“Ian will never remember to introduce us,” the giant said. “I’m Cameron. And you are?”
“Mrs. Ackerley” Beth stammered.
“You don’t sound certain of that.”
Beth fanned herself. “I was when I came in here.” “If you’re Mather’s fiancee, why are you in here kissing Ian?”
“I was just asking myself that same question.” “Cam,” Ian said. The quiet word cut through the noise as the crowd waited for the next act. There was no drama on the stage now, but plenty in Ian Mackenzie’s box. “Shut up.” Cameron stared at his brother. Then his brows rose and he dropped into a chair on Beth’s other side. He pulled a cigar from the box next to him and struck a match.
A gentleman should ask a lady’s leave before he smokes. Mrs. Barrington’s tones rang in her head. Neither Cameron nor Ian seemed worried about Mrs. Barrington’s rules. “Didn’t you say someone called Daniel was dicing with coachmen?” Beth asked him.
Cameron touched the flame to the end of the cigar and puffed smoke. “Daniel, my son. He’ll be all right if he doesn’t cheat.”
“I should go home.” Beth started to rise again, but Ian’s hand on her arm stopped her.
“Not with Mather.”
“No. Heavens, no. I never want to see the man again.” Cameron chuckled. “She’s a wise woman, Ian. She can go home in my coach.”
“No,” Beth said quickly. “I’ll have the porter fetch me a hansom cab.”
Ian’s fingers clamped down. “Not in a hansom. Not alone.”
“Me climbing into a coach with the pair of you would be the scandal of the year. Even if you two were the archbishops of Canterbury and York.”
Ian’s gaze fixed on her as though he had no idea what she was talking about. Cameron threw back his head and laughed.
“She’s worth stealing, Ian,” he said around his cigar. “But she’s right. I’ll lend you the coach and my man will take care of you, if I can find him. My own fault for employing a Romany as a manservant. They’re blasted hard to tame.” Ian didn’t want her to go alone; she saw that in his eyes. She thought of how he’d played with her curls—proprietary, possessive, like Mather with his Chinese pottery. She’d check on the information in Ian’s letter. She’d send Mrs. Barrington’s wheezing, gossipy butler around to pry tales out of other gossipy servants. The Mackenzie brothers could be part of some mad and improbable conspiracy to ruin Mather, but she had the awful feeling they told the truth. Below them the next act started with a fanfare. Ian rubbed his temple as though it gave him a headache. Cameron stubbed out his cigar and noisily exited the box. “My lord? Are you all right?”
Ian’s gaze remained remote as he continued to absently rub his forehead. Beth put her hand on his arm. Ian didn’t respond, but he stopped rubbing his temple and rested his large hand on hers.
He didn’t follow the action on the stage, didn’t try to continue his conversation with Beth, didn’t move back to kissing her. It was as though his mind had moved somewhere she couldn’t follow. His body was very much present, though, his hand heavy and strong. She studied the sharp profile of his face, the high cheekbones, the square jaw. A woman would want to run her hands through his thick hair when she held him in bed. It would be warm, damp with sweat as he lay heavy-limbed on top of her. Beth dared to reach up and smooth his hair back from his forehead.
Ian’s gaze snapped to her. For one instant, he pinned her with his stare. Then his eyes slid sideways. Beth stroked his hair again. He sat still under her touch, quivering with tension like a wild animal.
They sat this way, Beth lightly smoothing his hair, Ian’s body tight, until Cameron returned with a dark-complexioned man in tow. Cameron looked at Ian in surprise, and Ian rose in silence, forcing Bern’s hand to slide away. Beth scanned the theatre before Ian led her out, followed by Cameron. In a box across the vast room, Mather sat deep in conversation with Lord and Lady Beresford. He never noticed Beth or saw her leaving the box.
“Mackenzie! I’ll kill you. Do you hear me?” Ian scooped up warm bathwater and sloshed it over his hair and down his neck. He thought of Beth’s hand on his hair, her soothing fingers. Ian didn’t always like to be touched, but with Beth he’d stilled, willing to take her offering. He imagined her stroking his hair while she lay next to him in bed, her warm scent all over him. He wanted Beth’s lush body tangled in his sheets, her hair unwinding from its tight curls, her blue eyes half closed in pleasure. He wanted her with a deep intensity that hadn’t gone away, and even now his organ stiffened under the water.