‘You have the register. That makes you my concern.’ He leaned in close again, trying to ignore the way the heat of her skin heightened the notes of her verbena perfume. ‘I needn’t remind you what Edgemont is capable of.’

‘Which is exactly why he deserves to suffer,’ she hissed, her calm mask sliding. ‘I want to see him squirm.’

‘I agree, but when you threaten a man like him, you make him desperate. You can’t underestimate a desperate man.’

‘Like I underestimated you?’

Rafe jerked upright, surprised by the venom in her accusation. ‘What did I do in Paris to give you such a low opinion of me?’

‘I’m sure if you think very hard, you’ll discover the source of it. For the moment, I have no need of your assistance, so leave, or I’ll make such a fuss the whole theatre will rally to my defence.’ She shifted around to face the stage, raising her glasses to watch the performance.

Rafe moved to say something, but caught the glint of more than one lorgnette turning to study them from across the theatre, including Edgemont’s. Having no desire to set society’s tongue wagging with gossip, he rose and pulled aside the curtain, leaving the curtain rings to clank against the rail as he stormed into the hallway.

Impudent wench. He hurried along the upper level of the theatre and down the main staircase, banging the banister with his fist as he descended into the nearly deserted foyer. Whatever wrong she thought he’d committed in Paris, it’d taken a stubborn hold in her mind. For the life of him, he couldn’t say what he’d done except try to help her, and this was how she chose to repay him? Dismissing him like some servant and then blaming him for her actions in France.

He stepped outside, ignoring the hackneys waiting by the kerb and letting his anger carry him towards a less respectable part of London. Cornelia would be nowhere without him. He shuddered at the memory of her and Lord Waltenham in Lord Perry’s garden and what might have happened if he hadn’t followed them. After the old man insulted her, her father probably would have wagered her away again, or sold her to some moll for a few sovereigns. She certainly wouldn’t have become a Comtesse with a generous inheritance.

Rafe halted in the middle of the pavement, ignoring the inviting calls of a doxy lounging in a doorway across the street. Despite his former misgivings about her morals, it still seemed strange a rich widow would want to dabble in blackmail, not with all those diamonds dangling from her tender ears and caressing her pretty breasts. They’d twinkled with her current good fortune, or were they there to hide the lack of one?

No matter what Cornelia might have done to him in France, if the Comte’s riches were as rickety as his legs then it was a revenge not even Rafe could have designed.

He whirled around on one heel and headed back towards the theatre. If Cornelia wore her finest baubles to distract society from any scent of money problems, it might offer his last hope to reel her in and remove his father’s name from the register.

* * *

Cornelia tried to focus on the play, but the actress’s sing-song voice grated on her nerves as much as Rafe’s sudden appearance tonight. When he’d gripped her arm, she’d nearly bolted from the box. The Comte used to curl his gnarled fingers around her and try to drag her to their bedroom, his ragged nails biting into her skin before she’d shake him off. After their first horrid night together, when he’d tried to rally his body enough to violate hers and she’d shoved him away, she’d refused to let him near her again. It’d stopped his amorous advances but not the cruel insults he’d taken sport in constantly hurling at her.

She stamped down the nasty memories and rubbed her arm, trying to feel Rafe’s warmth, but the skin was cool. His warning grasp was nothing like the Comte’s rough handling, but strong and reassuring. Until he’d pressed his flesh to hers, she hadn’t realised how much she missed the comfort of it.

Apparently, Rafe didn’t miss her quite as much. If she didn’t have the register, he wouldn’t even be troubling with her, just as she wouldn’t deign to acknowledge Lord Edgemont.

She peered through the glasses across the theatre.

Lord Edgemont sat deep in the shadows of his box, his staunch nose made more prominent by his high forehead and close-cropped hair. He was the one man in London she hated more than Rafe. She could still hear his mocking voice at Lord Perry’s card party, encouraging her drunk father to wager her hand, laughing at her father’s desperation and hers. Then, in France, he’d tried to play her, believing she was as weak and gullible as her father.

He’d regret thinking so little of her.

The audience broke into wild laughter and Cornelia shifted in her chair again, eager to leave but determined to stay. She’d spent more than she should have to hire the box for the evening. It galled her to think the expense would only result in a stinging rebuke from Rafe. What she needed was society’s notice of her and her new title, and the invitations to card parties it might garner. If the Earl found a way to delay his payment, gambling was her only chance to raise enough money to live on or pay for Andrew’s school.

It wasn’t just society’s attention she needed, but Lord Edgemont’s. Despite the uncomfortable weight of his narrow-eyed stare over the audiences’ heads, she wanted him to come to her. If he approached her tonight, in a box in front of a theatre full of people, it would make blackmailing him a touch easier and safer.

For all her bravado in front of Rafe, she was wary of the thick-necked Baron.

Cornelia jumped as the actress let out a high-pitched laugh on stage.

Hang Lord Edgemont. She stuffed the opera glasses in her reticule and quit the box, determined to find a better, cheaper place to ensnare him.

Hurrying down the quiet hallway, she descended the stairs to the main lobby, passing only one or two other people and a footman carrying a note upstairs.

Outside, she watched from the top of the portico as the last hackney pulled away from the kerb. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be long before another appeared.

A breeze blew through the open row of tall columns. Cornelia wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she’d thought to bring a shawl, but she’d expected the evening to be warmer. She could go back inside, enjoy the comfort of her box but she decided to wait. She wasn’t in the mood for any more play-acting tonight.

‘Good evening, Comtesse.’

Cornelia whirled around at the sound of Lord Edgemont’s voice. Anger filled her as he approached, his movements slow and easy like a snake, but with enough hint of danger to make her shiver. She flicked a glance over his shoulder at the empty foyer, the chance someone might happen on them offering her slim protection.

She dropped her arms, ready to face him. He looked as sure of himself tonight as he had on the wharf in Calais when he’d approached her with his bargain and started this ridiculous game. If she hadn’t been so desperate to escape France, and seen the opportunity to harm him in the offer, she wouldn’t have accepted his proposal.

‘Lord Edgemont, what a pleasure it is to see you again.’

His eyes glinted at the thought of his power over her. Little did he know, she now held the upper hand. ‘And how are you coming on our little matter?’

‘I’ve succeeded.’ She touched her necklace, noting with triumph the way it drew his attention to her chest. ‘You have no idea how easy it was for me to purchase the book.’

He arched one surprised eyebrow. ‘You’ve always been resourceful. It’s what I admire most about you.’

‘Is admiration what you feel? I always thought it was something more base.’

‘And to think, you could have chosen me over Lord Densmore, with a comfortable little town house in Mayfair and all your needs provided for.’