Page 19 of A Spy’s Guide to Seduction

He shrugged, but did not meet her gaze. “Where may I escort you tonight?”

“To the opera. In my mother’s absence I must host her usual party, but I warn you, Lynley, do not try another disappearing act.”

“So, no chance to drop glassware down a stairwell or hide in a closet. However will we manage to amuse ourselves?”

A little shiver was the only sign she gave of her reaction to the idea. She brought her hand back to her lap and put on her glove, and he guided them out of the park.

* * * *

The afternoon post brought a letter from Emily’s mother.

My dear Emily,

I hear from your father and your sister that you may have taken my gift of a guidebook too much to heart, and in your characteristic way have thrown yourself into an engagement with a man quite unknown to your family. Please do not order any wedding clothes without consulting me first.

You may rest assured that I will return to London as soon as your grandmother’s health improves.

As ever,

Your loving mother

* * * *

Lynley found the opera instructive—not the story of the fairy king Oberon’s efforts to regain the affections of his queen through the manipulation of mere mortals, but the display of London society. Bright chandeliers exposed the crowd as well as the performers. From the vast floor up to the tiers of boxes with their red hangings and gilt edges, the Royal Opera House, like the park, was a place for the fashionable to see and be seen.

The scene was nothing like the café cantantes of Jerez, dark and intimate, where he had often escaped from his uncle to listen to a lone guitarist or watch a single dancer.

Lynley’s gaze passed over the crowd. After years in Spain, he could name perhaps only a score of people in the boxes. He needed to do better to find the missing government papers. One fellow particularly intrigued him, a silver-haired gentleman nearer to fifty than forty, dressed with attention to the latest mode, who sat at Lady Ravenhurst’s left elbow in a box across the theater.

It was apparent from the moment the gentleman entered the box that he had some hold over the lady. Lynley’s thoughts on the matter were interrupted by the interval and the arrival in their box of a young man from his distant school days, Roddy Twedell.

“Thought it was you, Lynley. Heard you’d returned from somewhere or other.”

“Spain.”

“You’ve let yourself be caught already, I hear,” Twedell remarked, glancing at Emily Radstock. “Saw the notice in the papers that you’ll be buckled soon.”

“You may congratulate me.”

“Never thought that one would marry. Heard she wouldn’t be under anyone’s thumb. Well, to each his own, but if you want to sample something rather different, let me know. And come by the club. You can tell me about those sherries of Spain.”

“It’s a Palo Cortado you want, Twedell.”

* * * *

Emily’s duties as hostess to those of her mother’s friends who made up the party kept her busy at the interval, making sure chairs were rearranged and everyone had a lemonade or a wine and some cake from a tray of refreshments. When she looked up from a conversation with one of her mother’s oldest friends, she was surprised to see her brother-in-law, who was no opera lover.

“Em,” said Phil, eying the tiny cakes and tarts on the refreshment tray. “Came for Roz, she wants to know if you did something...indelicate in the park today.”

“Do have a tart, Phil,” Emily suggested. “What makes Roz think that?”

“Miss Throckmorton called. Do you know her?”

“I think everyone does.”

“Thing is, Roz doesn’t want your mama to hear anything to...worry her, you know.”

“There is nothing to worry about, Phil. Miss Throckmorton probably saw me waving Lynley’s ring about in my excitement over our engagement.” At the moment, Lynley’s gaze was fixed intently on Lady Ravenhurst’s box. Emily turned her back on her fiancé. Better not to watch.