Chapter Twenty
She was breathtaking.
Benjamin stood silently in the doorway of the Duke of Wells’ box at the newly built English Opera House. Wells and he had been key investors in the theatre's renewal, and the opening night turnout seemed to indicate the investment’s success.
He watched, mesmerised, as she twirled gleefully before him. The dress he had commissioned from Madame Renaudin, the most exclusive modiste in London, swirled around her like a wash of stardust. He could not look away as the gossamer skirts swished and clung to the outline of her legs.
Charlotte let out a small yelp and stopped spinning when she saw him in the doorway.
She held a hand to her chest, the other still balancing the delicate, rounded champagne glass.
“You startled me, Benjamin.” Her casual use of his given name sent a delicious sizzle up his spine.
“You really should not lurk in the dark like that, spying on women. It is most ungentlemanly and rather disconcerting.”
She had a warm flush to her cheeks; he noticed as he stepped further down into the box. Her golden hair lay in silky swaths over her shoulder, and he itched to reach out and twine it between his fingers.
“I was not lurking overly long.” To give his hands something to do other than touch her, he stepped to the side table where Carons had left a glass beside the cool seau à champagne and poured himself a glass, bringing the bottle to top hers.
“And I seem to remember you asserting most emphatically that I was not a gentleman. So it is of little concern that I behave in a gentlemanly manner.”
Charlotte met his silent toast with her glass and regarded him with an arched brow. Benjamin felt decidedly uncomfortable under her scrutiny, especially when her sweet lips pulled into a slow smile as if she had come to some conclusion about him—solved a piece of the puzzle.
“You seem awfully against being identified as a gentleman for someone who adheres to the general code of conduct. Ah—” She lifted a slender finger from the glass and pointed at him.
“Before you try to contradict me, remember you speak to someone who has faced you on the duelling field, the pinnacle of a gentleman’s code of honour—no matter how foolish it is. ”
Benjamin could not fight the answering smirk that tugged at his own lips. “A man can have honour without being a gentleman. Is honour among thieves not equally well known as that of their gentleman counterparts?”
“The two are not mutually exclusive.” A shadow passed over her face for a moment, dimming her glow.
“That is true enough.”
“So you are saying you are a thief then?” The playful spark returned to her eye as quickly as it had vanished.
“No, I am not a thief.” Not anymore, he amended silently. “Though I have quite the reputation as a rogue and a scoundrel.”
“Yes, we have spoken of your notorious reputation before. I still believe you delight in it, having cultivated it intentionally.”
Benjamin lifted his hand to his chest in mock affront. “You believe me to be capable of such artifice?”
∞∞∞
Charlotte took a slow sip as if contemplating deeply.
“Perhaps not. It is quite roguish of you to lure a lady to an opera house without her knowledge.” Though it was considerably less roguish than luring her to his bachelor lodgings.
In fact, standing here in this box, sipping champagne was one of the least untoward things they had done together.
A night at the opera escorted by a beau was even appropriate for the purest of society debutantes—though a severe and dowdy chaperone was conspicuously missing from their company.
The thought of Benjamin as her beau sent a startling wave of bashfulness through her. She had to look away towards the stage as she took another sip rather than meet his dark blue gaze in the soft shadows of the box.
“Lure.” He said the word thoughtfully with an audible smile. “I like that. I am happy to be the rogue who could lure Lady Charlotte Aston.”
Wanting to make a quick retort but still feeling flustered by her own thoughts, Charlotte was saved by the sudden hush that fell over the audience as the stage curtain began to part.
Wordlessly, Benjamin gestured to the row of seats at the front of the box, but Charlotte hesitated. “Would it not be tantamount to declaring our arrangement if we were to be seen in a private box together? Sans chaperone?”
It felt silly to be concerned about such things. She was well and truly an old maid; no one much cared for what the spinsters of the ton got up to. But the impact the revelation would have on her family, she could not add to their troubles further.
“From up here, the crowds below may see that the box has occupants, but they would not be able to discern precisely who said occupants are.”
Benjamin had sent footmen earlier that day to ensure just that.
With the strategic lamp placement and large curtains framing the box and casting shadows from the stage lights, no one would be able to make out their identities.
“Besides, we are not sans chaperone as you so elegantly put it.” He gestured to the back of the box, where an elegant dowager sat in a plush wing/backed chair. Fast asleep.
