Far Beyond Scandalous (11 page)

He was doing just that as he led
them to the box he had rented for the evening, using some of the funds that had
been set aside to ensure that Amy continued her social whirl.
 
It had taken scant little work on his part
to convince Michaels to allow Gibson access to the money necessary to see to
Amy's needs.
 
The man might be an excellent
steward but he was not very bright about other topics, at least in Gibson's
opinion.

Not that it mattered.
 
What did matter, however, was how society
would view his escort of Lady Amy to balls and other evening events, even with
the letters from both Prinny and Marcus.
 
Strolls in the park were one thing, but balls and the theater were quite
another.
 
That was something else that
Lady Caroline had assured Gibson that she would address in her upcoming column,
scheduled for publication the next morning.
 
Thank God he had a wide circle of friends, including ones that knew how
to turn potential scandal into heroic deeds.

Tonight, however, was all about
Amy, and allowing whoever was watching to see that she was, indeed, still out
in society - just as that damnable piece of paper Michaels found had
dictated.
 
For Gibson was convinced that
someone
was watching.
 
Several
times over the last few days, he had felt the stare of hostile eyes on him and
Amy, yet each time he scanned the crowd, he saw no one suspicious or out of
place.
 
He did not want to mention it to
Amy, as she had enough on her mind already.
 
Tonight was the first time he had seen her relaxed to any degree.

She was resplendent tonight, he
admitted silently as they walked together through the masses of people towards
their private box, the one he had rented earlier in the day from the Duke of
Coleridge, an old friend of his family's.
 
Her pale pink silk gown was more of a dusty rose hue than the nearly
white one she had been wearing at the Fairhill ball, and he thought that it
suited her coloring better.
 
The silken
fabric made her glow and sparkle under the soft lights inside the theater, as
if she was made of spun glass and dusted with a glittering sheen of diamonds.
 

The overskirt of the frothy confection
was dotted with clusters of crystals and pearls, which appeared, even to his
untrained eye, to be hand-stitched into the sheer netting.
 
The gown clung to her generous curves in all
the right places, making her appear soft and feminine beside his larger and
much more muscular frame.
 
He could tell
in an instant it was a Madame LaVallier creation.
 
If the exacting detail hadn't given it away, the small bit of
gold lace nearly hidden at the hem by her voluminous skirts would have.
 
It was the modiste's own personal signature,
and one that every woman of consequence looked for when studying the gown of
another society lady.

As a physician, Gibson appreciated
the human body in all of its various and sundry forms, but he found few, if
any, as perfect as Lady Amy's.
 
She was
nothing short of voluptuous, and while some men preferred a more lithe form,
like Caroline's, he was not one of them.
 
He would take all of the curves a woman possessed and then still more,
if possible.

A singular, pear-shaped diamond
pendant hung at the base of Amy's elegant throat, calling attention to the
creamy curve of her shoulders and tops of her breasts, which were showcased to
perfection by the vaguely scandalous low cut of the gown.
 
Until a few days ago, Gibson had known nothing
of women's clothing or fashion, as Harriet had never lived long enough to need
anything so fancy.
 
However, stacks of
bills from the esteemed dressmaker were in the papers provided by Michaels,
giving Gibson a brief glimpse into the expense, and, as he was quickly coming
to learn, intrigue that was women's fashions.

More than anything, he was acutely
aware this evening of Amy as a fashionable, desirable woman.
 
He could not allow even the slightest
indulgence of public admiration where she was concerned, but if he could?
 
He would stake his claim to her here and
now, no matter how unsuitable of a suitor he appeared to be on the surface.

He, of course, wore the same all
black evening attire, topped with a snowy white cravat.
 
It was the same clothing that he had donned
for the museum gala, the Fairhill's ball, and any other formal event he was
required to attend.
 
Unlike the men
around him, Gibson only owned one set of evening clothes, though at this point,
he was making enough coin to buy himself another set should he so choose.
 
A part of him reasoned that he needed
something else in the way of evening attire, that as one of Prinny's private
physicians, he now had different, more scrupulous standards to uphold, and that
the single diamond and onyx stick pin in his cravat alone would not do.
 
Perhaps some formalwear with a nice hunter
green waistcoat, perhaps?

Another part of his mind, however
reminded him that spending money for appearances' sake could lead to problems,
just as it had for his father.
 
While
Gibson knew he would never follow in his father's footsteps in that regard,
there was no real reason to be wasteful either, not when he had one perfectly
serviceable set of formal clothes.
 
Then
he looked down at the woman beside him, and he was suddenly seized by a need to
be worthy to stand in her company.
 
At
present, he was afraid that everyone who looked at them would know immediately
that he was a pretender simply by the way he was dressed.

As he and Amy moved through the
theater, Gibson could almost feel the rumors swirling around the two of them as
they finally arrived at the private box he had reserved, the gray-gowned Lady
Isabelle having already been seated in front of the red velvet curtain a few
moments before.
 
However he did his best
to ignore them all.
 
He was doing this
for Amy.
 
In fact, he would do anything
for her.

Gibson might be viewed as a strong
man by many.
 
Others, particularly the
women who wished to trap him into marriage, might prefer to say that he was
cold.
 
Especially when he put them off
with a charming smile coupled with a firm refusal of their company.
 
But around Amy?
 
