Chapter 5
A night at the Opera
The note arrived with formality that morning.
The carriage with the Duke’s crest stopped outside their manor, a valet with formal attire walked to her door and a note in heavy paper, the same crest and his handwriting, was delivered to her in a silver tray.
To Prim it was as if receiving a death sentence.
L. As in Losing sanity. As in Laying in ruins. Or Lamentable life choices. Prim held the note as her family fussed around in the room like headless chickens.
“This is the best outcome one could possibly hope for!” Her father triumphed.
“A Duke. In the family. And not just any Duke. He is one of the richest and most powerful men in the country,” her mother listed his accomplishments.
Prim was not that ecstatic. Yes, the Duke’s intervention has improved the situation slightly in terms of no one daring to call her ‘shameless’ to her face. But the rumor mill was still turning.
According to it, there were two undeniable variables in the situation: either Prim was a cunning genius or a villainous seductress. The debate was still raging with neither opinion winning.
Of course, none was the wiser regarding the mundane truth that was more within the lines of her being a silly, silly girl agreeing to an equally silly plan just because she found herself trapped against a door. That would take some imagination on the ton’s part.
So now, Prim found herself getting ready not only in terms of hair and dress.
As her mother and her maid fussed over her looks, she was mentally preparing herself to be in the center of undivided attention.
They would judge every move she made, every facial expression, every little interaction with the Duke.
That last part was the one she really dreaded. Because that cursed L. sent her heart fluttering. She’d hate to see what her heart would do when the rest of him would appear.
The carriage stopped in front of the Opera, and the Duke was there to help her out.
“You know,” Prim hissed as she gave him her hand, “it is socially civil to be in the carriage you send to the lady you are courting.”
“I got tangled up in-”
“Excuse me, I have no interest in knowing exactly where and who you were tangled with.”
“I was with the Duke of Blackwell in Westminster, but glad to know how your mind works.”
Prim glared at him and glared harder when he met his smirk.
“School your expression, Miss P.J.,” he leaned. “People are watching.”
“Perhaps you should stop talking then. My expression will be fine under those circumstances.”
He chuckled, the bright lights of the Opera making his face look sharper and his eyes darker. Prim closed her eyes, exhaled slowly, and prayed her pulse would behave.
The moment they entered the gilded foyer of the Opera, everyone turned to them. The cluttering stopped, the laughing ceased, the clinking of glasses silenced.
“I was hoping,” Prim whispered, “that we would go unnoticed.”
“I am afraid that is not an option. You are escorted by me.”
“Humble as always.”
“I try.”
“Apparently not hard enough.”
He glanced down at her with a look she did not quite understand, half amused, half assessing, and entirely too focused.
“Lemonade, Miss Jenkins?” He said loudly.
She nodded because she didn’t trust her voice to remain even under all that scrutiny. Leo patted her hand on his arm and led her to the table while keeping his head high, unaffected by the murmurs of the ton. While she was tempted to hide under a table.
“That skill I have to learn,” she admitted.
“What skill exactly?” He chuckled. “Never minding what other people think?”
“Oh, it is plain old indifference.”
“It is. Refined. Cultivated.”
“Don’t use big words,” she smiled as he offered her the lemonade. “You might strain something.”
His laughter echoed in the hall, the people around them looking at them mystified. She preferred to be enraptured by something else, so she sipped on her lemonade.
“Perhaps I should have gotten you something sweeter. Something less sour than your face.”
“My face is fine.”
“Your face is worse than a man’s awaiting the gallows. You are supposed to be out with a suitor.”
“Supposed being the operative word.”
“Look at the foyer and look enchanted at least.”
“I’ll do my best, but I make no promises. The company doesn’t inspire enchantment.”
Prim looked around at the beautiful foyer, bathed in gold, the twin chandeliers bathing the place in a beautiful light. She felt his eyes on her, but decided that the best course of action is to ignore him for a while.
“Mildenhall,” Prim heard a voice.
“Blast it!” The Duke hissed.
Prim stood terrified and glanced up to him. She was certain that they were in peril. Perhaps those who were after them. Prim tightened the hold on him instinctively.
“Do not be alarmed. It’s the Duke of Ellington waving at me like a man summoning a life raft. Harmless but persistent. It will take a moment. Please stay here. He will definitely say something stupid, and his wife is vicious. Pretend you enjoy the biscuits.”
“I don’t.”
“I know. Hence the pretend.”
He nodded at her in reassurance and went to the man, smiling at him while his wife seemed deflated that she was not in tow. An unlikely thought passed through her mind. One that suggested that the Duke acted to protect her. Quite inconvenient for the polite coldness she had in mind for him.
Adding salt to the wound was how she realized in dread that she hadn’t liked him leaving her side. She felt safer when she was by her side. She wouldn’t admit that even under duress, but she could at least admit to herself as much.
“Miss Jenkins,” a sweet voice was heard.
Prim clasped the biscuit so hard, it crumbled. She turned and saw an elegant middle-aged woman smiling at her. Prim kept her straight face even though cold sweat ran down her spine. It was not the same thing she felt when she braced for the insult. It was worse.
“You are even more beautiful than the rumors,” the woman said. “We haven’t met. I am Bridget, Duchess of Covington.”
“Your Grace,” Prim curtsied.
“I see you are here with the Duke of Mildenhall.”
“He was kind enough to escort me this evening.”
The Duchess glanced over Prim’s shoulder, presumably at the Duke. Prim kept an innocent smile but studied the woman intensely. And didn’t miss the tightness of her jaw before that saccharine smile clicked in place. Something is wrong, Prim knew.