Charlotte gasped. “Has she been there the whole time?” Her voice was lowered, trying not to disturb the elderly woman. As if their previous conversation was not proof of their companion’s deep sleep.
“Do not worry. She is Lady Elsie Wylde’s aunt, Lady Iona Gordon.
She just travelled down from Edinburgh with her ward for her niece’s wedding.
She was glad of the respite from the wild Wyldes.
” He winked and took Charlotte’s hand, turning it over to press an open-mouthed kiss to her palm.
“We are the picture of respectability tonight, my lady.”
∞∞∞
Her sharp intake of breath was like a caress down his whole body, and he was equal parts frustrated and glad as the orchestra drew their attention back down to the stage with the first notes of tuning.
Benjamin did not much care if anyone saw him in the Duke of Wells’ box, but he would not risk Charlotte’s reputation any more than he already had.
In fact, he had almost decided against bringing her here tonight, but after his inquiries and seeing the state of her life first-hand, Benjamin yearned to present her with the finest experiences money could offer—particularly those she had been deprived of by the faults of her brother.
The way she had spoken of the opera that afternoon in the pavilion—Benjamin had taken one look at her face and sworn he would be the one to give this part of her life back to her.
He had persuaded Wells to skip the opening night of the first opera hosted by their new venture so that Charlotte could experience the excitement without having to expose herself to the humiliation of their acquaintance—or worse, feel she must explain herself or her presence to his friends.
Elkington had insisted he bring Lady Elsie’s aunt as chaperone—though he suspected it had been a ploy to catch his dear fiancée alone for the evening.
More than anything, though, Benjamin wanted to be alone with her; to enjoy her pleasure at the experience wholly and unreservedly. He was doing it now; he watched the anticipation in her eyes as the curtains receded and the orchestra awaited the conductor's cue.
Even as the first soprano took the stage and began singing a heart-wrenchingly tender overture, Benjamin could not look away.
He sat like that, leaning back in his chair, knee pressed against hers, watching her face for the entire first act.
Charlotte did not even notice his gaze; she was so transfixed on the performance.
When the curtains closed for the intermission, she broke from her reverie and looked at him, cheeks damp but a glowing smile in her eyes.
“That was magnificent.” She took the handkerchief Benjamin offered her and dabbed at her cheeks. “I forgot how much I enjoy the opera. It's one of those things you do not think about…” she trailed off. “When there are other things to worry about.”
Benjamin resisted the urge to pull her into his arms then and there.
The idea of proud Charlotte, alone in her draughty, empty townhouse, trying to scrounge together enough money to feed herself and protect her brothers, made his chest constrict.
He wanted Charlotte to never worry about anything again.
“Yes, it is very nice.” Benjamin felt as if he were seeing the opera through fresh eyes.
He had enjoyed music as a boy but had never been to London until his mother moved them there.
Even then, before she passed, they did not have the money or connections to do something as lavish as attending the opera—and his mother would not have dared return to such a life.
After her death—well, it was just as Charlotte said; it was not something one thought of when there were other things to worry about.
The opera and the other extravagances of the London elite had become a beacon to him through the cold, hard nights.
The figure of a wealthy gentleman dressed in evening finery, an elegant woman on his arm, riding in his landau through a summer twilight on their way to the opera, had transfixed Benjamin.
If he could achieve that, his comfortable childhood in the country and a future glory of true riches and independence would be reconciled, and he could forget the intervening years of suffering.
Thus, the opera had never just been the opera for him.
It had been an achievement—a sign of wealth and success.
Now that he was a part-owner of this opera house, he was so far beyond his wildest dreams. And yet, seeing Charlotte experience it with a simple appreciation for the art and beauty of it all, he felt as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes.
The place was new, and all the more dazzling for the woman sitting before him.
“Benjamin?” Charlotte’s voice broke him from his reverie.
“Sorry, what was that?” He tried to focus on her words and leaned in. A mistake. Her sweet breath fanned the side of his face, and she set a light hand on his arm in a casual gesture that made his heart thrum.
“I asked, why did you bring me here?”
Unable to summon a clever response, he replied honestly, “I thought you would like it.”
Charlotte pursed her lips in an assessing way that made him want to fidget. He suppressed the impulse and met her warm, sparkling gaze. “I do like it. Thank you.”