Another shake of his head.
“Fine.” She set off with him walking a few respectable steps behind her. She had nothing to hide, so she did not mind him accompanying her—well, not very much—but what would happen when she did not desire his company? The Viking would make any rendezvous with Francis even more difficult. And Lorrie was determined to steal at least one kiss from her intended at the prince’s ball tomorrow night.
Most of the opera’s patrons were still in their seats, so the corridors of the theater were all but empty. She did pass one or two other ladies, and she could not help but note how their faces lit with interest upon seeing the Viking. One even turned to watch him walk away.
Lorrie made use of the ladies’ retiring room, and when she emerged again, the Viking was not waiting for her. She should have been pleased that he was not as vigilant as she’d feared, but Lorrie was actually rather indignant. What sort of bodyguard did not even wait for the woman he was supposed to be protecting?
She peered right and left, and when she did not see him, she headed back to the Ridlington box, taking her time as she had no desire to return to the opera quickly. The Viking met her just outside the box, seeming to step out of nowhere. Lorrie couldn’t help scowling at him, both because she was startled and because his appearance caused that unwanted flash of heat again. “Where did you go?”
He raised one brow, making it look easy.
“I thought you were supposed to protect me,” she said, keeping her voice low so the patrons in the boxes behind the curtains would not overhear. “But when I came out, you were gone.”
“Miss me?” he asked. Lorrie could not be certain, but she thought he was almost smiling.
“No! But if you insist on skulking about, I want to know where you are doing so.”
The Viking didn’t speak again, and Lorrie supposed she had said her piece and should now return to her seat. But that would mean attending to the opera again. “Where did you go?” she asked, her tone placating.
“To look at the rain. It hasn’t let up.”
Lorrie frowned. “Are the streets still passable?”
He nodded. “You will be safe on the return home, but if the rain does not slacken, I may suggest to your father we leave early.”
“Oh, that would be no hardship,” Lorrie said. “I hate the opera.”
He stared at her.
“Don’t tell me you love it?”
He shook his head. “Hate it.”
Lorrie smiled. “Good. I like you much better for admitting that. Charles, my eldest brother, pretends he adores the opera, but he is always engaged whenever we have tickets.”
“I don’t pretend,” the Viking said.
“That’s an…admirable quality,” she said, though the statement flustered her. She did not know anyone who did not pretend. Everyone wore masks, and some people she knew wore more than one. She wasn’t certain if she should respect the Viking more for eschewing pretense or consider him a complete simpleton.
She really should return to the box now. They had conversed enough, and she had been absent too long. Instead, she said, “If you don’t like the opera, what do you like?”
“Food,” he said immediately.
Lorrie laughed. “I’ve never met a man who didn’t.” This might be a weakness she could exploit. “Are you hungry?”
“Always.”
“They have light fare for sale downstairs,” she told him. “If you go now, you will be ahead of everyone at intermission.”
He shook his head and indicated her father’s box.
“I will go inside and suffer the opera while you are away. I promise not to leave my seat until you return.”
He shook his head again.
“Mr. Mostyn, this is not a ploy to trick you.” Not yet at any rate. “I promise. You see?” She parted the outer curtains. “I am returning right now.”
She let the curtains drop behind her, then parted the inner curtains and took her seat. “Where is Mostyn?” her father asked, leaning over to whisper in her ear.
Lorrie waited a moment, expecting the man to enter at any moment, but either he trusted her more than he’d indicated or he really was hungry.
“I believe he’s patrolling,” she said, when the Viking didn’t reappear.
Sometime before the intermission Mostyn did return. Lorrie didn’t know exactly when he stepped into the box, but at some point her back prickled and she looked over her shoulder and saw him watching her. Warmth crept up her spine. As much as she might argue that she did not need a protector, she felt a strange sense of comfort when he was nearby.
He stayed by her side during the intermission, when she was surrounded by admirers. She was not so vain as to believe the men were at all interested in her. It was her substantial dowry that drew them. With Mostyn keeping guard over her, only the most desperate paid her any homage. The Viking scowled so fiercely at every man who deigned enter his lair that when Neville ducked back in, her brother looked ready to turn back around again.
Finally, the opera ended, and Lorrie tried hard not to rub her eyes and give away that she had dozed through the last half hour. Her mind still foggy, she followed her mother and father out of the box and into the lobby. Outside, the rain still fell steadily, and the line of carriages was longer than usual. The press of theatergoers in the lobby was stifling, and once again, Lorrie was glad to have the Viking at her side. She could appreciate him more if she did not look at him too closely. Better to think of him as a sort of sentry—a suit of armor that followed her about.
“Lorraine, come stand outside with me,” the duchess ordered. “I cannot breathe in this crush.”
“Yes, Mama.” Lorrie followed her mother outside, standing beside columns that supported a stone canopy sheltering those outside from the rain. It did not provide any heat, and the rain had brought a bracing chill with it. In her thin silk dress and summer wrap, Lorrie shivered. The Viking had followed them out, but he seemed impervious to the weather.
“Mr. Mostyn, is that our barouche?” the duchess asked, pointing to a black conveyance that looked very much like every other carriage.
He stared and frowned, apparently unable to tell in the dark. “One moment,” he said, moving closer to the line of carriages.
Lorrie wrapped her arms around her middle to try and keep warm.
“Hey, watch where you step!” a man barked angrily to her right.
“I’ll bloody well step where I want,” was the answer.