Just like that, his cock went from placid to hard as a rock, straining the front of his breeches, so sensitive that he could feel the weight of the napkin that covered his lap.
His lips moved, uttering curses that he would never say aloud. He glanced up and met Joan’s eyes across the table.
She raised an eyebrow, letting him know that she could read lips, and his silence hadn’t protected her sensibilities.
Thaddeus raised his shoulders just a fraction. Merely meeting her blue eyes made his cockstand harden until he had to clench his teeth to get himself under control. He ended up scowling at her.
True to form, Joan didn’t flinch or look startled by his bad temper; instead she began chuckling, and a moment later the table was laughing with her, not even knowing why.
That’s what she was like. Wherever she was, whether in the bosom of her family or a ballroom, people laughed with her.
Thaddeus couldn’t stop looking at her lips. The sweets course included a marbled confection made of chilled rose-colored jelly. Watching Joan slide a spoonful of jelly through her lips made his pulse thrum through his body.
It wasn’t until he caught her glancing at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes and then slowly taking another spoonful that he realized she was performing for an audience: him.
He froze.
Was this one of her tricks, like that practiced smile? He narrowed his eyes in a silent question, and she smiled at him blithely.
No.
It wasn’t practiced.
All the same, she knew what she was doing to him, and she was reveling in it. Even as he watched, the tip of her tongue stole out and lapped up the last of the jelly on her spoon.
Unforgivably gauche.
Any governess would rap her knuckles for being so unladylike. And Joan would only laugh, he realized, because all the people who had informed her that she was illegitimate?
They had told her over and over that she was no lady.
They had given her freedom that no other woman in the aristocracy had. No wonder she confidently strode onto a private stage and showed nothing but excitement thinking of a public one. No wonder she pranced through the fair in tight breeches.
As he watched, she took another bite, her lips closing lovingly around her silver spoon. She wasn’t just beautiful; she was like one of the ancient Greek sirens, created by the gods to bring a man to his knees whenever she chose to unleash her joy and sensuality.
“My dear,” his mother said, interrupting that rather grim train of thought, “Mr. Murgatroyd says that the two of you plan to accompany Lady Joan to a public performance of Hamlet in Wilmslow.”
Joan’s head jerked up, and sensuality slid off her face like water.
It seemed that Otis had come up with a plan that would allow Joan to perform the role of Hamlet in Wilmslow without her father’s knowledge.
“I thought it’d be amusing to see someone perform Ophelia better than I,” Otis said, giving Thaddeus a look that directed him to support the scheme.
“I gather the troupe will continue on to Wilmslow after their performance here in the castle,” Thaddeus said, playing his part. He flicked a glance back at Otis. “I, for one, would like to see an Ophelia who knows her lines.”
“I don’t mind admitting that it strains belief to think that I’m attractive enough to catch the eye of a prince,” Otis said.
“You have winning attributes,” Joan said, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “Plus I truly love you, so our relationship will feel real on the stage.”
“It’s not the same,” Otis pointed out.
“What’s this?” the duke asked, turning away from a conversation with his duchess.
“We’re planning a trip to Wilmslow to see Mr. Wooty’s troupe perform Hamlet without Otis in the role of Ophelia,” Joan explained.
“Not in your breeches,” her father ordered.
She stilled, and Thaddeus learned something very important about Lady Joan Wilde: She didn’t like to lie, even by omission.
“Lady Joan will travel to Wilmslow as herself,” he said, cutting in. “I feel certain that Mr. Murgatroyd would rather not don his corset under any circumstances, so I can assure you that he will be in breeches.”
“I would chaperone you, but I can’t leave Viola,” the Duchess of Lindow said.
“I’d be happy to accompany you,” Thaddeus’s mother said. “Although I may stay in the inn that evening rather than see Hamlet yet again. The Gherkin & Cheese has an excellent kitchen, as I remember.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Otis said, beaming at her.
Thaddeus watched as Joan let out a soundless breath of air.
“If Viola’s baby is on the way, you must remain in the castle,” Aunt Knowe said, eyes on Joan. “She will want you nearby.”
Suddenly, Thaddeus was quite certain that Lady Knowe had guessed that Joan and Otis would play their roles before a public audience. Presumably she approved, or didn’t disapprove to the point of disclosing the truth to the duke.
“Of course,” Joan promised. “I would never leave Viola if there is even a sign of the baby coming. We’ll only be gone for a single night.”
“You are lucky,” Thaddeus said, breaching the strict etiquette that governed conversation, which occurred only to the left and right, and never across the table.
She raised an eyebrow at him.
“In your friends. Viola and Mr. Murgatroyd.”
“I keep expecting my father to be at my shoulder when you address me so formally,” Otis said. He looked around the table. “Since Lady Knowe saw fit to rope the inestimable Lord Greywick into rehearsing this wretched play with us, Joan and I are addressing him by his first name. To answer your question, Thaddeus, yes, Joan is extremely lucky to have me as a friend. And Viola as a sister.”
“Speaking of which, I should go back upstairs and check on how Viola is doing,” Lady Knowe said.
“Have there been any signs of the baby?” Viola’s mother asked, a flicker of anxiety going through her eyes.
“No,” her sister-in-law said with a reassuring smile. “But your daughter ate four Williams pears this afternoon, which was three too many.”
“Ow,” Otis said, obviously impressed. “My stomach hurts at the thought.”
“Another two weeks,” Lady Knowe advised. “First babies often linger.”
“We’re performing Hamlet in six days,” Joan said, “so that would be perfect timing.”
“That play has too much death and not enough life,” the duke said, giving Joan a wry smile. “It would be enlivened by the arrival of a new family member. Are you both ready for the night?”
“The only part of the performance that worries me is the sword fight,” Joan said. “I’ve been practicing walking about with Alaric’s rapier, but that’s not the same as pulling it out and trying to kill someone with it.”
“All I have to do is practice throwing flowers,” Otis said smugly. He plucked some violets from the blue finger glass before his plate and offered them to Joan with a smirk. “Violets for . . . for . . . don’t tell me! For thoughts?”
“You really need to memorize your lines,” Joan told him. “Ophelia says she can’t give out any violets because they all withered when her father died.”