Between a Rake and a Hard Place Read Online Free PDF Page A

cannot be held to account for his brother’s actions. What has that to do with Sir Jonah?”
    Lysandra cocked a brow that suggested Serena was a dull-witted child. “Perhaps Sir Jonah has similarly high aspirations.”
    Or low ones. His direct gaze suggested nothing remotely resembling honorable intentions. He made her feel hot and irritable and as if her stays had been laced too tightly. He looked at her as if he knew her.
    Which was ridiculous. Just because he’d aided her in an indiscreet adventure, it did not give him leave to assume a familiarity between them that categorically did not exist.
    Serena stewed through the rest of the collections of duets and ensembles. Tepid applause interrupted her musings, and the curtain mercifully fell on the opera’s first act. Liveried servants turned up the gas lamps for intermission and Serena blinked at the light.
    She resisted the urge to glance in Jonah’s direction. She knew without knowing how that he was still watching her. She’d felt partially hidden by the darkness. Now that Sir Jonah could see her by lamplight, she had the same odd sensation she experienced in dreams sometimes—the squirmish one where she appeared in public as bare as an egg.
    Amelia stood. “I do so love Mozart, but he does tend to waffle on sometimes. It feels good to move about. Shall we take a turn around the lobby?”
    Serena followed Amelia and Lysandra out of the box and down the corridor that curved around the mezzanine. Mr. Tunstall, her ubiquitous footman, followed. In the absence of another male escort, Tunstall always hovered in the shadows when Serena moved in public. He was tall and well-favored, in the manner of such servants, but he was her father’s creature. Any misstep Serena made would be summarily reported to the marquis.
    Now is when it would be exceedingly handy to have a brother. Of course, Serena didn’t intend any activity her father would frown upon this evening, but if she did, she suspected a brother would have been much easier to bribe into silence than the footman.
    By the time they reached the broad marble stairs leading to the lobby, it was choked with other theatre-goers and they had to thread their way through the crowd. Punch was being served off to one side of the lavish space and the other women gravitated toward it. Serena headed for the row of doors. The footman fell into step with her.
    â€œNo, Mr. Tunstall, you needn’t accompany me. I only wish a breath of fresh air. Please see to Lady Lysandra and Miss Braithwaite instead.”
    His mouth tightened into a thin line, but he couldn’t very well countermand her direct order. “Very good, milady.” Tunstall turned on his heel and left.
    Serena was free to squeeze past the knots of opera-goers, successfully avoiding being dragged into discussions on the relative merits of the mezzo as opposed to the saucy maid character, who was in danger of stealing every scene in which she appeared. Finally, Serena reached her destination, and the doorman opened the brass-studded portal so she could escape the press of people.
    It was a fresh March night, not warm enough for the Thames to begin admitting its distinctive seasonal tarry fish smell, but cool enough to make her wish she’d brought her wrap.
    â€œGood evening, Lady Serena.”
    She realized that she’d been hoping all along to find him suddenly at her elbow. “Sir Jonah.”
    He held out a cup of punch. “It’s not Boodles’ coffee, but it’s wet.”
    She thanked him, took a sip, and made a face. It was as weak as she expected. “They must have borrowed the receipt from Almack’s.”
    â€œCareful—one of the patronesses may hear you,” he said with a chuckle. “Those ladies aren’t ones to forgive a slight.”
    â€œI rather doubt I’ll be blacklisted.”
    â€œThey did refuse to admit the Duke of Wellington once, but I suppose