George knew she wouldn’t stop, so she gave the duke a reluctant nod.

He inclined his head at her. His lips twitched slightly as if he found something amusing. Found her amusing.

No doubt he was amused by the little provincial’s insistence on an audience actually listening. Not to mention her inappropriate behavior in addressing people in the next box—gentlemen in the next box.

Or perhaps the amusement came from Aunt Agatha’s offer of George as a potential bride. And his rejection of her. An ill-trained, boyish, impertinent hoyden.

She put up her chin. She didn’t care what he thought.

Well, actually she did—she wanted him to know she wasn’t the slightest bit interested in him, never had been, and that the idea of offering her to him as a potential bride was nothing to do with her and wholly Aunt Agatha’s preposterous and insane idea. Made entirely without George’s knowledge or permission.

But she couldn’t exactly explain that, not here, not now, especially in this company. She crossed her arms and eyed him coldly, fuming at the thought that he might assume she was angry with him because he’d refused her. She was not a woman scorned! He was a man scorned—only he didn’t know it.

So infuriating.

“Good evening, Lady Salter, Lady Dorothea, Lady Georgiana,” Hart said smoothly. “Enjoying the evening, I hope?”

He’d decided to accompany Sinc and his friends at the last minute. His mother’s less-than-subtle queries the day before had convinced him that Lady Georgiana would be attending the opera tonight, and though he had no interest either in the opera or in courting her, he was very interested in obtaining her horse.

Her note of curt refusal had annoyed him, but he’d taken it as the opening salvo of a negotiation, female-style. Or some kind of blasted flirtation.

Lord, but he was fed up with women and their tricks. From his mother, to his first and subsequent mistresses—even the first girl he thought he might love—it had been nothing but deception, lies and devious female stratagems.

He’d planned to step into her box at the next interval, bringing champagne for the ladies, and then sit down and discuss the sale of her horse. Monty and his friends had probably spoiled any chance of a civilized conversation tonight, at least, but Hart might be able to salvage something from the evening.

He’d watched her from his shadowed corner and been intrigued by her rapt expression as she gazed down at the stage. Had she been feigning interest in order to attract some musical gentleman?