LITMIR.BIZ

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what all the words meant.’ Some day she would learn Italian, she vowed. ‘I wish I had the music. I would memorise every part of it.’

      ‘Lord Tannerton will be gratified that he pleased you.’

      He’d not been listening to her. She’d been talking of the music, not Lord Tannerton. She closed her mouth and retreated to her side of the carriage, making herself remember the music.

      He broke the silence. ‘Did you find Lord Tannerton agreeable, Rose?’

      ‘Everything agreeable,’ she answered dutifully, trying to recall the melody Elvira sung.

      But he’d broken the spell, and she remembered that she’d agreed to see Tannerton again that evening. ‘At Vauxhall tonight. How shall I find you?’ she asked.

      ‘I will collect you from the gazebo when your performance is done.’

      ‘Letty will be there. Come alone to fetch me, not with Lord Tannerton.’ She did not need Letty speaking directly to Lord Tannerton.

      ‘I will come alone, then,’ he agreed. He talked as if they were discussing some manner of business, like paying Tannerton’s bills. It was business, really. ‘Will you see that Miss Green is also there?’

      ‘I will.’

      They rode in silence the rest of the way. When the coach came to a stop in front of her lodgings, Flynn helped her out and walked her to the door.

      ‘I will walk you inside,’ he said.

      There was only one small oil lamp to light the hallway, and Rose heard mice skitter away as soon as their footsteps sounded on the stairs.

      In front of her door they were wrapped in near-darkness, a darkness that somehow made him seem more remote and made the music in her mind fade.

      ‘Goodnight, then.’ She was unable to keep her voice from trembling.

      ‘Goodnight,’ he responded. He turned and walked to the head of the stairs.

      She put her hand on the doorknob.

      ‘Rose?’

      She turned back to him.

      ‘I am glad you enjoyed the opera.’ Before she could reply, he descended the stairs.

      That night Greythorne stood in the shadows of the Grove, watching and listening to Rose O’Keefe sing. If anything, her voice was richer this night, especially passionate. Such passion ought to be his, he thought. He’d be her conductor. She would sing only for him, notes only he could make her reach.

      He spied Tannerton in the crowd. His adversary, a man who’d struck the initial claim. Greythorne would not let that impede him. It would only make the prize more precious to know he’d stolen it out from under the nose of the Marquess of Tannerton. The man was all Greythorne disdained, a Corinthian who cared more for horses than for the cut of his coat. Who would know they could share the same tailor? If it were not for Weston, the man would look like a ruffian on the street.

      After Miss O’Keefe finished, Greythorne watched Tannerton say something to that secretary who always seemed to be about. The two men parted. Something was afoot. If not for a woman, neither he nor Tannerton would spend this much time in London with summer upon them, not when other pleasures beckoned at places like Brighton or even Paris.

      Greythorne wondered what it would be like to take Miss O’Keefe to Paris, far away from familiar people or influences. Perhaps that was what he would do, but first he must discover what Tannerton planned for this night.

      He followed Tannerton, but the man walked aimlessly, stopping to speak to the few persons of quality who were present at the gardens this night. He ought to have followed the secretary instead. That Flynn fellow ran the show. Greythorne hurried back to the gazebo in time to glimpse the secretary escorting two women, one wearing a hood. He tried to keep them in sight, but lost them in the crowd.

      Cursing silently, he continued to search the line of supper boxes where Tannerton had dallied.

      Finally he discovered them.

      In one of the more private supper boxes, half-obscured by trees near the South Walk arch, sat Tannerton with the hooded lady. Greythorne wagered the woman was Miss O’Keefe. Greythorne waited for the moment he could make himself known.

      His eyes narrowed as he watched Tannerton talking to the chit as if she were already his. The marquess had made progress, perhaps, but Greythorne was not ready to concede defeat. His little interlude of two nights before had quite fired his blood for more. He was more than ready to pluck another flower.

      A Rose.

      Greythorne left the shadows and sauntered across the walk up to the supper box. ‘Good evening, Tannerton.’ He tipped his hat.

      ‘Evening,’ Tannerton reluctantly responded, making no effort to change from his slouch in his chair.

      ‘Forgive me for intruding.’ Greythorne made certain to use his smoothest, most ingratiating voice. ‘I could not resist the opportunity to tell this lovely creature how much I enjoyed her performance.’

      Miss O’Keefe, who had been hiding behind her hood, gave a start. Though he could not see her clearly, he made out the tiniest nod of acknowledgement.

      ‘Kind of you, I am sure,’ Tannerton said in an unkind voice.

      Greythorne tipped his hat again. ‘Perhaps we will meet again, Miss O’Keefe.’

      At that moment, the other woman in the box stepped forward, bringing a glass of wine to the lovely Rose. It was Greythorne’s turn to be surprised. She was the red-haired harlot whom he had seen with Sir Reginald, the one whose laughter had fired his blood. He widened his eyes in interest, an interest she caught.

      She gave him an appraising look in return. ‘Good evening, sir.’

      He smiled most appealingly and doffed his hat to her. ‘Good evening, miss.’

      Tanner glanced up at the woman. ‘Greythorne was just leaving.’

      Greythorne did not miss a beat. ‘Regretfully leaving,’ he said in his smoothest voice. He tipped his hat again to Rose. ‘Miss O’Keefe.’ And to the redhead. ‘My dear.’

      He sauntered back to the South Walk, heading in the direction of the Grove. Not defeated. Exhilarated. Two flowers to pluck instead of one. He’d have them both and rub Tannerton’s nose in it.

      Rose shuddered. ‘That was Lord Greythorne?’

      ‘Who is Lord Greythorne?’ Katy asked, still watching him walk away.

      ‘He’s a man who … who has asked my father about me,’ Rose told her.

      Tannerton’s open countenance turned dark. ‘Not a gentleman worth knowing.’

      ‘Do you say so, Lord Tannerton?’ Katy said lightly. ‘He seems a fine gentleman to me.’

      Tannerton grimaced. ‘Something about the fellow. Can’t remember it and neither can Flynn.’ He turned to Flynn. ‘Right, Flynn?’

      ‘Indeed, sir,’ Flynn replied.

      Katy gave Tannerton’s shoulder a playful punch. ‘You are just saying that because he wants our Rose.’ She laughed. ‘Do not tell me you fear a little competition?’

      Tannerton sat up. ‘I relish competition.’

      Rose glanced in the direction where the man had disappeared. He had given her a shiver. She turned to Flynn to see his reaction, but his back was to her. He’d barely spoken to her again tonight, but he spoke easily enough to Katy.

      Katy came back to him, grabbing his arm and squeezing it. Rose turned away.

      Tannerton regarded Rose with a hopeful expression. ‘The dancing has begun. Shall we?’

      Rose glanced at Flynn, but he was still thoroughly occupied with Katy. ‘Of

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