“No, like your friends, you’re an arrogant, ignorant boor.” Ignoring the gasps all around her, she gestured angrily toward the stage. “These people have talent, serious God-given talent, and they’ve devoted their lives to honing it. And when they make music, people should listen and be grateful that they’re alive and privileged to hear it. Not blunder in with their drunken friends, responding to . . . to glory with crass jokes and mindless, mocking, suggestive bibble-babble.”

“Georgiana!” her aunt snapped. Lady Georgiana lifted her chin, but otherwise ignored her.

Hart raised his brow. “I see.” Was she serious? Taking him to task in public? An arrogant, ignorant boor, was he? He was no longer intrigued. He was seriously annoyed.

She snorted. “I doubt it. I doubt whether you—”

“Georgiana! That’s quite enough!” Lady Salter said with freezing authority. “Come, Georgiana, Dorothea, we’re leaving.” She rose and, gripping the girl by the arm, turned to Hart. “I apologize for my niece’s outrageous incivility, your grace—”

“I don’t,” the niece interjected. “I meant every word.”

“Hush, you appalling gel!” Her aunt hustled her out. Plump little Lady Dorothea, gathering up shawls and various bits and pieces, lingered a moment and threw him a mischievous smile over the division between the boxes. “Will we see you at our ball, your grace? Next Wednesday, Berkeley Square?”

Cheek must run in the family. She was old enough to be his grandmother. As if he would honor the blasted Rutherfords by attending their blasted ball.

“Dorothea!” Lady Salter snapped from the door. The little aunt winked at him and hurried out. The door closed behind her. The box was empty.

Monty and his friends eyed Hart surreptitiously as he resumed his seat without comment. Aghast, outraged and secretly thrilled by the exchange that had taken place, they discussed it nonstop in ironically low voices until the final act was drawing to a close and Monty was recalled to the purpose of the evening: his opera dancer.

Hart sat brooding. He did not look at the stage. He did not participate in the discussion. The music and the talk passed over him unnoticed. And when Sinc and his friends went to the stage door to meet Monty’s opera dancer, Hart made his excuses and went home.

It was a fine night and he decided to walk. He had his sword stick with him, and frankly, if he encountered any robbers, he would welcome the exercise.

But no robbers obliged him.

No one had ever spoken to him like that.

Certainly no female ever had. Was she hoping to pique his interest by acting the opposite of almost every female he’d ever met? Throwing insults instead of gushing with compliments? Risky tactics, if so.

But they had worked, dammit. To a degree.