Annabel touched the bruises as gently as possible. “No man—no title—is worth this.”

New tears pooled in Charlotte’s eyes. “You don’t understand. It’s too late. The party, and the announcements, my dress. The settlements have been drawn up.”

“Surely your father would not want you married to brute simply to save paperwork,” Ellen said from her side of the hallway.

Charlotte used her handkerchief to dab the tears before they fell, but her lips still trembled. “No one else will have me after…” She put her hand over her mouth to muffle her sob. “Please. I can’t…”

“You can, Charlotte,” Annabel insisted. “It will not be easy, and it will require a great deal of bravery. Your friends—”

“My friends would step over my ruined body to get to him. They would feign support over tea and then spread the gossip across London before dinner.” Charlotte sniffed. “I know because I’ve done the same.”

Annabel imagined Rachel in this same situation and knew what she would want her sister to have. “Then you make new friends, more powerful ones.” She tilted the girl’s chin and helped blot her tears. “You know where Lady Carmichael or I can be found when you need us. Knock on the door or send word, day or night.”

“Charlotte? What is taking so long?” Belinda Wallace called from the other, brighter, end of the hallway. “You don’t want to keep Melton waiting.”

“Just a moment.” Charlotte’s cheerful answer belied her shaking fingers as she grasped Annabel’s hand. “Thank you,” she whispered before stepping past and around the corner.

Annabel and Ellen followed after the girls’ voices faded, and walked in silent solidarity toward their husbands, who were waiting near the Ramsbury box.

Though she was in no mood for social conversation, Annabel managed a brief interchange with Lord Carmichael. All the while, she was conscious of Jasper’s fingers on her waist and his steady gaze.

Once they were alone, he escorted her back to their seats, nodding to Frederick as they passed his post at the door.

“What has happened?” he whispered once they were settled. “You look angrier than I’ve seen you in a while.” He snorted a laugh. “At least in the last two days.”

She tapped his knee with her fan. “You can be a very vexing man.”

“I wasn’t vexing in the retiring room.” He took her hand and waited for her to meet his eyes. “Are you frightened?”

“No.” She was never frightened for herself when she was with him, yet she was terrified of life without him. Since her marriage, her days had been full of laughter, warmth that had nothing to do with fireplaces, and color that was more than furnishings and the dressmaker’s. Even London had been brighter. With the exception of the last week, she didn’t know how long it had been since she’d seen a cloudy day.

“Why didn’t you just tell me about Claudette?” she asked.

“Because you were in no mood to believe me.” He watched the activity on the floor below them as he shrugged. “You needed to discover it for yourself.”

Annabel wanted to protest, to tell him he was wrong, that she was not as judgmental as he believed her to be. But the truth was, he was right—to a point. She had always believed the worst of him and then been proven wrong.

She thought she’d married a debauched, drunk womanizer who might be a traitor to his queen. Instead, her husband was a rather bookish, sober gentleman who was fighting a war against corruption within his own ranks.

“I’m sorry I hurt your feelings.”

“Bah.” He brushed aside her guilt with his free hand. “I have very few to hurt. Just ask any woman in any random ballroom.”

She did not believe him for a second. “Jasper.”

“You wounded my pride more than anything.” He finally glanced her way and squeezed her fingers. “You do not need to carry guilt for that. It’s a stumbling block that’s led me into my own rash behavior.”

“Like not telling me you ripped your wound open?” She raised an eyebrow as she met his stare. “Claudette asked if you were worse again. Why didn’t Stapleton send for me?”

She could see Kit leaving her clueless about her husband’s health, but she’d thought the butler liked her.

Jasper’s grimace made her gasp. “You sat there arguing with me while you were bleeding and didn’t say anything?” she said. “You let me leave the house…” That realization was almost worse than finding him outside Claudette’s door. Claudette, whose husband had died while they had been separated. Who hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye. “Why?”

“I was angry,” he said. “I wanted you to choose to stay and listen to me.”

Annabel fought his tight hold. “Do you realize what could have happened to you? That I would have been halfway across the city with no idea that you were…” She corralled her thoughts before they ran away with her tongue. “You should have told me, Jasper.”

“I should have, yes. But if you had stayed with me, Rachel would be betrothed to some liver-spotted man three times her age. It all worked out in the end.”

Her sister would be ecstatically happy, but her husband would have bled to death without her. “That is not a fair trade.”

The orchestra signaled the end of intermission.

“Neither of us are saints.” He lifted her hand to his lips. “That seems to be something else we have in common.”

The list grew longer with every day. “Not to mention our fierce tempers.”

“That, too.” His gaze held hers, and his smile crinkled the corners of his deep blue eyes. “In the grand scheme, this is nothing but a rock in the road. We cannot let it distract us from what is most important.”

The gaslights sputtered as they dimmed until the stage was the only focus.

“My mother always insisted the theatre was scandalous.” Annabel scanned the stage and the crowd. “I wonder why she thought that.”

He adjusted his chair, coming close enough that their knees touched. “Sex.”

A shiver went through her, ending with her hard nipples pressed against her corset. Every breath wound them tighter. “There’s none of that in this play.”

“Not in the play. In the building.” His husky laugh heated her to her toes. “Why do you think boxes are so popular?”

The actors returned for the second act, and the crowd quieted. Within minutes, Annabel was once again lost in the story.

“Look up three boxes and two boxes to your right,” Jasper whispered.

Curiosity compelled her to look through her glasses in the direction he indicated. A lady she didn’t recognize was alone in her box, though her knee was against the rail in a most unladylike pose. She seemed focused on the play, but her mouth was open in a gasp that had nothing to do with the action on the stage.

“Her lover is on his knees under her skirt.” Jasper traced a finger across her bare skin along the back of her dress.

Annabel pressed her thighs together, embarrassed by the heat flooding through her at the memory of Jasper doing the same thing. “How does she stay quiet?”

“Practice.” Jasper made the word sound like sin itself. “The thrill of illicit sex is the possibility of getting caught, but no one really wants to be caught.”

Cheeks hot, Annabel took one last glance at the lady in the throes of passion, her bare hand over her mouth to muffle her cries. An odd sympathy bloomed in her chest. She had to use a pillow to hide her wails as Jasper tormented her with his tongue, and she still wasn’t certain the whole household couldn’t hear her.

A small trickle of dread followed in the wake of Jasper’s finger on her skin. “Is that why you like coming to the theatre?” While she enjoyed sex with her husband, she couldn’t imagine having it where people could look up and see them in the act.

“It can be fun to watch if the play is boring, but otherwise no.” His palm was warm on her shoulder, reassuring. “There is a difference between an eagerness to be together and a fetish.”

Laughter from the crowd drew Annabel’s attention back to the stage, but after a moment she found herself scanning the boxes opposite them. Jasper’s soft laughter raised gooseflesh on her arms.