Silence stared at him, her heart fluttering in her chest.
He smiled into her eyes, placed her hand gently back on her lap, and turned his gaze to the stage. “Hush. It begins.”
MICK SMILED TO himself as he turned to watch the stage. He could hear Silence’s quickened breathing, still saw in his mind’s eye the pink tingeing her lovely chest. He was rock hard from their play and were she a doxie he might’ve pulled the curtains and taken her there.
But she was a lady true and he had no intention of making her flee. No, he’d take this slow, seduce with voice and imagination, and when he finally took her to his bed, well then, the victory would be all the more sweet for the anticipation. He sat back and swiftly made his breeches more comfortable as the music swelled.
The musico stepped out on the stage to calls of approval from the audience. The opera singer was Italian, well known, and had quite a following in London. He was unnaturally tall and a bit fat and he stood woodenly on the stage, his body ungraceful. But when he opened his mouth… what delight!
Mick closed his eyes as the mezzo-soprano voice flew, high and precise, confident even when the notes were rapid and complex. Mick had come to the opera a little more than a year ago on a whim and had been instantly enthralled. That a man could produce such a wonderful sound almost made him believe in a God.
Almost, but not quite.
Mick opened his eyes and turned to watch Silence. She was leaning against the rail, her expression utterly rapt. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes wide, and a curl of her hair drifted against her fair cheek. It occurred to him that he was very content thus, watching Silence and listening to the opera. Was this what happiness was? Strange thought. He’d never considered happiness before. That kind of prosaic life was not for him, he knew. But here, now… he had a glimmering glimpse of what happiness might be.
At the intermission he left her and fought through the crowds to a certain hawker he’d seen outside the opera before.
“What’s this?” Silence asked when he returned with laden hands.
“Cream cakes and wine,” he drawled, and felt the warmth light his chest at her delighted gasp.
He watched her eat the pretty cakes he’d found for her and drink the sweet wine and the satisfaction was so pure that it gave him pause. Was this all an illusion? Could he trust her as he’d trusted once before, long ago?
That time had ended in tragedy. Would this?
She glanced up at that moment, licking the cream from her sweet lips, and frowned. “What is it?”
He sat back, looking away. He’d break in half and die if she treated him as the other had. “Nothin’.”
He felt her gaze for minutes that seemed to drag like an hour, but then, thank God, the orchestra began.
Mick hardly paid mind to the second half of the opera. It was time. Tonight he would take her to bed and end his restlessness. Once she was his, he’d no longer have this womanish worry that she’d betray him.
The decision made, he waited out the rest of the opera impatiently. Silence was hiding a yawn behind her hand by the end, so Mick gave her his arm and led her into the night air.
The carriage was around the corner and he was conscious as their footsteps echoed off the buildings on either side that this would be a grand spot for an ambush. He breathed a sigh of relief when they made the carriage and he grimaced ruefully to himself as he followed her inside. He was becoming a silly old woman it seemed.
He settled beside Silence, very aware of her smaller size and of the delicacy of her profile. Tonight he’d have her in his bed. Tonight he’d discover all that smooth, soft skin, and the woman beneath.
“Thank you,” she said sleepily. “That was the most delightful thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Ye liked it then, m’love?” he murmured.
“I did.”
He smiled in the dark. He’d had years of practice with seduction, but this was different somehow. Final and just. After tonight he’d have no need to seduce any other. “What did ye like the most?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I liked the lady singer and the dancer—imagine dancing without stays!” She stifled a yawn. “So scandalous, and yet she was terribly graceful as well, like watching swan’s down float on the wind.” She was quiet a moment. “It must be nice to see the opera or the theater whenever you might wish.”
He tilted his head toward her. “Perhaps I’ll take ye again.”
He waited like a lovesick schoolboy for her reply and it took several moments for him to realize that she’d fallen asleep. He smiled in the dark. Best she get her rest now. Still, he could not help the impulse to carefully put his arm around her and gently tilt her head so that it lay more comfortably on his shoulder.
She murmured something and snuggled into his chest.
They rode thus through the night, she fast asleep trustingly against him, he with the smell of her hair in his nostrils. He was erect and throbbing in anticipation, but oddly he was content to sit thus with her.
More than content, if truth be told.
The ride must end at last, though, and the carriage shuddered to a halt before his palace.
She stirred and looked up, her eyes suddenly wide. “Oh! I’m sorry. I must have been a terrible weight.”
“Not at all, m’love,” he murmured. “Not at all.”
He bent his head toward hers, drawn by her plump, parted lips, but the carriage door opened.
Immediately she moved away from him and he sighed. “Come inside and I’ll give ye a taste o’ some fine Spanish wine.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said as he handed her down.
“Naught but a sip, I promise ye,” he whispered into her ear.
He was so wrapped up in their gentle flirtation that it took him a moment to notice what he should’ve seen at once.
There were no guards outside the palace.