It was Saturday—Monday was two days away.
Bearing that and his aunt Cordelia’s warning in mind, Christian saw Letitia home, then repaired to his aunt’s house to ask her advice.
Cordelia and Ermina were laid down upon the twin sofas in the drawing room, but when he walked in, were quite content to open their eyes and wave him to a chair.
“What brings you here?” Cordelia inquired, surprise edging her voice.
He outlined his dilemma.
After due discussion and deliberation back and forth between the pair, Cordelia pronounced judgment. “While attending the theater is in general not done while in deep mourning, in the case of the Vaux, suffice to say that if Letitia were seen suitably gowned and veiled in a private box at the Theatre Royal, such a sighting would provoke neither excessive surprise nor scandal.”
Christian smiled. “Thank you, dear aunts.” He rose, inclined his head to them both. “I’ll leave you to your…musings.”
With a salute, he turned and walked from the room; he could hear the buzz of their gossiping before Meadows closed the door behind him.
Later that evening, after an entirely unexpected excursion to the Theatre Royal with Christian, Hermione, and Agnes, where the drama and farce had succeeded in diverting her for more than two hours, Letitia paced restlessly across the library in the house in South Audley Street.
She glanced at Christian as he settled into one of the armchairs, a glass of brandy in his hand. She summoned a grateful, perfectly sincere smile. “Thank you for the evening. I truly appreciated the gesture. And the…” She waved.
He smiled and raised his glass. “Distraction?”
“Precisely.”
Agnes and Hermione had retired when they’d returned, yawning and sleepy. She, in contrast, felt far too wide-awake to contemplate her bed.
Even with him in it.
She knew he intended to be there, to sleep beside her tonight—to make love to her first, and probably later as well.
And she had absolutely no intention of dissuading him, much less arguing. That didn’t, however, mean she’d made her final decision about letting him back into her life—into her heart and soul, as well as her body.
Her reticence over making that commitment surprised her. Left her a touch uneasy. Emotional caution didn’t come naturally; she normally knew exactly what she wanted, yet with him…she knew what she wanted, but she still couldn’t make herself believe it would be, not with her whole heart and mind and soul. In the deepest recesses of her mind, she hadn’t yet accepted that what she truly wanted was still there, that if she embraced him again, totally and completely, admitted him again into her heart as her one and only love, that he would stay.
When it came to him, her reactions were complex and complicated. Difficult to unravel even for her.
Knowing how futile dwelling on that subject would be, especially with him in the same room, she cut off that train of thought and sent her mind in another direction.
Reaching the end of her track, she lifted her head, let her gaze travel the room as she slowly swung around. “I still think of this house as Randall’s. I never did consider it mine—which in retrospect was odd. Even now, it’s just a house I’m staying in.”
Christian was silent for a moment, then murmured, “If you never considered yourself his, then you never accepted what was his as yours.”
Looking down, she paced, nodded. “I daresay you’re right.
Casting about for another—safer—topic, she remembered the scene she’d witnessed as they were leaving his club. “I had no idea you were all so obsessed with learning Dalziel’s identity.”
On quitting the library, Jack and Tony had cornered Justin at the top of the stairs. Tristan and Christian had gone ahead, flanking Dalziel, talking to him—distracting him and making noise. She’d been descending in their wake when she’d heard, behind her, Jack ask, oh so innocently, “So where exactly does Dalziel live?”
After a moment’s hesitation, Justin had replied, “London.”
She hadn’t needed to look to know that Jack and Tony had been disappointed. But apparently they’d realized Justin had given his word and so wouldn’t be swayed. They’d accepted defeat with good grace—and huge sighs.
“It just seems unfair,” Christian said, “that he should know so much about us, even things we’d rather he didn’t, yet we know absolutely nothing about him, not even his real name.”
“You don’t need to know his name—you know the man.” She hesitated, then added, “I rather think that was his point.”
“What point?”
“The reason he uses that name.”