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one quizzing glass turned their way. She wished heartily that they had arrived earlier.
    Gray was totally unperturbed. “I see you’ve noticed we’re garnering a bit of attention. Does it bother you? Pay no heed. The curtain will rise soon.” He laid a hand on her gloved fingertips, clasped together in her lap . . . her lap! Her heart lurched. She felt like leaping out of her seat. She hoped no one had seen that .
    The curtain was raised high. Then all else was forgotten as she found herself caught up in the play.
    After the first act, Gray glanced at her.
    “Are you enjoying the play?”
    “Oh, yes,” she breathed. “It’s enchanting.”
    “I’m glad I asked you to accompany me, then. You’ve never before been to a play?”
    She shook her head.
    “Your husband was remiss, then.” He cocked a brow. “Shall we go for refreshments?”
    She fell quiet when they descended into the lobby.
    “Wine?” he asked. “No, there is champagne. Would you like some?”
    She nodded.
    Gray brought her a glass of frothy champagne. Claire accepted it, her gaze skidding up to his.
    She discovered him regarding her with an almost lazy amusement. He leaned forward. “I did promise you champagne,” he murmured, “did I not?”
    Heads turned. Gray paid no heed. He kept her hand anchored to his sleeve. His own covered it. Touching him like this made her pulse race, the way it had this morning at Hyde Park. Her eyes grazed his; Claire was the first to look away.
    Rather nervously, she sipped her champagne. Gray, however, seemed totally at ease. A man near the refreshment table had turned toward them. Lifting a quizzing glass, he stared at them for a moment. If she wasn’t mistaken, he had been with Gray last night.
    He approached, and Gray greeted him easily. Before he had a chance to introduce him, the man caught hold of her hand and bowed over it. He brought her hand to his lips as he straightened. His manner told her that he was as boldly confident as Gray.
    “ Enchanté, madame,” he drawled. “Clive Fielding at your service. And you are . . . ?”
    “Mrs. Claire Westfield,” supplied Gray.
    “Where have you been hiding this gem, Sutherland?”
    Fielding had yet to release her hand. She tugged it free.
    “I will not share her, my friend,” Gray drawled.
    Claire bristled. It seemed he was as audacious as Gray! She glanced between the two. Both were tall. Powerfully built. Both possessed a commanding, immediate presence.
    And bounders, both of them.
    They chatted briefly. It spun through her mind that Penelope would have been quite proud of her. Then once again Fielding kissed her gloved fingertips. “Perhaps we will meet again soon, madame. For now, I shall bid you good evening.”
    Claire looked after him, her mouth compressed.
    Gray noticed. He laughed. “Did he offend you? His Grace has a tendency to live up to his reputation.”
    “His Grace?”
    “Clive. The Duke of Braddock.”
    Claire gasped. She had very nearly set down a duke! She recovered quickly. “Speaking of which, sir, you neglected to tell me your own title.”
    “I am honored that you chose to find out.”
    The lout!
    “Does he have as scandalous a reputation as you?”
    “I daresay, perhaps equal to mine. But please, you must call me Gray.”
    Claire could think of a good many things she’d like to call him. “My lord” and “Gray” were not among them.
    Just then a tiny woman dressed in black and white satin stopped before them in a swirl of skirts. She offered her hand to Gray. He took it and lightly kissed her fingers.
    “Mother,” he murmured. “May I present the lovely Mrs. Claire Westfield?”
    His mother! The woman looked anything but matronly. She was stunning, her complexion like ivory. What a beauty she must have been when she was young!
    Rats! Wasn’t it enough that she must guard herself against Gray, lest she give herself away? And now his mother was here!
    She sank into a curtsy. “Charmed to meet you, my