Free Heart of Honor by Kat Martin

as the curtain came down. The crowd applauded loudly, and seated next to Krista and Matthew in the viscount’s very elegant box, Lord Wimby shouted, “Bravo!”
    An older man with iron-gray hair and a ruddy complexion, his lordship was there with his much younger wife, Diana, the two of them acting as chaperones for the evening, since Krista and Matthew were as yet unwed.
    Matthew rose from his chair and helped Krista to her feet. His hand found her waist, settled there, and he urged her toward the red velvet curtain that closed off the box.
    “Michael Balfe was wonderful, Matthew,” she said of the composer. “Thank you for inviting me.”
    He smiled. “The pleasure was mine, I promise you.”
    “Matthew usually prefers to spend his evenings doing something a bit more exciting,” Diana said, flashing him a smile Krista couldn’t quite read.
    “His father and I try to encourage him to the finer pleasures in life,” Lord Wimby said. “We shall expect you to be a good influence, as well.” His eyes twinkled at his reference to them as a couple. Krista was still trying to think of her and Matthew that way.
    As they moved out into the hallway, Diana spread her black feathered fan and stirred the air in front of her face. “The opera was splendid, wasn’t it? I do so love music. I could listen for hours. There is nothing I find more entertaining.”
    Gowned in dark-blue-and-black-striped silk, her auburn hair swept into a cluster of curls on each side of her face, Diana Cormack, Viscountess Wimby, was an extremely beautiful woman.
    “You love music,” her husband agreed with a soft smile just for her, “but you also quite enjoy the theater.” It was obvious the man was enamored of his younger wife, a widow he had married just last year.
    “You’re right, darling.” Her blue gaze lit for a moment on Matthew. “I should have said there was almost nothing I would rather do.”
    They left the box and made their way downstairs to the line of carriages pulling up in front. It didn’t take long for the viscount’s fancy, four-horse coach to arrive, and soon they were bowling along the busy streets, returning Krista to her town house.
    Still, it was nearly midnight by the time she arrived at her residence in St. George Street and Matthew escorted her up to the door. Since the servants had all retired, she used her key to gain entry, then turned to bid him good-night.
    Matthew surprised her by pulling her close and pressing a soft kiss on her cheek. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Krista. We’ll have to do this again very soon. I’ll stop by in a day or two so that we may discuss it.”
    Krista merely nodded. She wished she knew how she felt about Matthew Carlton. Each time they were together, she became less certain. Perhaps time would bring the answer. She closed the front door and turned toward the stairs, then spotted the glow of a lamp down the hall, shining through the open door of her father’s study. Presuming he was either working late or had forgotten to blow out the lamp when he went to bed, she headed in that direction.
    As she stepped inside the study, she saw that it wasn’t her father, but Leif’s blond head bent over the mahogany table in the corner, and her feet came to a sudden halt.
    He was holding a pencil in one hand, gripping it as if it might escape, working to copy the shape of the letters her father had written down for him. She must have made some sound, for he set the pencil aside, shoved back his chair and rose to his feet.
    “So…you are finally home.”
    Her chin inched up. Why did the man always manage to annoy her? “The hours I keep are hardly your concern,” she said, though the Norse words she chose were far plainer.
    He tipped his head toward the window. “This friend of yours…you stay out with him until late into the night?” A lantern burned beside the front door and she realized he must have seen her with Matthew.
    “We went to a…a—” she how no idea what