Scandalous Desires (Maiden Lane #3)(61)

She opened her mouth, but the carriage shuddered to a halt at that moment.

“We’re here,” Michael drawled.

He pushed open the carriage door, revealing blazing torches in the night, and jumped down before setting the step and offering his hand to her for assistance.

Silence took her skirts in one hand and carefully stepped down. She wasn’t used to such an abundance of skirts and she rather feared she’d drag her hems in something awful.

“Come,” Michael said and set her hand upon his arm.

She finally looked up and saw a lovely classical building. Lanterns lined the steps leading to the doors and streams of ladies and gentlemen were entering the building. At the edges of the crowd were hawkers calling their wares: oranges, walnuts, flowers, and sweetmeats. Michael led her up the steps and into the doors.

Silence looked up at the vaulted ceiling, lined with sparkling chandeliers. “Where are we?”

“Ye’ll see,” he said and mounted a curving stair.

The upper level held a corridor with doors along one side. Michael opened one and ushered her inside.

“Oh!” Silence exclaimed. “You’ve brought me to the theater.”

“Not quite,” Michael said from behind her. “This here is an opera house.”

Silence looked about excitedly. She’d never been to either the theater or the opera as Father had rather frowned upon such things as frivolous.

They were in a luxurious box with several plush chairs and a table. Velvet curtains lined the box and could be drawn to give the occupants privacy. But beyond the railing the stage blazed with lights. Below a crowd milled in the pit.

“Let me take yer cloak,” Michael said, lifting it from her shoulders.

Silence hardly noticed. She was busy peering into the pit and across the theater to the boxes on the other side.

“Take care,” Michael warned. He placed his hands on either side of her waist. “Lean too far over and ye’ll tumble out.”

“I won’t,” Silence said, blushing. She must look a rustic country lass in her excitement. She sat on a chair with careful dignity, but then couldn’t help putting a hand on the rail as she hissed, “Isn’t that the king?”

Michael had taken a seat beside her and he casually turned his head to look where she indicated. “That’ll be the king’s son, the Prince o’ Wales. He does bear a fair resemblance to his da, though ’tis said the king hates his son most strongly.”

“The king hates his own son?” Silence felt incredibly naïve. How did Michael know this and she did not?

He shrugged. “The king and the prince are never seen together.”

Silence tried not to stare at the florid man with the protuberant eyes. “Oh! And what about the lady beside him?”

“His wife, I think,” Michael murmured. “ ’Tis rumored that he’s devoted to her.”

“Really?” Silence examined the princess. She wore a very elegant silver and white gown, but she was little more than a girl.

She craned to see who was in the boxes on their side of the opera house. “Do you come here often?”

Michael shrugged. “Once or more a month.”

Silence looked at him then. She’d not thought when she asked the question that he would answer in the affirmative. “You do?”

He smiled, his face in profile to hers. He didn’t lean forward eagerly as she had done, but his attention was most definitely on the crowd, the stage, and the atmosphere of the opera house itself. “Aye, and is it that startlin’ a savage such as m’self can find pleasure in music? Or is it the elegance o’ the music I like that surprises ye?”

“I am surprised,” she admitted. She was fascinated by the beauty of his profile, the severity of the straight lines of his forehead and nose, the sensual curves of his lips, and the arrogance of his chin.

He turned and caught her watching him and the smile left his lips. His eyes grew intent, his eyelids drooping, his eyebrows looking quite satanic and a little frightening.

She found him so tempting that she pressed her hand to her chest without conscious thought.

He followed the movement.

A corner of his mouth kicked up as he stared at her exposed bosom. He reached out and trailed his finger lightly across the upper slopes of her breasts. “Ye have no idea how long I’ve waited to see these.”

She caught his hand in her trembling fingers, uncertain if she was thrilled or mortified.

He didn’t try to pull away. “If I knelt right now at yer feet no one would see.”

“I…” She glanced at the low wall in front of her. It hid her from the waist down to anyone looking at the box. An image of him kneeling at her feet popped into her head and she suddenly stopped breathing. “What?”

“I could kneel there and lift yer skirts,” he murmured. “Ye’d have to be very still, mind. Very quiet. And no matter what I did ye couldn’t let it show on yer face.”

She stared at him, mesmerized by his deep, slightly rasping voice as he told her his wicked thoughts. She blinked, unable to resist asking, “What would you do?”

A corner of his mouth curled and his black eyes were intent. His hand left her lax fingers and trailed over her bosom, down her stomach, to her lap. “Do, love? Why, I’d fold yer skirts up, careful like, a little at a time, until I could see yer sweet cunny, hidin’ there between yer thighs.”