Both men stared, eyes widening, while trying to be polite. “Ah,” the major said. “I had no idea. Congratulations McBride.”
“Scots’ luck,” Spencer, who wasn’t much into his twenties, said. “My felicitations, sir.”
They shook hands with Rose, bowed, made compliments, and directed more teasing remarks at Steven. Rose answered cordially, and didn’t jump when Steven tucked her hand beneath his arm and pulled her close.
Rose kept her surprise hidden. She hadn’t thought Steven would extend the pretense of their engagement beyond the ruse for the journalists. These were Steven’s colleagues, his friends, and he was blithely standing in front of them declaring himself engaged.
Rose was surprised again when they said good-bye to the lieutenant and major and left the restaurant and rode the short distance to Covent Garden Theatre. The drama had already begun when they arrived, but lack of punctuality didn’t seem to be unusual. Others were trickling in, talking and laughing, unworried that they were late.
A pretty woman, her plump body reminding Rose of a dove, waved to Steven. She was on the arm of a tall Scotsman with dark red hair and a handsome face, who kept his gaze fixed on a gilded frieze above them, studying it with grave intensity. He didn’t cease his scrutiny even when Steven and Rose stopped in front of the couple.
“Steven, how lovely,” the lady said, catching his hands. “I didn’t know you were in London. Your brother never tells me anything.”
Steven clasped her gloved hands in return, leaned down, and kissed the woman’s cheek. “Haven’t been here long, I promise.”
The kiss drew the attention of the tall Scot very fast. His gaze slammed to Steven’s, and though he didn’t look directly into Steven’s eyes, the ferocity on his face was plain.
Steven released the woman’s hands and stepped back without showing concern. “Sinclair keeps to himself. His remembering to mention anything about his personal life is an event. Unless he’s whinging on about governesses.”
“Still no luck there?”
Steven shook his head. “Afraid not.”
The Scotsman did not relax, even with Steven a pace away from the woman. He fixed Steven with a stern eye, seeming to pay no attention to what they discussed. His lady apparently found nothing unusual in this. She continued, “Well, I’ve exhausted all my recommendations and so have my sisters-in-law. By the time Sinclair finds someone appropriate, Cat and Andrew will be grown.”
“The last one objected to Andrew filling her bed with beetles,” Steven said. “Can’t much blame her. Couldn’t have been nice, sliding under the sheets to find them crawling with critters that crunch when squashed.”
“Oh, Steven, you are awful.” The lady laughed openly, but the Scotsman remained unmoved.
“Beg your pardon,” Steven said. “My manners are appalling. Rose, may I introduce you to Beth—Lady Ian Mackenzie. Beth, I present—”
“The Dowager Duchess of Southdown,” the Scotsman said, his low and strong voice breaking over Steven’s. “Betrothed to Captain Steven McBride, but no official announcement has appeared in any newspaper. Staying at the Langham hotel in adjacent suites. The dowager is a year and three months widowed, her marriage to the Duke of Southdown called into question by the new duke, Albert Francis.”
Beth stared at her husband, but again, she didn’t look surprised or concerned.
“Oh dear,” Rose said when the man closed his mouth and switched his unnerving focus to her. “Has there been a general declaration?”
“I read seven newspapers today,” Lord Ian said, still staring at Rose. “All say the same thing. But the engagement can’t be real until there is an official announcement, so the newspapers are making it up.” He switched his gaze to Steven. “Why are they?”
Steven did not look alarmed. “Let us adjourn to a box upstairs, Ian, my friend.” He reached to put a hand on Ian’s shoulder then pulled back before touching him, as though thinking better of it. “And I’ll explain everything.”
Chapter Nine
Beth was delighted with the ruse. In an elegant box that belonged to the Duke of Kilmorgan, she clasped her hands and laughed at Steven’s tale of meeting Rose and his decision to begin the pretense. Rose listened with some trepidation, but Beth appeared to find nothing wrong with their behavior.
“Marvelous,” Beth said. “That stopped a few wagging tongues, I imagine.”
“Now they’re wagging about this betrothal,” Rose said. “Wagging very hard, it seems. Steven wouldn’t bring a newspaper upstairs today.”
“I didn’t want you worrying, Rosie.” Steven laced his fingers through Rose’s. “You have enough to think on already.”
Beth watched him kiss Rose’s fingers and raised her brows. “Are you certain it’s only a ruse?”
Steven winked at her. “For now.” Rose tried to pretend it was all part of the game, but her face went hot.
Ian appeared to have lost interest in the entire conversation. His attention was fixed now on a silk ribbon attached to Beth’s sleeve, which he’d untied from its ornamental bow. Now he wrapped one end around his large finger, rubbed his thumb over it, unwound it, and started the process over again. He sat very close to Beth, his thigh overlapping into her chair as he continued to caress her ribbon.
He was an unusual man, certainly. Odd, even. But watching him, Rose saw how gentle he was with Beth, and how he couldn’t stay far from her. He liked watching her too, his gaze softening when she smiled at him, while with Steven and Rose he was still a bit stiff. Shy, Rose thought, though this seemed more than simple shyness.