“I saw that woman—it’s Charlotte Daicheston, isn’t it?—I saw her smile at you. I think she would like you to visit her box.”

Will just stared back, nonplussed. Chloe van Stork turned her attention back to the stage, where two tumblers and a juggler had just left, clearing the way for the play itself. Will studied Chloe’s calm, serious profile, trying to decide what she thought about Charlotte’s smile. Did she even understand what conclusions would be drawn by society if he disappeared from her father’s box and reappeared next to Charlotte? He felt strangely reluctant to drop the flirtation now, when it seemed to be bearing fruit. He had had dinner with Chloe’s parents and herself that evening, and this was the first time he had accompanied them to a public event. He’d be a fool to let a Golden Fleece slip through his fingers because Charlotte Daicheston whimsically decided to smile at him.

Suddenly Chloe turned back to him. “Go! Go!” she said fiercely. Will gaped again. She waved her hand impatiently.

Feeling like a chastised puppy, Will courteously drew himself to his feet and bowed to her and her parents, murmuring something about greeting some acquaintances. A few minutes later he appeared in the Brandenburg box, to the great satisfaction of the audience. There was a rustle of chatter. This was going to be an even more interesting evening than anyone had anticipated.

Charlotte sweetly held out her hand to him, and even the stiff marchioness greeted him kindly. To her mind anyone was better than that abominable earl. Will pulled up a chair and sat just behind Charlotte, whispering a few quips that made her laugh. She laughed overmuch, he thought, given the quality of his jokes. He looked over at Sophie. She had her delicate eyebrows raised and was looking rather amused. Will felt suddenly impatient.