Arthor: Emma Jay
Rebecca Chatham took her seat in the box overlooking the stage at the opera house. Murmurs from the elite of San Francisco society rippled through the room and she saw more than one gaze turn away when she made eye contact. Accustomed to the treatment, she lifted her chin and cast a small smile to her escort. Neville Frost was younger than she by three or four years, and an interesting mix of sophistication and anxiety. He’d been taught all the niceties of society but didn’t appear to have put them to use.
He sat beside her on a velvet seat in his family’s box, closer than was strictly proper, but she understood his intent. This was no courtship leading to marriage. He planned to ask her to be his mistress.
She’d only been widowed eight months, and if she cared what society thought, that length of time would give her pause. She’d loved her wild, wicked husband, but she missed the touch of a man.