Lockwood threw his head back and laughed, showing off the strong column of his throat. “I approve of that advice, actually. How had I not realized that you possess a sense of humor, Miss Lusk?”

Alice bit her lip and tried to suppress a smile. “I haven’t a clue, Your Grace.”

They were laughing.

Alice and the damn duke were laughing in his box as if they were the best of friends. Kit ground his teeth and lingered in the back of Preston’s box, cloaked in the shadows, and watched her flirt—flirt!—with Lockwood using all the tricks he had taught her. Tricks like leaning toward the duke, looking him in the eyes and asking questions instead of monopolizing the conversation.

Then Kit saw her bite her lip and smile, and he thought he might jump out of his skin.

Goddamn it.

“Is something wrong?” A delicate hand swept over his knee. It belonged to Lottie, his companion this evening. She was a friend of Preston’s mistress, Arabella, who was currently sitting with Preston in front of Kit and Lottie. The outing had been Preston’s idea to force Kit “to stop moping and get out of the house,” but Kit’s heart hadn’t been in it. Even less so after seeing Alice here with her mother at the other end of the tier.

“No,” he lied, keeping his gaze fixed on Alice. “Did you enjoy the first—?”

Alice stood and prepared to leave Lockwood’s box. Before Kit knew what he was doing, he shot out of his chair and glanced down at Lottie. “Would you like champagne? Why don’t I fetch us all some champagne?”

Without waiting on an answer, he darted up the aisle, through the back of the box and into the corridor. Throngs of people were milling about, so he weaved through the bodies and closed the distance to Lockwood’s box. Music began playing from the orchestra pit, a signal that the second half was about to start. He didn’t stop, just kept a brisk pace until he spotted the back of Alice’s head.

People poured out of the smoking and retiring rooms, which made keeping up that much harder. No doubt he appeared like a man possessed as he trailed her, but he soon caught up. She was lovely, wearing a cream silk brocade gown with full sleeves and a faint floral pattern on the skirt. Wrapping his fingers around her gloved wrist, he dragged her to the side.

She gasped and turned, trying to pull her wrist from his grip. When she saw it was him, she gave a nervous glance around them, as if she didn’t wish to be seen with him. “Oh, Mr. Ward. Hello.”

“Mr. Ward, is it?” He tugged her into the nearly empty salon.

“That is your name.” She twisted her arm to free herself and he let her go. “What are we doing in here?”