“Such a noble gesture, Miss Jenkins, don’t you think?” the Duchess said, putting a gloved hand on Prim’s arm, “After all these nasty rumors.”
Prim congratulated herself on keeping the mask on despite the eagerness to run away screaming.
“He is a noble man.”
“You seem to admire him.”
Admire the way he has managed not to be savagely killed by anyone by now, Prim nodded.
“You must be thrilled with the prospect of this courtship.”
“I do not indulge in overexcitement.”
“Such a prudent path for a lady. An admirable trait for a Duchess.”
“You are in a better position to judge that, Your Grace.”
“Mother, I-”
A young man, polished, charming, and yet alarming, came close and took the Duchess’s arm. Then saw Prim and he feigned surprise. Every little hair on Prim’s neck stood in fear. There was nothing obviously threatening about the man, and yet Prim pulled her guard up.
“Oh, Miss Jenkins,” the man bowed. “Lovely to meet you.”
“It seems my reputation precedes me,” Prim clipped as she curtsied.
“I just happened to be at the charity event. Aaron Fletcher,” he bowed.
And I would be thrilled to subtly insult you before the first act, Prim mentally added.
“Miss Jenkins and I were just discussing her exciting new circumstances.”
“Ah,” the young man said, smiling as if he’d discovered a secret. “I imagine they are overwhelming.”
Prim’s stomach dropped. It was as if wolves were circling her.
“I am merely watching to watch The Barber of Seville. I am not expecting to be overwhelmed. I would be disappointed in anything less than amused.”
“And the Duke,” the Duchess started.
But she never finished her sentence. Prim felt it way before her ears and eyes confirmed it. He was here. The gravity of the room shifted, and somehow, the world stilled in the filled-to-the-brim foyer. A predator was approaching, and everyone’s instinct flared. Leo.
“Good evening,” his voice startled her.
Prim had witnessed the Duke’s authority in full force at the charity event, but this was a whole new beast entirely. His voice dropped the temperature in the room and suffocated everyone around him. The Duchess’s and her son’s smiles froze on their startled faces.
“Miss Jenkins,” he demanded her attention.
When Prim looked up, she had to hold back from an intense reaction.
The Duke looked positively menacing. Not in a loud, chest-pounding way.
No, he looked lethal. He blinked slowly, his eyes fixed on the younger lord.
His breaths came slowly, almost non-existent, and the way he moved to place his hand on her waist had a controlled, liquid grace.
“Our box is ready,” he rumbled and led her away.
Prim didn’t even dare to disagree. She didn’t even blink, something warning her that if she blinked, she would miss the attack that was for sure coming.
“I need to learn that trick, too,” Prim dared.
“Which one?” The Duke bit down his jaw.
“Appearing at the perfect moment.”
His mask remained cold. Prim wouldn’t claim she knew the man at all, but she was certain that he wouldn’t let the opportunity to quip something clever pass.
He guided her to a private box, with lush cushions, refreshments and sandwiches and the perfect view on the stage.
Prim looked at the stage with mild excitement.
She had no love for fiction. She preferred the stories of real people that bled and loved and fought.
But the seats were good and she had heard that the singers that year were of some caliber.
What was more, Prim was not going to waste this break from her daily worries.
Worrying about the sheet, the rumors, her sisters, her parents.
It smothered her, made her gasp for air.
For a few hours, in this soft seat, looking at the multitalented Figaro play his tricks, she could forget all that and relax.
“Oh, it’s starting,” she said mostly to herself with enthusiasm.
If the Duke shared her enthusiasm, he didn’t show it. He was stoic and sitting in the chair right behind her, between her and the door.
The lights dimmed in the opera apart from those illuminating the red curtain of the stage. When the curtain lifted, Prim admired the background painted with delicate designs.
Then she felt the Duke shift behind her. Before she could even wonder, she felt his breath first, taking her skin by a storm, the small hair there raised as if a hurricane was attacking them. Then his voice hit her. A low, guttural growl, that made her body lock up even straighter.
“Avoid my family.”
His family? When exactly did she meet his family? She wasn’t aware he even had a family. The only people she talked tonight…
The Duchess and her son! Prim lost all interest in the love troubles unfolding on stage. His mother. The Duchess was his mother. She must have been remarried. Her overly sweet voice, the touching, the sympathy.
Could they have been true? And Prim realized with dread that she was so curt and blunt. Borderline rude. She thought they were there to ridicule her. Perhaps an apology was in order. Prim had enough problems as it was.
“Did you hear what I said?” The Duke demanded.
His voice made her jump up. He leaned even closer, his breath caressing her ear. She could feel the movement of his lips as if they were touching her. Heat swirled inside her, dense and liquid, down her neck to her spine, somewhere lower.
“You will never come near my family or talk to them. Say you understand.”
Prim snapped out of her trance. That tone irked her to the bone. If she wanted to talk to someone, she would do so without asking for permission from him. It wasn’t as if he were really courting her. Fury washed over her and welcomed the new feeling. She turned with a sharp turn of her head.
Only to find herself a mere inch away from his face. In the dim light she could almost see nothing but the most devastating of all. The perfect swell of his lips, granite made of softness. Close. Impossibly close. If she so much as trembled, a single, involuntary shiver, her lips would meet his.
She lost her breath as his wafted over her face, in a slow exhale. Her fingers tightened around the program that crumbled. If he-
A roar of applause broke from the audience below, a brutal reminder of where they were and what was at stake. Prim snapped back to look at the stage, happy to maintain only the most basics of her motor functions.
The drama in this box of the orchestra was far more dangerous than the one on stage.