Ophelia thought about pointing out that a man intent on courting a mother for his children was unlikely to conduct a highly visible affaire with a married woman, but she dismissed it. Maddie would soon discover whether His Grace was interested or not.

Even as a child, Maddie had always bluntly demanded whatever she wanted. Ophelia wouldn’t be surprised if Maddie strode right up to the man and suggested a tryst.

They were almost at the door, so Ophelia glanced at the duke again.

He was looking at her.

Not at Maddie.

At her.

Blood rushed into her cheeks, and she barely caught herself before she tripped again. She was a widow, the relict of Sir Peter Astley. A mother. Not the sort of woman who welcomed a man’s eyes raking over her in a ballroom, as if she were no better than a streetwalker.

She narrowed her eyes.

He blinked as if he was surprised, and then a slow smile crooked one corner of his mouth.

“The duke is looking at you!” Maddie said from somewhere to her right. “Phee, that will never do.” Her cousin actually sounded alarmed. “He’s far too much for you. Nothing like sweet Peter.”

That shook Ophelia out of a haze caused by the duke’s attention. She turned her head and smiled at her cousin. “Don’t be silly, Maddie. He’s probably mistaken me for someone else, that’s all. Will I see you tomorrow?”

“It could be that he’s walking toward me,” her cousin said breathlessly. “He could be glancing at you as a decoy.” She gripped Ophelia’s forearm hard enough to leave a bruise. “How do you think he’d respond if I lured him into a side room and tied him up?”

Ophelia ducked behind her fan and hissed, “What on earth are you talking about? You don’t tie up Penshallow, do you?”

“The duke’s so large,” Maddie said, giggling madly. “Of course, I don’t . . . It was just a silly thought.”

“He doesn’t look like the sort of a man who would wish to be tied up for any reason.” Not that she knew any man who had that sort of propensity, for all the ladies whispered about it in drawing rooms over tea.

She dropped her fan just enough to steal another glance over it.

The duke’s eyes were still fixed not on Maddie but on her. He was walking directly toward them, ignoring any number of women throwing themselves into his path.

“Perhaps he knew your husband,” her cousin said, sounding perplexed. “He really does appear to be looking at you, Phee.”

Ophelia shared her confusion. She wasn’t the kind of woman whom a man lost his head over. She had a pointed nose, a temper, a pile of red hair, and an overly generous bosom, even more so after being enhanced by motherhood. The thought of Viola brought her back to herself.