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that? Foolish, oh so foolish! If he chose to look further into her background—
    Yet why should he? Her plan was progressing even quicker than she had expected. Nonetheless, she must be careful. Because if she wasn’t—
    All might be lost.
    Truths . . . Untruths. She couldn’t let them become blurred in her mind.
    “I’ve been called far worse than rebel. Indeed, I need no excuse at all. At times I believe I am received only because of my mother.”
    Claire suspected he was right.
    Now, he looked down at her. “So,” he said, “a country girl, eh? I must say, you appear to be finding your legs exceptionally well.”
    “Except when I’m dancing,” she said dryly.
    He laughed softy.
    “Come with me tonight,” he said.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    The light in his eyes seemed to flame. Claire’s cheeks were suddenly burning. He smothered her hand with his—
    And she knew it wasn’t the sun at all.
    He lowered his head. His mouth was so close to her that he brushed her cheek. “Come with me tonight. There is a play at Drury Lane. Join me.”
    Her composure was shaky, her heart pounding. She wasn’t sure if she was elated or afraid! She sensed something dangerous in him. But she wouldn’t refuse. There was too much at stake.
    She lifted her chin. “I would be delighted, my lord.”

Chapter Four
    C laire could not help it. She was in a tizzy. She lay down for a nap but was far too excited to sleep.
    She dressed carefully for the play. She didn’t want to appear ostentatious, for that would hardly befit a widow. Instead she chose a dark gold gown with a shimmering pleated skirt that flowed around her legs.
    Rosalie clapped her hands together. “I’ve never seen you look lovelier, my lady!”
    Claire was caught between excitement and dismay. “Tell me true, Rosalie! It is not too revealing?” Her hand fluttered up to her neckline. The tops of her breasts thrust up beneath the clinging bodice. “Should I tuck a swatch of lace in it?”
    “Oh, no, milady! It is all the rage. Truly, your gown shows far less bosom than most women. And the color is heavenly. Your eyes look so very green!”
    So began her evening out.
    For whatever reason, she had not thought to enjoy the play. Instead she found it delightful. She leaned forward, utterly entranced as it unfolded. Yet all throughout, she was singularly conscious of the man beside her every second.
    Her gaze inevitably drawn to him, her mouth had grown dry as she watched him cross the lobby. Once again she was struck by the sheer physicality of the man. No one would ever think him a dandy, she decided. And she was certain no man would dare tell him so. He looked every inch the vital aristocrat, his shoulders impressively wide. He embodied raw, primitive strength, from the tip of impeccably shined boots to the crisp white of his cravat. Evening clothes did nothing to disguise the power beneath.
    When he had called on her, Claire deliberately kept him waiting for several minutes. Their earlier conversation high in her mind, she decided it best not to appear too eager to see him. His hard mouth was curled up in a half smile as she descended the stairs.
    His gaze had wandered over the bareness of her shoulders. The pearls around her throat were Penelope’s. Rosalie had threaded a matching strand through her hair, pulled back in soft curls.
    And now it was she who waited. She stood motionless before him while those eyes Penelope had called crystal seemed to devour her in a journey up and down her form that left her breathless. The was no denying the approval on his features.
    “You are stunning,” he told her.
    He settled her cloak over the narrow bridge of her shoulders and they were off.
    At the playhouse, she noticed several acquaintances. Sir Brownleigh’s wife Rebecca looked startled. She quickly composed herself and nodded a greeting.
    Gray’s box was in the first balcony. Most of the audience had already taken their places. When she was seated, more than