Masquerading The Marquess

Chapter 2

" Cal, don’t you think you’ve become a bit preoccupied with the Marquess of Angelford?"

Calliope shot Robert Cruikshank, her mentor and caricaturist extraordinaire, a fuming glance and dropped into her soft leather chair. "He provides so much material. How can one not take notice?"

Robert shook his head and ran a hand through his fashionably cut locks. "Three more drawings on the same subject-'The Travails of a Marquess.' It’s a bad idea to concentrate on one person, especially a peer who values his privacy. "

"I know, but admit it, they are good illustrations."

Robert inspected the drawing in his hand. "Better than good, they are inspired. Just be careful. Angelford is a powerful lord and isn’t accustomed to this type of attention. None of the other artists portray him in such a narrow, unflattering manner. "

Robert tossed the sheet to her and leaned back, crossing his shiny Hessians on the edge of her worn mahogany desk.

"At this juncture of your career it would be much easier, as well as safer, to portray those who expect and encourage the notoriety. "

Calliope groaned. "They’ve all been overworked."

Robert shook his head with more than a little irritation. " Cal, that’s one thing you need to accept. Everything doesn’t need to be new. One of an artist’s greatest challenges is to create something exciting from the mundane. "

"I understand Robert, really I do. I just think Angelford is an interesting subject." and he deserves the comeuppance, she added mentally.

Calliope scanned the image. The marquess was dodging carefully laid traps set by society mamas and debutantes as he scampered after a dozen scantily clad courtesans. Examining the caricature, she felt an odd mixture of satisfaction, anger, sadness and regret. Across the lower right she signed the name Thomas Landes with a flourish and slid the sheet back to Robert.

He sighed and carefully placed the sheet on top of the other two caricatures of the marquess. "The publishers are very pleased with your work.

Sales have increased and they are eager for the mysterious Mr. Landes to provide more fodder for their presses. You will notice an increased compensation. "

He handed her the banknotes and she noticed the look of pride he tried to conceal. She swelled beneath it.

"Thank you, Robert. You’re a dear friend, and I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’ll have a new selection for you next week, and I promise to choose a different subject." Behind her back she flexed her crossed fingers and promised herself she would indeed try.

His expression turned serious. "See that you do, Cal. I have an uncomfortable feeling about the direction you’re taking with the marquess. Most likely these three sketches of Angelford will be published every two weeks, to whet the public’s appetite. The others you did of him were much different." He shook his head. "Tongues will wag over these new ones, so be prepared for possible repercussions in the next few months."

"Then again," Robert said, and shrugged in his offhand manner, "since your work is selling well, perhaps you shouldn’t take my advice."

Calliope laughed but couldn’t hide her nervousness. He looked at her questioningly and lifted his eyebrows. "Out with it."

"Lady Simpson terminated my employment. I need to retire ‘Margaret Stafford.’”

"Yes, I know. Even the men at the clubs have been talking about the 'Killroy Incident.' You made Lady Killroy’s ball the event of the Season thus far. She is fair to preening from the attention, despite being called porcine."

Some of Calliope’s embarrassment must have slipped through her reserve, because Robert reached over and patted her hand. "You should be relieved at this turn of events. If I’m not mistaken, I believe you called Lady Simpson something akin to a harridan quite loudly in front of the entire assemblage.

"Regardless of your feelings for the woman or the fact that the position gave you entree into the ton, by your own admission you had almost drained her of ideas."

He motioned to a blank sheet of drawing paper. "You really ought to illustrate the occurrence from Margaret’s point of view. Other artists are bound to capitalize on the subject, and it would be best to have yourself well represented."

Calliope nodded, opened her top drawer and handed him an already sketched and signed caricature of the event. He took one look at it and roared with laughter.

The picture illustrated a sparrow with a bandaged leg and spectacles applying tar and feathers to a large-mouthed harpy standing in shock. In the background, ornately plumed birds had wide eyes focused on the twosome, and the flock was depicted gathering up bits and pieces of grain on the floor.

"And here is another. " She withdrew a second caricature. It was a tribute to Lady Simpson, who wielded a knife as she carved into a roasted pig bearing Lady Killroy’s features.

"These are fabulous. The public will love them."

She allowed herself a small smile. Paybacks were quite satisfying. One noble at a time.

