Raven (Gentlemen of the Order 2)

“Jameson wishes to tell you about our sojourn to Brighton.” The lord’s lofty tone was almost comical. He gestured to the open door of his box. “Your escort may leave you in our capable hands.”

Finlay’s bicep flexed beneath Sophia’s fingers. “Lady Adair is to sit in my box this evening.”

Fitzroy’s confused gaze flitted left and right as if he’d heard whispers of a conversation but couldn’t determine the source. Such disrespect would see the fool dead on a mortuary slab. His friends sniggered. Though with their necks constricted by high collars and tightly tied cravats, they should conserve every breath.

The childish performance ended when Fitzroy looked at Finlay Cole with feigned shock and

said, “And who the devil are you?”

Finlay removed Sophia’s hand gently from his arm and stepped forward. “Me? I’m your worst nightmare.” The words were spoken slowly, with menace.

Mr Harrington’s smile slipped faster than sand through an hourglass.

Fitzroy used arrogance to stave off his embarrassment. “Ah, it seems the lady’s companion is the brooding type, keen to create a threatening atmosphere in preparation for the play.”

From their wary glances, the lord’s companions seemed unconvinced.

“Threatening?” Finlay mocked. “If you want threatening, I can do a damn sight better than that.” He straightened to his full, intimidating height. “I don’t care if you’re the King of Siam. Speak to me in such a disrespectful manner again, and I shall put a lead ball between your brows.” Finlay prodded Fitzroy between the eyes and the popinjay stumbled back. “Disrespect your stepmother, and I shall ensure your death is slow and excruciating.”

Silence—like the seconds after the pull of the executioner’s lever—hung in the air.

“Be warned,” she said before Fitzroy spouted something foolish. “Mr Cole is not a pretender to his skill in combat.”

Fitzroy’s eyes widened with surprise. “Cole? Cole!” he repeated. “The man you said was dead so you could lure my father into marriage.”

Oh, Lord!

Now was not the time to air one’s grievances. People filled the corridor, eager to settle into their boxes. Thankfully, the patrons were too busy discussing Mrs Shelley’s arrival to take notice of their petty quarrel.

“We will discuss this matter after the performance,” she said. “I suggest the study in Duke Street. I’m sure you can spare a few minutes once your soiree is underway.”

Brushing imagined dust from his coat sleeves, Fitzroy said, “You shan’t bring him into my father’s home.”

“Then name your place,” Finlay said with a huff of impatience. “I shall speak of this matter tonight, even if I have to dangle you by the ankles over the balcony.”

Fitzroy’s cheeks turned plum purple. “C-come to my box after the performance. I can spare a few minutes then.”

“You’ll give me as long as I damn well need.” Finlay turned on his heel and offered Sophia his arm. “Shall we take our seats for the performance?”

“Certainly.” In Finlay’s company, she didn’t feel the need to tread carefully, to tiptoe around Fitzroy Adair. Finlay would ensure the coxcomb never uttered a word about Jessica’s plight.

They strode past the three buffoons and entered the plush box belonging to Viscount Morley. The cut-glass chandeliers and sumptuous claret furnishings gave the theatre a certain opulence. A buzz of excitement thrummed in the air, but it was nothing to the feverish anticipation flowing through her veins.

Of course, it wasn’t the play that stirred her senses. In the intimate confines of the box, the need to feel Finlay’s hot mouth devouring hers left her a little breathless.

“Does Viscount Morley still insist on showering you with gifts?” she said, hoping the conversation would calm her rapid pulse. The viscount used every opportunity to show his gratitude.

Finlay smiled and waited for her to sit before dropping into a chair. “I have the full use of his stables, his theatre box, invitations to stay at his shooting lodge.”

“How generous. But Charles would have died had you not dug the lead ball out of his shoulder, had you not tended the wound and nursed him through the fever.”

“Perhaps.” Finlay stared beyond the balcony at the burgundy stage curtains embroidered with symbols of the zodiac. “Do you believe life must have balance?”

Ignorant to his train of thought, she said, “In what respect?”

“I could have escaped, left Charles to die. In saving a man’s life, I ruined my own.”

Oh, she had considered the point many times over the years.