Arrogant? He was well aware of it. Nothing wrong with arrogance, as long as it was well placed—and in his case it was. Was he to creep around feigning humility? Pretending to be less than he was? Such disingenuousness was beneath him.

He marched on, brooding.

Ignorant? Of opera perhaps—he’d never cared much for music. As a boy he’d been dragged to the opera by his mother, supposedly for his education, but it hadn’t taken him long to realize her true purpose was otherwise. The presence of her young son was intended to keep the behavior of her various escorts in check. Mama craved masculine admiration, but didn’t care to follow through on the expectations she aroused in the breasts of her ardent admirers. Mama liked to keep men dangling.

Just as she did her son; the maternal tenderness she lavished on him in public was never in evidence at home or in private. Unless she was playacting for the sake of one of her schemes. They worked on Papa, but by the time he was fourteen, Hart knew better.

Lady Georgiana though . . . He’d watched her from the shadows, her face well lit by the chandeliers overhead. She’d shown no interest in the young men in the next box, nor in the rest of the glittering, overdressed audience. Her attention had been wholly given to the music—until Sinc’s friends had distracted her with their drunken comments.

Her anger seemed genuine.

Then again, she was a woman, and in his experience, women had a tendency to playact and fake things.

Her aunt had offered her to him as a bride. But if that little tirade was meant as some kind of enticement . . . He thought about it. No. She wasn’t flirting. She’d meant every word.

Who was she, really? Boyish equestrienne? Demure opera lover. Bold virago?

And why had he never noticed her before?

Her broken fan was in his pocket. He wasn’t sure why he’d picked it up, nor why he’d kept it. A completely useless item.

He reached Mayfair, and turned in to Brook Street.

A boor, was he? Daisies poked through some railings, spilling onto the footpath, bright in the gaslight. He slashed their heads off with his stick and strode on.

Dammit, he never let a woman have the last word.

He hadn’t even had the chance to talk about buying her blasted horse.

And somehow, infuriatingly, he was aroused.

*   *   *

“Never in all my life have I been so mortified by a young gel’s behavior, Georgiana, especially one in my charge! And in such a public place!”