Page 66 of Cold November Rake

But looking at his wife's dazed eyes, dark and unfocused, her lips swollen, it didn't feel like pretense at all.

It felt real.

Temperance sat back.

"So they saw," she murmured, and folded her trembling hands in her lap.

She wasn't as unaffected as she tried to seem. He decided he was done pretending.

He draped one arm along the back of her chair and, with the other hand, took hers and began to toy with her fingers.

Yes to gentleness.

Let her think this was all for show, for the benefit of other people and her reputation, while for the first time in weeks he would be doing openly what he had craved to do for years.

To hold his wife's hand.

After a moment, she began to absently trace slow circles on his palm with her thumb. She leaned into his shoulder, and he let the feeling wash over him: being cherished, being wanted.

He knew it wasn't real. She was playing a part, and the moment the curtain fell, she would withdraw. But he let himself have this one perfect moment.

That perfect moment lasted the entire performance.

Temperance didn't pull away when the Tyrones reentered the box. She didn't move when Sutton's parents returned to their seats. She leaned against him, her hand in his, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

She stood only as the aria swelled to its crescendo and the house erupted.

"That was wonderful," Emily said. "Thank you for inviting us for this lovely evening."

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes bright, whether from excitement or from something that had transpired between her and Tyrone in the dark corner of the theater box. Sutton didn't know and didn't wish to imagine.

"Yes, thank you," Tyrone echoed. "It was nice to finally meet you, Lady Sutton."

"Ye're nae leaving, are ye?" Sutton's mother asked. "I spoke tae the stage manager during the performance and arranged for us all tae meet Marie before letting her admirers in."

Temperance stiffened beside him.

"We appreciate the offer, but I am still not used to leaving my little ones for so long. I am itching to go home," Emily said, then turned to Temperance and squeezed her hand. "But you shall come to tea soon, yes?"

The only reason the Tyrones were in London off-season was that Emily had given birth shortly after the Parliamentary session, and they didn't want to travel all the way to Ireland with a new babe and a little one.

Temperance smiled. "Absolutely. Such a pleasure to meet you both."

Once the Tyrones left, the duchess beckoned the rest of them to follow. "Come, Temperance, the ton needs tae see the Countess o' Sutton on the best o' terms with Marie, so every rumor can go up in smoke."

Sutton offered his elbow. "You do not have to do anything you do not wish to."

Temperance looked at his arm for one long moment, as if it were a venomous snake. Then she drew in a long breath, laid her hand on his sleeve, and walked with him toward the stage door.

A line of admirers had gathered in the corridor beyond, held back by a harassed stage manager with a ring of keys. He took one look at the Duke of Hardwicke's party and led them toward Marie's dressing room.

Temperance's fingers tightened on Sutton's sleeve, and he covered her hand with his.

Curious gazes followed their progress.

They had not gone twenty paces when an elderly viscount planted himself in front of the duke and duchess, delighted to see them after an age. Sutton's mother caught his eye over the old man's shoulder and flicked her fingers at him: go on, we shall follow.

At the end of the corridor was a door hung with a wilting garland. Sutton turned the handle without knocking and pushed it open.