“I hope that you enjoy the show this evening—it’s a production of Romeo and Juliet that I’m quite pleased with, if I may be perfectly honest.”

“Are you not performing in the play, my lord?” Diana asked.

“No.” He shook his head. “We are in the midst of preparations for an upcoming production of Macbeth that I shall be performing in instead, and that has occupied much of my time.”

“A far better choice, in any case,” Violet said briskly. “There is no play quite so silly as Romeo and Juliet.”

“Darling,” James said dryly, “I am not entirely certain one can ignore the silliness of a production that involves three witches surrounding a cauldron in the woods.”

“Macbeth has atmosphere,” Violet said airily. “Romeo and Juliet is a melodramatic cautionary tale warning against the dangers of jumping to conclusions.” The group stared at her. “Not that we’re not terribly grateful for the invitation, Lord Julian,” she added hastily.

“Quite,” Lord Julian said dryly, but he flashed her a quick grin to assure her that he hadn’t taken offense. It was a potent weapon, that grin.

Further conversation was forestalled by the dimming of the lights, indicating that it was time to take their seats. Violet found herself positioned between her husband and Lord Julian, with Emily on Lord Julian’s other side. As she leaned past James to ask a question of Penvale, who was on his other side, she caught sight of James casting a scrutinizing look over her shoulder toward something she couldn’t see.

She glanced behind her, only to discover that what had caught James’s attention was the sight of Lord Julian engaging Emily in conversation, their voices so low as to be nearly inaudible.

After a brief moment of panic that James’s attention to Lord Julian was evidence of some suspicion on his part, Violet relaxed, realizing that James must be concerned for Emily’s virtue—a fair consideration, given Lord Julian’s reputation. She frowned slightly, wishing he would set his sights on Diana instead—she would be a far more appropriate and willing source of entertainment for a gentleman such as himself.

With these thoughts to occupy her, she paid little attention to the action occurring onstage, and it seemed as though mere moments had passed when intermission arrived.

“And how have you found the play thus far, Lady James?” Lord Julian inquired as they all rose from their seats.

“Most illuminating,” Violet said untruthfully. She was fairly certain that the actors playing Romeo and Juliet could waltz into this very box and she wouldn’t be able to recognize them, so little had she attended to the proceedings onstage.

“And what of you, Belfry?” James asked abruptly over Violet’s shoulder. She twisted her head around to stare at him—his tone was so curt as to border on rude. James was many things, but coolly polite was almost always one of them. “How did you find the performances?”

“I think the actor playing Romeo is overplaying the love scene, but otherwise, I’ve no complaints.”

“Of course,” James said, though Violet had the distinct impression that he hadn’t taken a word of Lord Julian’s reply. “I just thought it would be interesting to hear your opinion, as an actor. After all, you must play so many interesting roles.”

“Darling,” Violet said through gritted teeth, reaching back to press her slipper down upon his shoe. “I’m certain you don’t mean to interrogate Lord Julian at his own theater. In this lovely box, which he so kindly invited us to use.”

James smiled down at her blandly. “Of course not, my dear. And such a kind, generous invitation it was, too.”

Lord Julian gave them both a pleasant smile. “I must beg you to excuse me—there is a matter I need to attend to during intermission.”

As soon as he had left the box, Violet rounded on her husband.

“What is wrong with you?” she whispered.

Before James had the chance to reply, however, the door to the box opened once more. Violet turned, expecting Lord Julian had forgotten something before he left, but instead, to her surprise, James’s brother West stood in the entrance.

“West!” she cried, moving past her husband with her hand outstretched. A genuine smile crossed his face at the sight of her, making him appear several years younger and even more like her own husband. The resemblance between the two brothers was stronger than usual, as they were wearing nearly identical evening kit. West leaned his cane against the wall to take Violet’s hand.

“Violet, darling,” he said, and in a tone entirely different from the one James employed when he used that particular term of endearment. “You’re looking well.” From just behind her, she heard the sound of a derisive snort; she shot a glance over her shoulder, only to see James watching her with a look of bland geniality that she was not fooled by for a moment. Not wishing to cause a scene, however, she turned back to West.

“I could say the same for you,” she said, dropping his hands and stepping back to give him an appraising once-over. Completely aside from West’s handsome face, his height, his broad shoulders, there was something simply so entirely masculine about him that Violet had no trouble at all understanding why every eligible and not-so-eligible lady in London paused whenever he entered a room. There had not been so much as a whiff of rumor about a mistress surrounding him since before his curricle accident, however; the ton seemed divided on whether he was merely uncommonly discreet, or whether to view him as something of a romantic figure, mired in the tragedy of his past. The latter speculation was, in Violet’s opinion, unforgivably maudlin, but she did know that he’d had a tendre for a particular lady of the ton before his accident—a lady who had married shortly after said accident, in fact.