"However, it does leave you in rather odd straits." Robert tucked the sketches into his leather satchel. "You may not be able to get a companion position under a different persona. There are limited ways in which one can appear severely dowdy and not be recognized. And you have stressed to me several times the desire for your real identity to remain anonymous."

Yes, anonymity was essential. Calliope knew society. Lady Salisbury had countless friends who would keep her fully abreast of the latest on-dits. And since Margaret Stafford definitely was in the on-dit category at present, Calliope could only breathe a sigh of relief that she had persisted with the disguises.

Robert’s hands were crossed in a contemplative fashion as he waited patiently for her response to the dilemma.

Calliope breathed deeply. "Robert, after much consideration, I have decided to view society from a totally different perspective."

His eyebrows rose, but he waited for her to continue.

"However, in order to do so I will need your help finding a man of noble birth who can be completely trustworthy. A nearly impossible request, I know. "

She saw more interest gather in his eyes. Robert loved a challenge. "Well, don’t keep me in suspense."

"I’ve decided to become a courtesan."

Robert’s face went blank. "A what?"

"A courtesan."

"A courtesan?"

"Yes." Her nerves were already frayed.

He sat up in his chair. "Let me get this straight. You want to be a lady of the night, a bird of paradise, one of the demimonde, fallen?"

Calliope fought to maintain her composure. "Yes, but in name only. "

"Ridiculous."

"No, it’s a perfect cover." `

"Why not a seamstress?"

"Too tedious and limiting."

"Governess?"

"Too restrictive."

"Scullery maid?"

Calliope cringed. "No. Any service position would be skewed to the household I would inhabit."

Robert’s face had turned an unbecoming shade of red. Calliope jumped into the brief silence.

"Robert, listen before you negate the idea. I’ve been mulling this over for days." Calliope examined her ink-stained hands as she reviewed her arguments. "This role will be terrific. I will have access to new haunts and will be able to view the ton from a new perspective. The position will give me insight into the vagaries of society and provide, an exceptional opportunity to observe and capitalize on the ton’s wilder side. And I stress it will be in name only."

Robert paced to the window, his hands clenched at his sides, his protective nature in obvious conflict with the thought of the adventure.

Calliope held her breath. The room was cloaked in silence, and she shifted uncomfortably. Her plush chair, the one extravagant purchase she had allowed herself from her caricature earnings, felt hard.

He had to agree. He had to see this was the best way to proceed. A lady’s companion position was closed to her, thanks to her interactions with the infernal Marquess of Angelford. No other position would do. He had to agree.

An eternity passed before she saw Robert’s fingers relax. He turned to her, a thoughtful expression on his face. " Your benefactor will need to be completely aware of your position and his role in this undertaking so there is no misunderstanding. In order to meet the appropriate people he will need to be accepted by and have access to the ton."

Calliope allowed herself a tentative gleam of hope. It must have shown in her eyes, because she received a stern look in return. "This role will not be easy, Cal. The rules of this game are quite different from any you have played thus far."

She couldn’t stop her head from bobbing in agreement.

He gave her an admonishing look. "I want you to note I feel this is a dangerous idea."

Calliope gave a suitably restrained nod.

He regarded her seriously for a moment and then regained his usual flippant air, tapping his chin. "As odd as it may be, I happen to know just the person who fulfills the criteria. He would find this charade highly amusing, and despite his rakish appearance he is a gentleman and utterly trustworthy. " He paused. "Although he has been out of the country recently, he is well connected and possesses a stinging sense of humor. He would enjoy playing the ton."

Robert walked to the door and touched the handle. Turning back, he said, "I’m going to contact my distant cousin, Stephen, and get back to you by the end of the week. Just remember my cautions."

Calliope exhaled and forced herself to relax. She had passed the first hurdle. Despite any mustered objections, the new role would provide a perfect cover with excellent exposure. The familiar excitement of creating a new persona radiated through her. She was anxious to talk to Deirdre.

A week later, Deirdre Daly rubbed her hands in eager anticipation. "Let me repeat that I think this is a wonderful development. I hated getting you ready for all those boring soirees." Dee grimaced. "What a miserable way to play, no less live."

Calliope grinned at her foster sister as they pillaged Mrs. Daly’s dressing room at the Adelphi Theatre. "Yes, it was a truly constraining existence."

