Love Is a Rogue (Wallflowers vs. Rogues #1) - Lenora Bell Page 0,51

would fit me. I have a much more ample bosom.”

“The gentlemen won’t mind if your bosom can’t be fully contained,” Beatrice said with a wink.

Viola giggled. “I think that kiss has changed you, Beatrice. You’re much saucier now. I like the new you.”

“I see him!” exclaimed her mother. “Beatrice, smile at the earl.”

Beatrice dutifully glanced down into the crowd and pasted a smile on her face.

“He saw you,” her mother reported. “He’ll arrive soon, I have no doubt.”

Oh, joy. She had summoned a conceited windbag of an earl. The very last thing in the world she desired.

Her mother’s dearest friend, the Dowager Countess of Fletcher, arrived in a flurry of wavering ostrich feathers and the cloying scent of floral perfume.

“How are you, Lady Fletcher?” asked Beatrice.

“I’m very well, Lady Beatrice. You look lovely tonight, ladies.” Lady Fletcher settled into the empty seat next to Beatrice’s mother. “And what are you plotting now, my dear dowager duchess? I heard Mayhew’s name mentioned.”

The two older ladies bent their heads together, laughing and chattering like magpies.

“My mother’s been very secretive lately,” Beatrice whispered to her friend. “She’s plotting something, and I won’t know what it is until the very last moment, so that I can raise as few objections as possible.”

“Would you like me to make some inquiries to see if I can discover what she’s up to? I’m supposed to go and say hello to the conductor from my father, before the opera begins.”

“Would you? I’d like to know what her plans are, and there’s no use simply asking her because she enjoys keeping me in the dark.”

“It would be my pleasure. I’ll be back.” Viola slipped out of the box.

“Where’s Miss Beaton going?” her mother asked.

“She promised her father that she would give his regards to the conductor of the orchestra.”

“I do wish she’d take more care with her appearance. That gown must be two seasons old. I know her circumstances are reduced, but surely they can afford at least a few new gowns. The girl is not lacking in beauty, but her dowdy clothing will attract her no suitors of quality.”

“Perhaps I’ll give her one of my gowns.”

“Absolutely not,” said her mother sternly, her normally placid face settling into a frown. “I don’t want her outshining you. Especially not at the costume ball next week.”

Her mother and her friend went back to passing judgment on the clothing of the other attendees and repeating the latest gossip.

Beatrice would rather be anywhere else than sitting here waiting for Mayhew to come and talk about himself. Thankfully, he wouldn’t stay long before going to his family box. She couldn’t take much more of his inanity without allowing her true feelings of revulsion to show. He always smelled overpoweringly of spiced cologne. She knew from experience that she’d smell it in the air for a full half hour after he left the box and even taste it in her mouth. How she detested the overuse of scents.

Ford used nothing more than soap, yet he always smelled delectable. And tasted even better.

Talking about the kiss had made her remember it vividly.

The rough touch of his hand on her cheek, sliding over her chin. The taste of his lips on hers . . . his tongue coaxing her mouth to open. The possessive grip of his hands around her waist.

“Are you cold, dear?” asked her mother. “You’re shivering. Here, take my wrap.”

“It’s the Parisian style of gown,” said Lady Fletcher. “It doesn’t cover the shoulders and bosom enough—she’ll catch a chill.”

This brought their conversation around to the subject of clothing, which would occupy her mother and Lady Fletcher until the performance began.

“I wonder what Miss Hind will be wearing tonight?” mused Lady Fletcher. “I heard that she dismantled her jewels and the diamonds were sewn to the bodice of her costume.”

“I heard that the opera house hired several policemen to guard the jewels,” Beatrice’s mother replied. “There she is!”

The ladies trained their glasses on the entrance of the scandalous prima donna who was rumored to be having an affair with a member of the royal family.

Beatrice couldn’t care less about jewels sewn on bodices.

All she wanted to do was relive forbidden kisses.

Ford wasn’t dressed for the opera but he didn’t care. Women were still giving him appreciative glances as he made his way through the crowd. Normally he would have returned those glances, assessing any offers, but tonight there was only one woman he wanted to see—and she was floating above him, so far out of