Maggie’s performance was brilliant. Duncan clapped enthusiastically when she took her bows, as did the rest of the audience—except for Loretta. She sat, stiff with disdain, in the seat next to his, her elegantly gloved hands lying still in her lap.

“I’m going backstage,” Duncan announced when the lights came up. “Are you coming with me?”

Loretta’s program was now crumpled in one hand. She gave Duncan a sharp look and shook her head, and he left her there to make his way through the crowds, climbing the steps at the side of the stage. Moments later he was standing in the wings, his feet riveted to the floor by the sight of Maggie Chamberlin. God, what a fool he’d been to let her get away.

He smiled and straightened his tie. He would not make the same mistake twice. “Maggie?” he called, pressing his way through the throng of admirers to stand at her side.

Maggie looked up at him blankly, her gray eyes full of misery. Duncan realized that she was totally indifferent to him and was stung; her outrage would have been better than this empty stare. Far better.

“Maggie,” he said hoarsely, taking one of her hands to lift it for a kiss. By that time Duncan was hoping that Maggie’s memory of him had indeed faded away It would be wonderful to have a second chance to win her affections.

But he saw the fury spark in her stormy eyes as she recalled her experiences in Melbourne. She wrenched her hand free and spat, “Let me go, you bastard!”

Duncan was momentarily taken aback. He’d known that Maggie had spirit, of course; she’d defied him too many times for him to believe otherwise. But he had never dreamed that she hated him this much. “If you’ll just give me an opportunity, Maggie, I’ll make up for everything. I promise you I will.”

Just then the actor who had played Petruchio appeared, still wearing his cape and dashing feathered hat. Possessively, he took Maggie’s arm, and Duncan didn’t like the way she leaned against the man.

“Miss Chamberlin is really not up to dealing with her admirers tonight,” the actor said coolly.

Duncan seethed, though he kept his gentleman’s smile firmly in place. “Are you ill, Maggie?” he asked indulgently.

Her gaze was as cold as the blade of a sword. “A few more moments of your presence, Mr. Kirk, and I will surely vomit.”

A slap across the face would not have outraged Duncan more. Color surged up from under his elegant collar and flowed hot along his jawline. Still, he bowed politely before turning to walk away.

If Maggie wanted a battle, she would have one. And she would lose.