But the grin slowly slipped from her face as she mulled the matter further. "Although it is quite advantageous to be one of them. As an outsider looking in, I don’t envy some of the poor debutantes who barter themselves each night on the marriage mart."

A bitter note crept into Calliope’s voice as the cast of faces who had snubbed her flitted through her head. "However, the ones I feel sorry for are few and far between. Most of the ton is composed of lazy, selfish entities who live off their relatives, contribute very little to society and spend countless hours degrading others."

Deirdre stopped searching through her mother’s theater wardrobe and cast her a worried glance. "Callie, is something wrong? Your ranting sounds worse than usual."

Calliope felt weary and older than her twenty-four years. She rubbed her hand over her brow. "No, Dee, I’m fine. I just have a case of opening-night jitters."

Deirdre did not look appeased, but she returned to her task and changed the subject. "I believe you are still on the hook for painting this Saturday. Mr. Franklin still has the ague."

Calliope sighed. For as long as she could remember, she had worked backstage at the Adelphi Theatre, filling in for whoever was absent. Set painting was just one of the many tasks she had undertaken over the years.

"How did I get roped into that again?"

Deirdre wagged her finger at her. "No complaining, remember?"

"I wish I hadn’t been so excited when my first caricature sold. Otherwise I never would have told you to remind me not to complain about working backstage."

"Well, you mustn’t blame me. I wasn’t even in the Life in London production. Blame Robert."

But Calliope would never blame Robert for anything. She had met Robert Cruikshank backstage two years ago when the Adelphi produced Life in London. Robert had helped illustrate the famous serial by Pierce Egan and had popped in for several of the performances during its over three-hundred-night run at the Adelphi. One night he had ventured backstage and observed Calliope creating illustrations of the dandies who patronized the rooms of the actresses after each performance. He had been her secret sponsor ever since, toting her caricatures to Ackermann’s and returning with her profits. Under his tutelage her caricatures had become increasingly popular.

"I suppose I can fit painting into my schedule. Drawing in the park is never as nice as sitting in the middle of paint fumes all day."

A hatbox fell from a shelf and Deirdre grunted as it hit her shoulder and bounced off. "I’m not going to feel sorry for you, if that’s what you’re after. At least you won’t be practicing dance steps all day with that taskmaster St. Albin." She shuddered as she bent to retrieve the box. "I swear the man has taken lessons from Satan himself."

" Dee!"

Deirdre shot her a look of pure innocence. "I’m only stating the obvious, Callie."

Calliope chuckled and walked toward the closet. "What are you doing in there? I have to meet with Robert’s cousin soon and I need an appropriate garment."

Deirdre muttered what sounded like a mild obscenity and then triumphantly held up a flowing piece of material. "Here it is."

"Um, where’s the rest of it?"

Deirdre shot her a long-suffering look. "You will look fabulous in this. Now try it on."

Deirdre thrust the dress toward Calliope. The soft silk whispered against her hand, and she fought the urge to stroke the gorgeous fabric against her cheek. It was a lovely shade of turquoise and the material seemed to pool around her.

Deirdre shoved her toward the dressing room and bustled around picking up odds and ends, periodically dismissing and keeping items.

Calliope slowly undressed and slipped on the gown. Deirdre helped her fasten and arrange the material.

"Now, this is excellent."

Calliope frowned. "I repeat, where’s the rest of it?"

"Now, none of that. It was your idea to pose as a courtesan, and you certainly can’t play the role in your typical clothes. Besides, it’s about time we got you into something a little flashier. With all of those drab, dull outfits it’s no wonder you didn’t pick up an admirer or two."

" Dee, you know how difficult it is in the foreground. Too much attention would’ve dragged me further into the viper’s nest, and made it more difficult to hide our lies."

"Your companion references were well faked. Our contact has been superb in digging up the necessary documents each time. But you did garner your share of attention during the 'grand exit' "

"And, unfortunately I’ve brought myself to this."

"This will be a splendid entertainment. You just have to immerse yourself in the role. Mistress to a cousin of a duke and earl, how exciting!"

Calliope frowned at the revealing dress. "Mistress in name only, and I’ve always been more fond of being in the chorus."

"But now you must be stage front. It’s the only way to attract the attention and get the information you need. You’ve been in the theater business too long not to be able to play the lead role."

Deirdre picked up a hairbrush from the dressing table. "So sit down and let me ready you for tonight. A handsome gentleman, a marvelous evening gown, a lovely coiffure, stunning jewelry and a new identity. I quite envy you the adventure."

