Page 43 of If the Duke Demands

“And if you’re hidden in the shadows, in the darkness, where no one can see nor ever know…I suppose it would be tempting for a woman, too.”

Shamelessly wanting to see more of how his words affected her, he asked, “Tempting how?”

“For a woman to be able to ask for what she wants.” Her breathing grew shallow and rapid. “If she wants the man she’s with to kiss her, or touch her…or something else.”

The scent of rosewater filled his senses. “Would you, Miranda?” Intoxicated by her nearness, he pressed wickedly, “Ask for that?”

Even the shadows couldn’t hide the blush that now darkened her cheeks or the way she trembled. “I—I might.”

His heart skipped. Inexplicably, he wanted nothing more at that moment than to be alone with her in one of those boxes with its curtains pulled, hearing her ask for what she wanted from him, with nothing else in the world to worry about but pleasing her.

But that was what he wanted as a man. As a duke, he could never have it. His days of finding physical pleasures in theater boxes were over. They’d died right along with his father. Knowing that only sharpened his frustration.

“And you?” she asked in a breathy whisper, completely unaware of the turmoil she churned inside him. She didn’t dare to turn her head to look at him. “Does the opera stir your blood?”

He stared at her profile in the shadows, his gut tightening at the raw pull of her, and confessed, “Youstir my blood, Miranda.”

She froze, except for her lips, which parted with a silent gasp of surprise. Then she slowly turned her head to meet his gaze, her eyes wide. Her breath came in soft, shallow little pants. “Sebastian—”

Suddenly, the audience burst into applause, destroying the illusion of privacy created by the shadows around them. He snapped his attention back to the stage as the curtain dropped for intermission and an army of attendants swarmed through the opera house to raise all the lamps. The theater became a flurry of activity as everyone rose from their seats to seek out refreshments in the lobby, gain a closer look at the other operagoers, and trade bits of gossip.

So did all the people inside his box. Except Miranda, who continued to stare at him in stunned confusion. He didn’t blame her. He was damned confused himself at his own behavior, certain the Mozart had driven him mad.

He glanced past her at Downing, who rose to his feet with a puppy-dog smile for her. The man was completely oblivious to the scandalous whispers Sebastian had shared with Miranda only a few feet away. He should have felt guilty, he supposed, given both the man’s close proximity and that Downing was here to capture Miranda’s attention for himself, not to have it snatched away.

But guilt was the last thing he felt. He’d enjoyed that conversation too much to regret it.

“Do you like the opera, dear?” Elizabeth Carlisle stepped to her side and affectionately squeezed her hand.

“It’s amazing,” she confided, beaming. The improper conversation from just moments ago was now forgotten by her, even ifhewould be thinking about it for the rest of the night. “I want to go backstage and see all the costumes, the musicians, the stage sets…Do you think they’d mind if—”

“No,” Sebastian refused firmly. “Proper ladies don’t associate with opera singers and actors.” Nor did dukes, he reminded himself with a pang of contrition. “They enjoy the performance from their seats.”

But the determined look on her face raised the hairs on the back of his neck in warning. Oh, he knew that look. It was the same one he’d seen in the green eyes behind the masquerade mask the night she’d sneaked into his bedchamber.

When his mother and Josie moved toward the door to head into the hall with the rest of the crowd, Miranda slid away after them.

Oh no.That little force of nature was going nowhere.

Sebastian slipped between her and the door, just as his mother and Josie stepped out into the hall. They disappeared into the crush of bodies shuffling toward the retiring rooms and lobby.

“I think you would enjoy remaining in the box during intermission,” Sebastian told her, his polite words belying the firm order in the tone of his voice. He knew perfectly well that the curious woman would find her way backstage and straight into trouble if he let her out of his sight for one moment. He slid a sideways glance to her right and smiled coldly at the banker, who hadn’t left her side since he arrived at Audley House to escort her. “With Mr. Downing to keep you company.”

Oblivious to the true meaning of the exchange between them, Downing’s smile widened. “What a grand idea.”

“But I want a glass of punch,” Miranda insisted, irritation sounding in her voice at having her backstage plans thwarted.

Downing eagerly offered, “I’ll fetch one for you.”

“What a fine idea.” Sebastian grinned at her. He might come to like the man after all.

Her eyes narrowed, her hands drawing into clenched fists at her sides as she glared at him. “And leave me alone in an opera box with a man, unchaperoned?” She arched a brow in challenge. “What if the musicinspiresus?”

Sebastian forced back the laugh rising inside him, both at her consternation and at her insinuation about Downing. The man was perfectly harmless.

He arched a brow. “Then that would be a magic flute, indeed.”

A strangled sound of half fury, half mortification tore from her. Andheavens, that was a neat trick! How her face turned so scarlet so quickly.