Her Wicked Proposal novel Chapter 30

The following evening Anne took Cedric's offered arm and allowed him to escort her through the throng of people gathered in the foyer of Covent Garden's Royal Opera House. The strong scents of unwashed bodies and groups of low-necklined Cyprian ladies clinging to the men were an unwelcome sight, but Covent Garden was a blend of middle and upper classes that couldn't be avoided.

"God's teeth," Cedric muttered as a buxom woman fell against him, laughing raucously. He shoved her to the side with his lion's head cane.

"You are lucky, my lord, that you cannot see. The sight is most unpleasant," Anne confided to her escort. Cedric responded with a grunt of agreement and let her lead him in the direction of the stairs that would take them to his box.

A tall, fair-haired man blocked their path to the stairs. She froze like a rabbit caught in a snare. She'd never forget that man, or his pale eyes. The very sight of him chilled her blood.

Crispin Andrews.

He was the last man on earth she wanted to see. Her stomach churned and she tried to remember to breathe.

Not here. Not now... The man's gaze swept over the crowd and stilled when it settled on Anne.

"What is it, Anne?" Cedric asked when she dug her nails into his arm. Before she could reply Crispin was upon them.

"Miss Chessley, how good it is to see you. I was sorry to hear about your father. You have my condolences, of course." Those cold eyes studied her from tip to toe with such a familiarity that she thought she might toss up her accounts right there in front of everyone.

He waited for her to say something, to be polite and respond. What she wanted to do was strike out at him, render his beautiful face with the mark of the devil to warn women away from him. But she couldn't. She summoned that icy veneer she'd built the last two years. It had never been about keeping people like Cedric out, but about protecting herself from this one man.

Anne composed her face in a mask of politeness. "Thank you, Mr. Andrews. Have you met Lord Sheridan?"

Crispin shifted his gaze to Cedric, a smirk lifting the corner of what some ladies believed was a handsome mouth. Anne knew only too well what that mouth was capable of and it wasn't good.

"I believe our paths have crossed on occasion. It has been a few years though. Last time was at a ball, I believe. You were in the company of a most attractive widow," Crispin replied. His casual tone was in stark contrast to the predatory sweep of his eyes over Anne's body once again. That knowing gaze of his was a blatant reminder that he remembered what had transpired between them. To him it had been enjoyable. To her it had been a nightmare.

"I must say it is a surprise to see you out and about, Miss Chessley. I thought, given the depth of your feelings toward your father, you would wish to honor his memory for the full length of the mourning period."

Anne flinched at the implication, her grip on her reticule hard enough that she thought she might tear the fabric.

Cedric gallantly rescued her. "I'm afraid that is my fault. You see, I all but demanded my fiancée accompany me to the opera. She wished to remain home in seclusion, but you know of my reputation. I hold little love for societal obligations such as mourning."