Calliope laughed and plopped into the proffered chair. "Yes, I seem to remember you were quite willing to go along with all my schemes."

Deirdre pulled the brush through Calliope’s hair and fond remembrance lit her eyes. "I was al ways the one in trouble, however. Mother and Father seemed to think you were the innocent one and I spearheaded the mischief, when really it was the other way around."

There was no antipathy in the statement, only happy memories. The smell of burning assailed Calliope’s nostrils. Her breath quickened.

"Lud. The iron is too hot." Deirdre fiddled with the iron and Calliope tried to bring her breathing back under control.

Anything connected to fire always caused her anxiety.

It was so long ago, yet she could still remember the feel of the cinders in her hair. Her home engulfed in flames, her mother’s departing form as she ran back inside the inferno. She shut her eyes, trying to block the images. That night had brought her into the care of the Dalys. She had no how she managed to make it to their home, but she liked to think it was her mother’s spirit guiding her to safety. Her mother had been friends with the acting family, but hadn’t visited them often at their house.

In the wee hours of the morning Calliope was discovered huddled on their doorstep, too scared to knock. The Dalys had hustled her into the house and given her warm soup. Then she had been tucked into bed with Deirdre and sung to sleep by Mother Daly. They had been her family ever since.

Little by little Calliope relaxed her tightened muscles and gave herself up to Deirdre’s ministrations. Dee expertly pinned her locks and fastened a chestnut wig to her crown. Examining the assorted hues and tints in the containers littering the counter, Deirdre selected shades and placed them next to Calliope’s cheek. Once she was satisfied with her selections, she went to work. Deirdre’s brows furrowed in concentration as she alternately enhanced Calliope’s bone structure and disguised her face. Kohl was painted on her eyelids and a smattering of rouge tinted her cheeks and lips.

"Perfect. The men will be falling all over you. And yet, it won’t be you." Deirdre winked wickedly.

Calliope looked in the mirror. Although she saw her own features, she barely recognized the reflection. The odd sensation of freedom overtook her, as it did each time she became someone new. She was a new woman in a new guise, unfettered by the demons of the past. A knock sounded at the door, and before they could respond, it swung open to reveal Robert and a tall blond man with twinkling green eyes.

Robert stopped and his jaw dropped. " Cal?"

Calliope and Deirdre both grinned, and the handsome stranger in dark eveningwear stepped forward. A mixture of emotions crossed his face. His gaze surveyed her with the fond expression of one who had lost and then found an old friend. The warmth in his friendly green eyes sparked a feeling of kinship. His eyes then turned to Deirdre.

"Robert, you failed to mention there were two gorgeous ladies."

Deirdre tossed the man a saucy look. "Callie, I think we should switch roles for the evening. I promise to return with some great material for you."

The stranger winked, and Robert looked like he might gag.

"Please, this is difficult enough as it is. Stephen Chalmers, this is Miss Calliope Minton and Miss Deirdre Daly. Let us not forget the 'Miss' part, shall we?"

"Of course not, cousin. Ladies." He bowed low to each one and shot Robert an unapologetic grin. Robert ignored him. "Cal, Stephen knows the basics of your situation. I know you will enlighten him later on the particulars. Since tonight is your introduction as a couple, attending the opera should be a safe test to see if you suit one another and if you’d both like to continue this masquerade."

Calliope nodded.

"It’s a long ride, so the two of you can decide we specifics of your arrangement? He cleared his throat. "She is to return at a decent hour. Alone."

He sent Stephen a warning look, but the blond Adonis blithely brushed it aside. "Miss Minton, shall we begin?" he inquired as he placed Calliope’s hand in his while tossing a flirtatious wink to Deirdre. He smelled like a forest, fresh pine in the morning. An odd choice of cologne, but refreshing. Most men smelled as cloying as the females.

They exited the theater. At the end of the alley was a splendid carriage harnessed to four dark horses standing at attention. Calliope’s palms felt damp as she waded into the still night.

"Are you ready to proceed?" Stephen seemed concerned. He held out a hand to help her inside.

She hesitated but nodded in response. They settled into the carriage and it moved smoothly toward the opera house.

"We are attending The Barber of Seville, " as Stephen said.

"Il Barbiere I Siviglia is one of my favorites."

