Page 92 of The Duke and the Lady in Red
Her throat clogging with tears, she shook her head. He didn’t understand what it was like when people first caught sight of Harry. He’d created a safe haven within his residence, but beyond it he couldn’t control others and their reactions. He couldn’t save her brother from the embarrassment of being reminded how very different he was.
Avendale cradled her face with one hand. “My box is in shadows. He’ll sit in the back, and no one will see him.”
“But he has to get there.”
“I was once involved with an actress. I know a back way in. The only ones who will see him are those I paid well to show no reaction and to hold their tongues.” His gaze delved into hers. “I remember your awe that night we went, the way you scrutinized every aspect. I know now that you were trying to carry all the details back to Harry. Give him the opportunity to experience it on his own.”
It was her nature to be protective of her brother, to try to spare him all the suffering possible, but even fledgling birds wouldn’t fly if they were never forced out of the nest. She took a deep breath, cursed her corset for not allowing her to breathe as deeply as she needed. “Yes, all right.”
Placing her hand in the crook of Avendale’s elbow, taking comfort in his strength, absorbing it until her trembling fingers stilled, she carried on down the stairs. Reaching the foyer, she smiled brightly. “Oh, Harry, don’t you look dapper!”
He nodded, his gaze traveling between her and Avendale. “The duke has an accomplished tailor who came to see me.”
“I should say he does.”
“We need to be away,” Avendale said quietly, his hand coming to rest on the small of her back assuaging any remaining fears that this was a horrible idea.
Harry placed his hat on his head but it didn’t sit quite properly. Rose straightened it as best she could, then declared, “Perfect.”
Once they were in the coach, Rose found herself sitting on the bench alone with the two gents opposite her. Obviously, Avendale had instructed Harry on the proper etiquette regarding where gentlemen sat. The lamp was lit, but the curtains were drawn over the windows.
“Were you surprised, Rose?” Harry asked.
“Quite.”
“Harry has been busting to tell you all day,” Avendale said. “Why do you think I entertained him with cards all afternoon?”
“I beat him. Every hand,” her brother crowed, and she refrained from informing him that it was bad form to boast of one’s victories.
“You’re very clever, Harry.” But then so was Avendale. Clever and kind. While he proclaimed to know nothing at all about caring, it seemed he knew a great deal indeed.
And she realized with dread that she was falling in love with him. How would she survive when he was no longer in her life? It wasn’t her person she was concerned with, but her heart, her soul. He nurtured them, fed them.
She’d held herself distant from everyone except those in her small circle. She loved them dearly, but not in the same manner that she did Avendale. It was as though he had somehow become part of her. She was beginning to know the things he would say before he said them. Each time she saw him, she overflowed with gladness. It didn’t matter if only five minutes had passed since she’d last seen him. She wanted to reach across now and touch him, hold him, cradle her head on his shoulder.
“How long have you been planning this?” she asked him.
“Almost from the beginning.”
“You might have mentioned it.”
“And ruin my fun? Not likely.”
“I had no idea my little brother was so skilled at keeping secrets.”
“I’m the best,” Harry said.
“Between the balloon and this secret, I’m beginning to think I shouldn’t leave you two alone to plot things.”
“The duke and I are friends. Friends plot adventures.”
The words flowed over her, through her, and she wondered if Harry was aware how remarkable it was that a man of Avendale’s station in life was his friend. But then was the duke aware that Harry was his friend for no other reason than that Harry liked him? Harry wasn’t influenced by wealth, rank, or position. He judged people by what he saw inside them. Which also made it remarkable that he could love her.
The coach clattered to a stop, rocked, and Rose felt her nervousness kick back in.
“Wait here,” Avendale ordered, before stepping out of the coach.
Rose peered behind the curtain to see him marching up some steps to a door. Using the head of his walking stick, he knocked, waited, glanced casually around.
