Never Trust a Rake

But it was no use. Just knowing he was there and that he would be coming to their box during the first interval made it completely impossible to think about anything else. The harder she tried to avoid looking at him, the more aware of him she became. Though she kept her eyes riveted upon the stage, she was completely unable to follow the plot and, when the other occupants of her box burst out laughing, she was at a loss to comprehend whether it was due to something the actors had done on purpose, or the result of a joke Mr Crimmer had made about their performance.

Even when he did come, it was quite impossible to look at him directly, but only to dart him small glances. He greeted her uncle, and while he spent a few moments talking to him about the play she looked at his shoes, his evening stockings, and the way her uncle’s cravat bobbed in and out as he talked. Then her eyes slid towards her aunt, who was gazing up at Lord Deben in awe, taking in, on the way, the set of his shoulders and the way his hair curled upon his coat collar.

And then he was taking her arm and she could only conclude that her aunt had granted him permission to take her for a walk along the corridor behind the boxes.

‘Miss Gibson.’

She gave a start and looked up to find Lord Deben giving her a quixotic smile.

‘Dare I ask,’ he said, ‘what you were thinking about so deeply? If I were a more sensitive man, I would think you were scarcely aware of me at all.’

‘Oh. Lord Deben. I do apologise. I was just...’

‘Wondering what you might say to enchant me tonight?’

‘I most certainly was not.’ She’d already worked out that any attempt to impress him would meet with derision. So there was no point in being anything other than herself.

‘Most women would have made use of that opening to commence flirting with me. But you, Miss Gibson, you are a delight. I adore the fact that there is no artifice about you.’

‘Do you?’

‘Indeed I do. You need have no fear of telling me what has been occupying your mind, you know. There is nothing you can say that would shock me.’

‘I can believe that,’ she muttered darkly. ‘However, there are things that no lady should discuss with a man.’

‘Well, now I am really intrigued,’ he said. ‘Although I cannot, for the life of me, imagine you thinking about anything so improper you dare not let the subject pass your lips.’

She wished he had not spoken of lips. It made hers tingle with hope and recall what his had felt like against the skin of her neck.

‘If there are improper thoughts in my head,’ she said resentfully, ‘it is entirely your fault for putting them there.’

‘Now that sounds promising,’ he said with a wicked gleam in his eyes. ‘I do not think I shall be able to rest, now, until I know the nature of them.’

Oh dear. She should have known better than to attempt to fence with a man of his experience. She could not, would not admit that the mere sight of him was enough to make her weak at the knees. Or, worse, that thoughts of him filled her mind to the extent that from time to time, today, she had found herself scarcely able to flounder through the most routine of conversations. And most especially not that she was growing increasingly impatient to have him actually kiss her, mouth on mouth, breast to breast, thigh to thigh.

Just then, they passed a man lounging against the wall, ogling the passing ladies through his eyeglass, and inspiration struck her.

‘Well, if you must know,’ she said, absolving herself with the reminder that what she was about to say was true in a sense, ‘it is what you said about...’ her cheeks flushed and she lowered her voice ‘...bottoms.’

He burst out laughing. ‘I never know what you are going to say from one moment to the next. Whether you are going to fly up into the boughs, or say something utterly outrageous.’

She flicked open her fan and worked it rapidly over her burning cheeks.

‘D-dare I ask,’ he managed to say once he’d controlled his mirth, ‘in what context?’

‘Well, you pointed out that men watched them.

Ladies’ ones, I mean. And so I found myself watching men do it. Like that man, there,’ she said, nodding her head in the direction of the lecher with the eyeglass. ‘But,’ she said firmly, ‘it does not seem to matter very much whether they are neat or untidy, or whether ladies sway their hips enticingly or not. Men look anyway.’