An attendant took them up the stairs to his left, along a narrow corridor that smelled faintly of dust. They were near the top of the stairs when Miss Rowland gasped. Nicholas turned sharply, and saw that she had slipped, falling back on the uppermost step. Automatically, Nicholas reached for her, grabbed her wrist.
He dragged her forward, catching her before she fell down the stairs. He could hear her fast, frightened breaths and feel her soft skin where he gripped her lower arm. He let go, cheeks blazing, moving his hand to hers, steadying her.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She clung onto his hand for a moment. Nicholas tensed, each touch like fire in his veins.
The sound of people walking up the stairs behind him made the chaperone cough. She let go of his hand and they walkedonwards down the hallway. He breathed in, deeply, his mind wading through a sea of confusing feelings.
Her closeness, her breath, her scent. It was all overwhelming him. More than that, her smile—that tender, tremulous smile—confused him utterly.
He focused on the surroundings, aware of the chaperone’s gaze on him. His throat was tight as they proceeded on, aching with the memories of coming here with Papa and Mama when he was a boy. He’d never particularly enjoyed plays, preferring being outdoors in nature, and the memory was painful now that Papa was no longer here. Papa had always joked and laughed, betting him sixpence that he couldn’t remain still through the first act. He had usually managed, but only because of the bet. He shut his eyes for a moment, wishing that things were so easy now that he was grown up.
He walked along the hallway with Miss Rowland walking silently beside him and let out a sigh of relief as they opened the doors of the box. It had been redone in green velvet when the theater was redecorated, and it looked nothing like it was when he was a boy. That was good. Enduring the evening with the memories of his father sitting beside him would have been too much for his wits to manage.
“Here, Miss Rowland,” he murmured, standing back for her. She slipped ahead of him into the seat, her soft peach skirts rustling past his leg, the scent of her in his nostrils. He breathed in, heart aching. He could not help but respond to her and she would never be able to respond to him in the same way. He sat down beside her, trying his best to ignore her presence—so soft and lovely beside him—and focused on the stage.
The gas-lamps that lit the theater glowed eerily, still brightly lit as the theatergoers arrived. When everyone was settled, they’d put the lamps a little lower—not so low as to be dark, though, or nobody would be able to see the actors on the stage. Even so, it would be a little dimmer, and he’d be sitting in the half-lit theater box with the scent of her beside him, doing his best to ignore her. The thought made his heart twist painfully.
He glanced sideways at the chaperone, who sat beside Miss Rowland on her right. She was staring rigidly at the stage, seemingly ignoring the two people she was supposed to be watching. Nicholas felt his lip lift in amusement, but it was mixed with sadness. He was not the sort of man who could steal a kiss in the theater—he would not impose on a woman like that. Even had he been unscarred, he would have hesitated—but at least then, they might welcome his kisses. His heart ached.
At least focusing on the crowd and the stage below would distract him. It was the only way he was going to manage an evening without starting to feel something for her—and he wanted to feel nothing. It was safer that way. Feelings only meant one got hurt. And that was something Nicholas was not going to allow to happen again to him.
Chapter 10
Bernadette sat upright, her back straight and stiff, the padded seat in the private box soft and comfortable. She gazed over at the stage and the immense chandelier that hung from the center of the ceiling. She focused everywhere, in fact, except where she wanted to look, and that was at the man sitting beside her.
He’s actually quite handsome.
She felt her cheeks flush at the thought and was grateful that it was dark enough in the theater box for nobody to notice. The gas-lamps were mostly situated on the walls below them, casting light onto the stage, and the box was in mysterious, grayish shadow.
She risked casting her glance sideways at Lord Blackburne again. He had a chiseled nose, a beautiful chin—neither too receding nor jutting out too much—and a well-molded mouth, sensitive and refined. Staring at the stage in repose, his gaze unfocused as if he was thinking, his face had a truly beautiful quality. He stared down into the “pit” where the cheap seats were, and Bernadette caught her breath at the softness of the look on his face.
He truly is beautiful.
She tried not to grin, feeling deliciously wicked at the thought. It was the first time in her life she’d really thought about a man that way. Usually, she felt too intimidated and awkward around men for such thoughts to be possible. Silent in the theater box beside him, she could let herself study him and feel the sweet, exciting feeling that had raced through her from the moment he took her hand.
She thought back to that moment. As he helped her into the coach, he’d stared into her eyes, his striking blue ones lit by the coachman’s lamp. She had felt her heart leap, and her cheeks had burned with heat. His fingers on her hand had felt as though they burned, too, her nerves recalling the feeling of them the entire coach-ride.
“They’ll dim the lights soon.”
“Sorry?” Bernadette blinked. She’d heard the words but had been so distracted that it was a moment or two before she understood them. “Oh. Yes.”
Lord Blackburne gazed at her in the darkened box. Bernadette lowered her eyes, blushing hotly. He must think her a complete fool. All of Mama’s criticism flooded her mind.
You have no conversations. You are uninteresting.
“It won’t be dark, mind you” he added after a moment. “Or we’ll see nothing of what’s on the stage.”
Bernadette chuckled, grinning warmly because he’d said something else to her.
“No. It won’t.” She tilted her head, considerately. “What do you think it’s like?” she asked him softly. “Being an actor, I mean?” It was something she’d often wondered herself—not that respectable ladies would act—but it had to be strange.
He shuddered visibly. “Horrible,” he said at once.
She giggled, surprised at the swift answer.
“I suppose so,” she agreed, more slowly. “I would die of fright up there in front of so many people.”
He nodded briskly. “Indeed. Me too.” He paused, looking down at the stage. “Do you think we can see the stage well enough here?” he asked.