"So you’re familiar with the story? Excellent."

"Yes. One has to feel for the sufferings of Bartolo. His jealousy over the beautiful Rosina is comical, but sad to watch."

"I saw it performed at Teatro alla Scala in Milan several years ago with my friend James. A family acquaintance played Figaro and his comic ' Largo al factorum' nearly brought the house down."

"How wonderful. I regret my mother was never able to see it."

Stephen patted her hand. It was an odd reaction, but comforting.

"Other than warning me to be a gentleman and explaining my role in this arrangement, Robert didn’t elaborate on the details leading to this ruse. Mind you, I’m delighted to be your escort, but I’m also very curious."

If she truly wanted his help, then she owed it to him to be as honest as possible. "I am a caricaturist, as I’m sure Robert informed you. I recently completed a position as a lady’s companion. Quite an awful job, if I do say, but it served its’ purpose. I thought this role might provide an opportunity to sharpen my skills and vary my acquaintances.'

She waited for a negative reaction, but none was forthcoming.

Instead, he said, “A companion to Lady Simpson, correct? I don’t envy you the experience."

She searched his unfamiliar features. "How is it I’ve never seen you in society, Mr. Chalmers?"

"It has been a long time since I have stayed in London more than a few weeks at a time. Too long, really. "

Stephen looked to the window and did not elaborate. A short silence ensued, and Calliope pried her nervous fingers from her wrap.

He roused himself and looked at her. "Robert said I must not refer to you as Calliope, although it is quite an ideal name for a woman in your position. Perfectly uncommon."

"I thought Maria would be nice."

"Too plain."

"Cecille?"

"We need something flashy. Something befitting a siren."

She blushed and ran her fingers down the silky blue-green gown.

His eyes lit up. "Esmerelda."

Aghast, Calliope sputtered, "How about Selina?"

"Esmerelda is perfect."

"I’m not an Esmerelda."

He shrugged. "There really is no way around it, since that’s what I’ll be calling you this evening."

She stared at him, nearly at a loss for words. "You’re being difficult."

He grinned unrepentantly. "According to my friends, being difficult is my modus operandi."

What an exasperating man.

Taking pity on her, he sketched his family history and pursuits, telling her he would introduce his friends as they were met. He wasn’t titled, but his smooth voice and commanding presence bespoke his heritage. He left gaps in his background, but she made no comment until he was finished.

"Here’s what I thought we could do tonight-"

"A woman with a plan. I’m in love."

"Somehow I bet that happens on a frequent basis, Mr. Chalmers." She was quickly becoming comfortable with him, and grateful for the feeling.

He winked, and she continued, “After the last overture I thought we could slip out rather than mill with the others. It will give me time to get my bearings and give you an opportunity to change your mind about this whole scheme."

"I won’t change my mind, Miss Minton, but I think it’s a sound plan. A quick in and out will titillate the crowd. Make them more curious."

"Exactly. And I should have enough time to determine a direction for my work."

"I haven’t yet been able to view your caricatures. What do you illustrate?"

"Society." Calliope was tense. She had assumed Robert would fill him in. After all, Stephen was a member of the ton. What if he wasn’t amenable?

"Yes, yes, of course." He waved his hand in dismissal. "Not much else to talk about these days other than social commentary, and nothing else would explain this scheme."

She relaxed and regarded him in amusement.

He leaned forward in his seat. "Whom do you pick on in particular?"

"You’ll just have to wait and see."

A flash of surprise crossed his features, and then he sat back and grinned. "Cheeky little thing, aren’t you? I just better not see myself pictured at Ackermann’s."

She bit back a retort as the carriage pulled to a stop.

Butterflies fluttered in her stomach as Stephen’s smile disappeared and a more solemn expression replaced it. "Ready?"

She nodded, and they exited the carriage.

A swarm of people had gathered outside the theater. Milling about the entrance were beggars, pickpockets, prostitutes, courtesans, members of the ton and middle-class men. Each group had a role and every one of them was actively engaging in it. Calliope watched as a pickpocket quickly dipped a hand into the pocket of a man who was soliciting the services of a doxy. A beggar petitioned an inexperienced young man for change. Unable to extricate himself, the young man looked increasingly concerned. The tableau swirled through her consciousness as she prepared herself for her role.

