Without conscious thought Alex smilingly raised Daphne from her seat and suggested a stroll in the corridor. Daphne showed no sign of surprise when they headed directly for the stairs leading to the next level of boxes.

“I would be happy to meet Lady Charlotte again,” she finally said, tired of walking next to a silent companion. Now they were not being watched by the entire audience, the earl seemed to feel no need to speak to her at all.

Alex came to a halt. “Am I so obvious?” he said with a charming, ironic smile.

“Oui,” said Daphne. “You do not hide your feelings so well. But then, that is not an English trait,” she said meditatively.

Alex began walking again, albeit more slowly. “And Lady Charlotte?” he asked.

“Well.” Daphne gave a very Gallic, dismissive shrug. “She too has no ability to disguise herself.”

They arrived at the Brandenburg box, only to find that the hallway outside was filled with men trying to jostle themselves into a position to get through the door to the box. A little hush fell when Alex and Daphne appeared, however, and as if by magic the gentlemen pulled back slightly. Alex walked gently through the crowd. The footman guarding the door doffed his hat and Alex and Daphne disappeared through the door, pulling it decisively closed behind them.

They emerged into the glare of the theater slightly blind after the silky darkness of the corridor. The Marquess—or Marquis, to use the preferred spelling—of Brandenburg turned around sharply. He had distinctly told Pierre not to allow any more men into the box. There were already more than enough young bucks in here, breathing down his daughter’s low dress. He groaned inwardly when he saw who had breached the footman’s defenses. Lord! This would make Eloise breathe fire.

But the Earl of Sheffield and Downes was bowing pleasantly enough and introducing the lovely Frenchwoman who accompanied him. The marquis’s eyes brightened. He had a distinct tenderness for all things French and this young lady, he saw at a glance, was as distinguished as his own wife and far more beautiful. So Alex walked forward without Daphne, who was laughing kindly at the marquis’s rather worn jokes. It was pleasant to hear her own language at least. People had no idea how difficult it was to set up a flirtation in a foreign tongue, especially one as graceless and unnuanced as English.

As Alex slipped between chairs there was a sudden flurry at the front of the box. Sophie York rose with a twirl of flimsy skirts, laughing up at the four men surrounding her, each of whom had attempted to help her stand.

“Now!” she said gaily. “We are going to take some air. You”—she emphasized her choices with a tiny rap of her closed fan—”you, and you. Will you accompany me?”