Emmaline’s smile stretched so taut she thought it might crumple and shatter if somebody didn’t fill the void of silence following her unexpected intrusion of Lord Drake’s private box.

Almost as one, the two gentlemen seemed to remember their manners, bowing deeply. “My lady, Miss Winters,” Lord Sinclair murmured, claiming first her hand, and then her companion’s for a chaste kiss.

Respectful was the word tantamount to the exchange.

Stiff, formal, respectful deference.

It made Emmaline want to stamp her foot. Drat, the man was her intended. And he hadn’t exchanged so much as a word with her. Well, that was if one didn’t count the startled exclamation he’d let out when she’d hit him in the face with the curtains.

Thank Heavens for Sophie. Sophie dipped a curtsy. “Lord Drake, Lord Sinclair.” She smiled and then proceeded to do one of the things Emmaline dearly loved about her—she filled the awkward silence.

She waved her hand about, like a small hurricane, gesturing animatedly to the crowd milling about the Opera House. “My father’s box is very nearly opposite your box, my lord, and it was of course Lady Emmaline who mentioned this.”

Three sets of eyes swiveled to look at Emmaline.

Loved in the past tense, Sophie’s uncanny ability to fill voids was one of the things she had loved about her.

Emmaline cleared her throat, flushing under the veiled scrutiny she received from her betrothed and the hint of smile his friend, Lord Sinclair favored her with.

“Yes, Viscount Redbrooke’s box is located just over there.” She gestured vaguely; glad when the three sets of eyes in unison moved in the direction she was motioning.

She did not go out of her way to point out that the box in question was in fact situated a good deal farther to the left and significantly lower than Lord Drake’s box.

“But I saw you, my lord, and….and,” Words fled. His jade-black gaze pierced her, probing, as though he knew her every secret. Blast him and his arrogance, she thought, finding the courage to finish her sentence. “Well, I would have been remiss if I failed to greet you.”

Drake blinked and Emmaline knew he recognized that he’d just been delivered a set-down. She rushed on. “I felt compelled to visit your box and discuss your thoughts on the opera. It has come to my attention from the papers that you have a great affinity for the opera, in particular the capable Mezzo-Soprano Signora Nicolleli.” She furrowed her brow, feigning deep contemplation. “In my honest opinion, I have a preference for the light, airy quality of a lyrical soprano.”

She detected Lord Sinclair’s shoulders rising and falling in what, she felt safe to assume, was mirth, while poor Sophie scoured the theater.

To Lord Drake’s credit, or perhaps the better word would be discredit, he did not so much as flinch. His only telltale reaction was a slight arching of a golden brow as he met her stare. Emmaline glanced away.

“My dear, Lady Emmaline,” In Emmaline’s honest estimation, the words hardly sounded like an endearment. “I hadn’t taken you for a gossip.”

A subtle reproach coated his hard words. Double blast the man. How dare he make her feel uncomfortable? He was after all the one who’d abandoned her for two—approaching three—years. And that wasn’t counting the fifteen years that had lapsed in their near lifelong betrothal.

Her lips set tightly. “La, sir, but how else am I to find out about my betrothed’s likes and dislikes? But I do know you have a preference for mezzo-sopranos, so that is something, no? I look forward to meeting the great Signora Nicolleli and securing an autograph for you. I will be sure to tell her you are an ardent admirer, my lord. We’ll call it something of a wedding gift.”

The lights dimmed and the crowd bustled about, returning to their seats. Sophie cleared her throat. “Em, I rather think we should return, lest mother worry about our absence.”

Emmaline smiled and favored Lord Drake with an impudent wave. “I’m certain she won’t fret when she learns we were with my intended. You would hardly allow harm to befall us, my lord? I’ve heard such stories of your heroics on the Peninsula, I could hardly feel anything but safe in your company.”

His eyes grew shuttered. “You should never let your guard down regardless of whose company you are in, Lady Emmaline.”

“You are far too modest, my lord. Alas, I must bid you good evening and await our next meeting.” She favored Lord Sinclair with a smile. “A pleasure, my lord.”

“Likewise, Lady Emmaline, Miss Winters.” He bowed and nudged Drake until he followed suit.

“Now we must return to our box,” Emmaline said. “If you’ll excuse us.” She gave a jaunty wave and quite deliberately shoved the curtains back with enough force to send them flapping, and took her leave.

War had been declared.