Finally the orchestra was silent. Flynn continued pacing until he heard the O’Keefes approach. Unfortunately, it was Miss Dawes’s piercing voice that gave him warning. He ought to have expected her.
‘Behave yourself, miss. I’ll not have you ruining this for your father—’ The woman’s speech cut off when she saw Flynn. ‘Mr Flynn!’ She switched to a syrupy tone.
‘Good evening,’ Flynn said to them all, but to the one who wore a hooded cape that nearly obscured her face, his voice turned husky. ‘Miss O’Keefe.’
She nodded. ‘Mr Flynn.’
‘This is so very kind of you, sir.’ Mr O’Keefe tiptoed into the box and hesitated before accepting Flynn’s outstretched hand. O’Keefe’s hand was bony, but his handshake warm.
‘So kind,’ O’Keefe murmured. He turned to his daughter. ‘Is that not so, Mary Rose?’
She merely glanced at her father before turning to Flynn. ‘Is the marquess here?’
Both Mr O’Keefe and Miss Dawes wore hopeful expressions, but Miss O’Keefe seemed anything but eager.
‘He regrets not being at liberty to come,’ Flynn prevaricated. He directed them to the table. ‘But please sit and have some supper.’
Mr O’Keefe and Miss Dawes hurried to the round table set with porcelain china, crystal glassware and silver cutlery. Flynn pulled out the chair for Miss O’Keefe, and she glanced into his eyes as she sat down. He signalled the footman to bring another chair and place setting, after which the food was served: tender capons and a rich assortment of cheeses and fruit. The footman uncorked a bottle of champagne, pouring it into all four glasses.
‘Oooh, bubbles!’ exclaimed Miss Dawes in her coarse voice. ‘I love the bubbly wine.’
Rose picked up her glass and took a sip. She had tasted champagne before at Miss Hart’s, so its fizzy taste was not a surprise.
She watched Letty dig into the prettily displayed food as if she had not consumed a large dinner a few hours before. Mr Flynn’s food was fine, Rose thought, nibbling more delicately. The cheese tasted good with the strawberries and cherries.
Mr Flynn sat himself next to her and she discovered that she was very aware of each small movement he made. In a way she was glad she could not see his eyes. It was hard to be thinking when she could see his eyes.
Signor Rivolta’s lively music drifted over to their ears, his gay tune seeming out of place in the tension-filled supper box.
‘When is the marquess going to make his offer for our Rose?’ Letty bluntly asked.
Rose stilled, hating that Flynn would be associating someone so ill mannered with her.
Flynn paused, just one beat, before directing his answer to her father. ‘To speak of an offer is premature, sir, but I should like to discuss with Miss O’Keefe a possible meeting.’
‘Oh, there will be an offer all right,’ Letty broke in, waving her fork at Rose. ‘Look at her! What man could resist our lovely Rose?’
She reached over and not so gently patted Rose on the cheek. It was all Rose could do not to flinch.
‘I am most interested in my daughter’s welfare,’ her father added in an earnest voice. ‘This must be worth her while.’
Rose disliked being discussed like this, as if she were goods to barter.
Mr Flynn put down his fork. ‘I am instructed to tell you, Mr O’Keefe, that the marquess insists I speak with the lady herself in such matters. He must be assured his interest suits her before he proceeds in the negotiation. I am sure you understand.’
Her father’s brows knitted. ‘But I must also agree to any arrangements. She is still my responsibility, sir.’
‘She knows what is expected of her,’ added Letty.
Rose knew exactly what Letty expected. Letty expected a great deal of money to come into her pocket by way of this marquess. She glanced at her father. His motives were more unselfish, but still distasteful.
‘We will speak later,’ Flynn said to her father.
Rose rather liked the way Flynn simply passed over Letty, as if she had no say in the matter, which she certainly did not.
‘She’s still young, Mr Flynn,’ her father added, sounding genuinely worried.
Flynn turned to Rose with a question in his eyes, but Rose had no idea what he was asking. ‘I will see no harm comes to her.’ His gaze changed into something that made her feel like fanning herself.
She glanced down at her food. Imagine that a mere look from a man could make her feel like that.
Signor Rivolta’s music ended and the faint sound of applause could be heard. Soon the orchestra would play again.
‘I must get back.’ Mr O’Keefe rose.
Flynn stood as well. ‘Miss Dawes will wish to go with you, I am certain.’ He walked over to help Letty from her chair, giving her no oppportunity to argue. ‘I will safely deliver Miss O’Keefe to you before the night is done.’
Mr Flynn escorted them both out of the box, then returned to the table, sitting opposite her this time.
Rose gazed at him with admiration. ‘You do have the silver tongue, do you not, Mr Flynn? I believe Letty thought she wanted to go with Papa.’
He frowned. ‘Only one of many talents,’ he said absently.
He’d rattled her again, making her wonder what had suddenly made him frown. She picked up a strawberry and bit into it, slowly licking its juice from her lips.
Mr Flynn’s eyes darkened and he looked even more disturbed.
Rose paused. Could it be she had captured Mr Flynn’s interest? That idea made her giddy.
She took another sip of champagne and lowered her eyes to gaze at him through her long lashes. He reached over to retrieve his glass, downing the entire contents.
Rose felt light headed.
He gave her an intent look. ‘We must talk, Miss O’Keefe.’
But she was not finished flirting with him. She leaned forward, knowing it afforded him a better glimpse of the low neckline of her gown. ‘Will you not call me Rose?’
His eyes darkened again. ‘Rose,’ he repeated in a low voice that resonated deep inside her.
Their heads were close together, his eyes looking as deep a blue as the Irish Sea. The air crackled between them and he leaned closer.
A reveller, one who no doubt had been drinking heavily, careened into the supper box, nearly knocking into the table. The footman quickly appeared and escorted him out, but it was enough to break the moment between them.
He frowned. ‘I apologise for that.’
She hoped he meant the drunken man. ‘You could not help it.’
He gazed at her in that stirring way again. ‘I could not help it.’ He set his jaw. ‘About the marquess—’
But Rose could not bear losing this new, intoxicating connection between them. She daringly put her hand upon his arm. ‘Let us not speak of the marquess. Let us simply enjoy this beautiful night.’
He stared at her hand for a moment. Slowly he raised his head. ‘Your father—’
‘I will tell my father that I put you off, but that you will be back.’ She squeezed his arm. ‘What say you? Can we walk through the gardens? I have seen so little of Vauxhall. I have been confined to the gazebo, really.’
He stared at her, then released a long breath. ‘Very well.’
With a leaping heart, she finished the rest of her