stage.
So, naturally, Moria’s face had to take on an amused expression, her demeanor had to reflect that she wasn’t hating it, or they’d all rejoice in her turmoil.She couldn’t appear to be loving the attention either, even if she was, because they’d call her all manner of things that may or may not be true.
And then…Devyn.He’d done the chair move and she’d almost collapsed on the spot.
A Duke wouldn’t have done that.Some inner, primal voice riled her.
He grinned at her, the devil.He took her hand and kissed it.
There was a dryness to her throat and a clamminess to her hands that felt out of the natural order of things.When she’d dreamed about courting this man in public, she hadn’t dreamed of this.When he’d escorted her tonight, she had hopedmaybe he won't find the level of attention directed at me humiliating,but she hadn’t foreseen this.
His hand, holding hers, resting against the armrest of her chair.
All the binoculars looking would catch that.
He didn’t seem to care.
And his brother was saying something to him on his other side, leaning toward him.He was large enough that he could do so without letting go of her hand.Could he do everything without ever letting go of her hand?If she asked him to, he'd find a way.
He only let go when it was time to clap, and he didn’t try to hold her hand again.
Likely, Peregrine had said something likewe don’t hold hands of women we aren’t married to at the theater.
The thought made her smile, and Miss Kelley met her eyes.“Try not to look quite like you’re having the night of your life, my dear.”
Moria giggled into her ear, maybe it was the contents of Devyn’s flask.“And if I am?”
Miss Kelley tamped down her own smile.“Because of the play, or the Captain?”
Moria pretended to keep her eyes on the stage.“Definitely the latter.Did you see the chair?”
“Impossibleto miss.That was kind of the point, I suppose.”
She’d been playing a dangerous game tonight, stepping out with the captain the same night as the play’s launch; but even when she caught the Duke staring again, she could barely tear her thoughts from the man who had so publicly declared his intent.
ChapterTwenty-Three
The Burn Bookof Lady M
Devyn Winter, Captain, His Majesty’s Army: I think I might like to keep this one, actually.
* * *
At the afterparty at Drysdale’s estate, she’d excused herself to her chaperone and said she was going to the ladies' retiring room.Miss Kelley made no argument or offer to go with her, likely she knew Moria’s intent.Moria looked past all the eyes turned in her direction and made eye contact with Devyn, who was in conversation with his brother.And in a few minutes, he’d found her on the terrace outside.
“Did you know?About the play, I mean?”he asked, coming to sit beside her on a stone bench.
“It’s just a story,” she shrugged.A play meant both as a jab at a girl who collected hearts like insects in jars and praise of her at the same time?
“I’ve lived through much worse,” she offered, bunching up her skirts so that she could sit with her knees underneath her, leaning her elbow on the back of the bench and her chin on her hand so she could face the beautiful man next to her.Difficult in a dress this form-fitting, but not impossible.She could breathe better like this, curled up next to him, than in a ballroom.When had that happened?
He arched his brow.“A story highly dramatized for audience appeal, I’m sure.Thought I’d have to fight my way out of that theater the way that Duke and so many of those so-called gentlemen were looking at you?—”
“You aren’t the first man to want me, Devyn,” she interrupted.