He was a complete idiot who often times made foolish decisions
and lost all notion of common sense.
 
She was his weakness.
 
All
Blackwell men had one, it seemed.

"Am I that dreadfully boring
of company that you cannot find anything witty to say to me, Dr.
Blackwell?"
 
Amy interrupted his
thoughts, and he was startled to find that they had reached the theater box already.
 
There was a hint of hurt in her eyes and he
hated that.
 
He never wanted to cause
her undue pain.
 
He would spare her from
everything distasteful if he could.

Quickly, he summoned his usual
charming smile.
 
"My lady, you know
that is not true.
 
I find your company
quite scintillating."
 
He was
careful to keep any conversation completely above-board while they were out in
public.
 
The last thing he wanted was
for anyone to suspect that he might have feelings for Amy.
 
That would only lead to disaster.

She gave him a mumbled
"hmmm" as he pushed aside the curtain and allowed her to enter, but
offered nothing more.

They had, of course, repeatedly
gone over the rules for their public outings in the carriage.
 
No one, of course, could know that they
shared a far more intimate relationship than was proper.
 
That was implicitly understood by both of
them.
 
In addition to following her
father's directive, they were being granted a rare and magical opportunity to
be together.
 
However, like the
afternoon in the summerhouse, it would be nothing more than a moment out of
time; it would not last.
 
However,
Gibson had the feeling that Amy cherished this opportunity as much as he did,
though she would not speak of it.
 
Then
again, neither would he.

They had made a pact that, above
all, they would each keep their hands to themselves, touching only when
necessary.
 
The reason for that was not
spoken of, but it was clear to both of them.
 
One touch could easily spark passion between them, and that could lead
them down dangerous paths best left unwalked.

Still, at that moment, Gibson
wanted nothing more than to pull Amy into his arms and show her just how
interested he still was in her.
 
No
matter that they had promised to keep their hands to themselves.
 
Every step they took out into society
together was risky, but he would risk it all for her.
 
He cared for her that much.

He also longed to see her naked
again, just as she had been in the summerhouse, but that would never happen,
either.
 
So, he would settle for what he
could have and attempted to make his body behave.
 
It was more than he had dreamed of a few months prior when she
had turned away from him at the museum.

Once they were seated, Gibson
allowed himself a moment to relax and reached for his quizzing glasses.
 
They were one of the few possessions from
his father's estate that he had managed to keep, and they meant a great to
him.
 
Using them, he made a slow but
exactingly thorough perusal of the crowd.
 
The theater was packed that evening, as few balls were being hosted,
and, of course, no one in the
ton
spent an evening at home if they could
help it.

He had been within these walls
before, of course, but never as a guest.
 
Instead, he was usually called in for emergencies, such as when Lord
Chilton had taken a nasty fall down the stairs after being pushed by an unknown
assailant.
 
The opulence never failed to
impress Gibson, the gold gilt, red velvet wall hangings, and massive
chandeliers making him think of hot, sultry nights spent pleasantly naked with
a willing woman in his bed.

That was part of the seduction of
the place, he supposed.
 
For no one
really came here to watch the performances unless they were a randy young lord
hoping to bed an opera dancer.
 
They
came for the assignations and scandal, the chance to meet someone in secret and
do all manner of wicked things society would condemn if only they knew about
them.

It was why he wasn't surprised to
find a great many quizzing glasses already trained on their own box.
 
A good number of people were watching them,
as he had expected, though he couldn't read their lips to see what they were
saying.
 
Most were careful to keep their
mouths hidden behind hands, fans, or programs.
 
Clever.
 
Very clever.
 
He would have to remember that, as his
experience in attending the theater was rather limited.

"Spying a bit, are we,
Doctor?"
 
Amy knew precisely what
Gibson was doing.
 
He might not have
attended plays and operas as frequently as she had, but there were some
activities that were universal to all of the social classes.
 
Spying on others was one of them.

Gibson raised an eyebrow in
response.
 
"I have no idea what you
mean, my lady.
 
None at all."
 
Then he graced her with a cheeky smile.
 
That earned him an indelicate snort from the
gray-clad chaperone seated at the back of the box, and not even a dark glare
from him could quell the humor that lit the other woman's gaze.

Amy returned his look with a saucy
one of her own.
 
"More's the pity
then, as I had planned on doing precisely the same thing."
 
With a flourish, she opened her reticule and
produced both a fan and her own pair of quizzing glasses.
 
"What fun is the theater if you do not
bother to see who is behaving indecently?"
 

Then she sniffed indignantly, and
he saw a smile that she did her best to conceal behind her fan.
 
"I may be viewed by many as the paragon
of society, but I think you of all people know that is an illusion."
 
The last words were whispered softly and for
his ears alone.

If the chaperone heard that last
bit of conversation, she gave no reaction, much to Gibson's relief.
 
Then again, Amy's headstrong ways were not
completely unknown to society, and yet, she still earned the title of
Paragon.
 
He was curious as to why,
though it was not his place to ask.
 
It
was yet another facet of her that intrigued him far more than it should.

"Why is that?" he asked,
unable to keep silent, knowing he was skirting close to a line he should not
cross.
 
"Why does the
ton
place you on this unreachable pedestal when they know of your sometimes rash
behavior?"
 
There had to be a
reason, and, had he been a true member of society he would know it.
 
As it was, he had to humble himself to ask.