A path opened and they strolled toward the entrance. Calliope observed the demeanor and nuances of the high-paid ladies and adjusted hers accordingly. A practiced flick of the wrist, a brazen flash of the eyes, a skillful movement of the hand across the chest, a sway of the hips. She witnessed subtle flirting and overt invitations. By the time they entered, she was ready to perform.

Calliope took in a deep breath. Esmerelda exhaled.

Stephen smiled appreciatively and gave her waist a reassuring squeeze.

As they meandered through the lobby, Stephen stopped periodically to chat with acquaintances. The men assessed her with considerable interest, some gawking rudely and others examining her in a speculative, yet friendly manner. She experienced a heady rush of pleasure and power. The reception was better than Calliope had received in any ballroom. The awkwardness of the past faded, and she relaxed.

Stephen guided her toward the stairway, and Calliope caught sight of a fiery-haired beauty, one of the loveliest women she had ever seen. Calliope followed the woman’s adoring gaze and looked straight into the midnight eyes of the Marquess of Angelford. He was staring at her intently.

She stumbled slightly and heat raced to her cheeks. Stephen gripped her waist and held her upright, covering the mistake. He sent her a questioning look, but she shook her head. They ascended the stairs and she attempted to regain her composure as they entered his box. Her pleasant feeling of euphoria had evaporated with a single glance from Angelford. She shook off the dark feeling and focused on the task at hand. So what if he was here. Had she really expected never to see him again?

Stephen began sharing humorous stories about several patrons while Calliope made mental notes of their relationships and mannerisms. She unconsciously scanned the boxes for Angelford and then scolded herself when she realized what she was doing. Faces and lorgnettes turned her way, and Calliope found it disconcerting to be scrutinized by the assemblage.

"I find this tableau quite amusing, " Stephen said.

She smiled. "Yes, finding caricature ideas is exhilarating when you first begin."

"No, I think you misunderstand. Here I am observing the audience and looking for interesting tidbits about them to share with you, while those below are focused on my beautiful escort and preparing interesting gossip about us. The irony."

He continued to scan the crowd and said as an aside, "I haven’t shared our secret. James and Stella don’t know our real relationship."

She was about to ask who James and Stella were when she heard someone enter the box. She turned to greet the newcomers and blanched at the familiar dark gaze of Angelford. There were many men named James in the ton, so why did this have to be the one to whom Stephen referred?

The redhead, presumably Stella, entered the box with ay bright look on her face. "It’s been so long, Stephen."

Stephen stood and kissed her outstretched hand. "Stella, you are stunning as ever."

Stephen grasped the marquess’s hand in a familiar manner. "Hullo, James."

James smiled warmly and returned the greeting.

Calliope looked from one to the other. They appeared to be very old, very good friends. She had confessed to the best friend of her nemesis? After she jumped over the railing she was going to hunt Robert down and deliver a good beating.

"James, Stella, this is Esmerelda."

Calliope couldn’t help herself and shot Stephen a quick, dirty look. Her new name sounded even worse when spoken as an introduction than it had in the carriage.

Stephen grinned. The cad had obviously interpreted her thoughts.

Stella smiled, but Angelford’s gaze was piercing.

"Stephen has been away so long. Where did the two of you meet?" Stella asked. "I love a good story."

Calliope allowed her lashes to slowly brush her cheekbones, something she had seen other women do, and related the tale they had concocted. "We met in Vauxhall, and it was love at first sight."

Angelford was observing her intently when Stephen said, "Yes, pet, it was something at first sight, definitely."

Angelford turned and glared at Stephen.

The curtain rose and they took their seats. Unfortunately, Calliope was positioned so her leg was brushing Angelford’s. She could feel the heat emanating from his leg and tried to surreptitiously move closer to Stephen. Angelford bent away from her, helping Stella arrange her dress, but as he sat back, his legs were even closer. There was nowhere for Calliope to move, so she tried to ignore the flurries in the pit of her stomach.

She folded her clammy hands in her lap. Angelford crossed his ankles and brushed her leg. A flash surged through her and perspiration gathered on her brow.

Calliope again considered how to move out of leg-brushing range without drawing attention. She turned her head slightly and received the full impact of his gaze.

He was smirking.

Anger coursed through her. He had been toying with her the entire time. How typical of a rake to poach on a friend’s territory.

She gave him a dark look then fixed her eyes on the stage. Her thoughts were in tumult during the entire first act of the opera.

