Part 46 (1/2)

He watched it slowly fade.

She blinked, then slowly settled back in her chair, her face composed yet inexpressibly sadder than before.

Harry's heart twisted painfully. This time, he didn't try to shut it away, to blot out the emotion. But as he turned and moved silently to the door along the wall, he acknowledged the joy that came in its wake.

He hadn't been wrong about Lucinda Babbacombe. The d.a.m.ned woman was so ridiculously sure of herself she hadn't even considered the danger in loving him. Stepping out of the darkness of the pit, he smiled.

Two floors above, in the crowded gallery, Earle Joliffe was very far from smiling. In fact, he was scowling--at Lucinda, and the party in Amberly's box. ”Deuce take it! What the devil's going on?” he hissed.

Beside him, Mortimer Babbacombe returned an uncomprehending look.

Disgusted, Joliffe gestured at the box opposite. ”What's she doing to them?

She's turned a whole gaggle of the worst wolves in London into p.u.s.s.ycats!”

Mortimer blinked.

”p.u.s.s.ycats?”

Joliffe all but snarled.

”Lap-dogs, thenl She is a d.a.m.ned witch--just like Scrugthorpe said.”

”Quiet there!”

”Ss.h.!.+” came from all around them.

For a moment, Joliffe contemplated a mill with positive glee. Then sanity intruded; he forced himself to stay in his seat. But his eyes remained fixed on his sacrificial lamb--who had transmogrified into a wolf tamer

After a moment, Mortimer leaned closer.

”Perhaps they're softening her up--pulling the wool over her eyes. We can afford to give them a little time--it's not as if we're that desperate for the money.”

Joliffe stared at him--then sank his chin in his hands. ”Rakes don't behave as they are to your aunt-by marriage when they're hot on a woman's trail,” he explained through clenched teeth. His jaundiced gaze rested on Amberly and Satterly.

”They're being nice, for heaven's sake! Can't you see it?”

Frowning, Mortimer looked across the theatre, studying the silent tableau.

Joliffe swallowed a curse. As for not being desperate-they were--very desperate. An unexpected meeting with his creditor last night had demonstrated to him just how desperate they truly were. Joliffe quelled a s.h.i.+ver at the memory of the odd, disembodied voice that had floated out of the carriage, stopping him in his tracks on the mist-shrouded pavement.

”Soon, Joliffe. Very soon.” A pause had ensued. Then, ”I'm not a patient man.”

Joliffe had heard tales enough of the man's lack of patience--and what usually-transpired because of it.

He was desperate all right. But Mortimer had too weak a head to be entrusted with the news.

Joliffe concentrated on the woman seated across the darkened pit.

”We'll have to do something--take an active hand.” He spoke more for himself than Mortimer. But Mortimer heard.