James’s blood pulsed. It was Miss Stafford. He had known her from the first moment he spied her in the lobby, although he had to credit her for the disguise. It was very good.

Her appearance and hair color were completely changed, but the stormy eyes were the same. She was doing a credible job disguising her voice, although the melodic tones still shot tingles up his spine. Her elusive scent and outraged expression had been the final nails in the coffin of her disguise.

She was an enigma. What game was she playing? What caused her to go from a dowdy lady’s companion to a gorgeous courtesan? And what the bloody hell was she doing with Stephen?

The latter was the question foremost on his mind.

Stephen had just returned from a sensitive government assignment and it was uncharacteristic for him to have a mistress. Why had he selected this woman? How had they really met?

James brushed a resigned hand over his left sleeve and straightened his perfectly tailored jacket. He was going to have to investigate, make some inquiries in the ton.

That meant attending more functions, which he’d never enjoyed. They were trite and endless, even if necessary. Not many people would describe the beau monde as a soothing group, but James had quickly figured how to use them to his advantage. The ton was very much like a continual business negotiation, and James was an excellent businessman. Having to rebuild a fortune made or broke a man in the business world.

A thought nagged at him. He had been attending numerous functions, but had selected only the affairs he knew Lady Simpson would accept, and thus Miss Stafford. The realization made him irritable, so he pushed it aside.

What was she doing here? James had sensed her presence before spotting her in the lobby. When he turned he had expected to see spectacles, cane and dowdy garb. Instead he had seen a barely clad, sparkling beauty, reveling in the attention she attracted.

The sense of connection had grown stronger as she neared, and when she had met his eyes, her identity had been confirmed.

Perhaps she was a spy. At least it would explain his odd reactions to her. It was a cheering notion.

The first act of the opera ended and the assemblage rose. Gentlemen and their escorts began their promenade through the lobby, making connections and showing off their finery. It was business, after all.

Stella spoke to Esmerelda as they excused themselves and exited the box. Stephen turned toward James and leaned back in his chair, casually crossing his ankles to mimic James’s posture.

"The ladies will be fine. Now, do you want to tell me what’s going on?"

James shrugged nonchalantly. "Just enjoying the evening at the opera. "

Stephen continued to stare at him. "Mmmm, yes, that would explain why I felt I was being warned off my own companion."

James kept his face unchanged, but he mentally chastised himself for the slip. Stephen was too observant.

"Don’t know what you mean."

Stephen’s eyes narrowed and James diverted the conversation. "Isn’t it too soon after your return from the continent to make such an acquisition? Are you sure she’s legitimate?"

Stephen’s face abruptly softened and his eyes twinkled. "Oh, I have nothing to fear from that quarter."

His expression disgruntled James and made him uncharacteristically press the subject.

"Something strange is going on. There is something odd about the situation and how you two met."

"This is a first." Stephen grinned. "The Marquess of Angelford, jealous."

James frowned. "I’m not jealous. I’m concerned about you."

"As you will."

James’s frown deepened and his voice rang with emphasis. "Believe me, women are not worth the trouble. Getting foolish over them makes a man weak."

Stephen continued to smile at James, but his voice was directed past him. "My dear, did you find anything interesting?"

James turned to the box entrance and saw the chestnut-haired beauty shooting daggers at him. He hadn’t heard her approach and wondered what the hell was wrong with him.

He was off his game.

She had obviously overheard his last remark, and he wondered why he felt a twinge of regret. He had meant every word. What was it about her that made his conscience rear its ugly head?

She turned to Stephen. "I had hoped we could leave. I’ve had enough of Rossini’s opera for the evening, and I think we can find better ways to occupy ourselves." She threw him a saucy look and moved her body invitingly.

James’s own body flared, as did his temper, but Stephen was staring at him so he schooled his face into lines of boredom.

Stephen was clearly enjoying James’s discomfort.

He rose and took her hand. "Yes, darling, a wonderful idea. Good night, James, and say farewell to Stella for us when she returns."

Stephen drawled the darling and each new syllable grated more than the last. They exited the box and left James inside, perturbed.

He willed his body back to normal. His reactions were always unpredictable around her. The only predictable aspect was there would be a reaction.

There was something strange about that girl. He had never been able to resist a puzzle, and he had never encountered one he couldn’t solve.

He would expose her secret.