Felix slowly passed through the throng, stopping here and there to chat with acquaintances, his intended goal his aunt, sitting in a blaze of glorious purple on a chaise by the side of the room. But before he had reached her, a hand on his arm drew him around to face the sharp features of Clara Portland.

"Your Grace! It's been such an age since we've ...talked." Her ladyship's brown eyes quizzed him playfully.

Her arch tone irritated Felix. It was on the tip of his tongue to recommend she took lessons in flirting from Maribella before she tried her tricks on him. Instead, he took her hand from his sleeve, bowed over it and pointedly returned to her, "As you're doubtless aware, Clara, I have other claims on my time."

His careless use of her first name was calculated to annoy but Lady Portland, having seen his absorption with his wards, particularly his eldest ward, over the past weeks, was fast coming to the conclusion that she should do everything in her power to bring Twyford to his knees or that tiara would slip through her fingers. As she was a female of little intelligence, she sincerely believed the attraction that had brought Felix Cambridge to her bed would prove sufficient to induce him to propose. Consequently, she coyly glanced up at him through her long fair lashes and sighed sympathetically. "Oh, my dear, I know. I do feel for you. This business of being guardian to four country girls must be such a bore to you. But surely, as a diversion, you could manage to spare us some few hours?"

Not for the first time, Felix wondered where women such as Clara Portland kept their intelligence. In their pockets? One truly had to wonder. As he looked down at her, his expression unreadable, he realized that she was a year or so younger than Margaret. Yet, from the single occasion on which he had shared her bed, he knew the frills and furbelows she favoured disguised a less than attractive figure, lacking the curves that characterized his eldest ward. And Clara Portland's energies, it seemed, we're reserved for scheming. He had not been impressed. As he knew that a number of gentlemen, including Daniel Hammington, had likewise seen her sheets, he was at a loss to understand why she continued to single him out. A caustic dismissal was about to leave his lips when, amid a burst of hilarity from a group just behind them, he heard the rich tones of his eldest ward's laugh.

On the instant, a plan, fully formed, came to his head and, without further consideration, he acted. He allowed a slow, lazy smile to spread across his face. "How well you read me, my sweet," he drawled to the relievers Lady Portland. Encouraged, she put her hand tentatively on his arm. He took it in his hand, intending to raise it to his lips, but to his surprise he could not quite bring himself to do so. Instead, he smiled meaningfully into her eyes. With an ease born of countless hours of practice, he instituted a conversation of the risqué variety certain to appeal to Lady Portland. Soon, he had her gaily laughing and flirting freely with her eyes and her fan. Deliberately, he turned to lead her on to the floor for the waltz just commencing, catching, as he did, a look of innocent surprise on Margaret's face.

Grinning devilishly, Felix encouraged Clara to the limits of acceptable flirtation. Then, satisfied with the scene he had created, as they circled the room, he had raised his head to see the effect the sight of Lady Portland in his arms was having in Margaret. To his chagrin, he discovered his eldest ward was no longer standing where he had last seen her. After a frantic visual search, during which he ignored Clara entirely, he located Margaret, also dancing, with the highly suitable Mr. Chistlebury. That same Mr. Chistlebury who, he knew, was becoming very particular in his attentions. Smothering a curse, Felix half-heartedly returned his attention to Lady Portland.

He had intended to divest himself of the encumbrance of her ladyship as soon as the dance ended but, as the music ceased, he realized they were next to Margaret and her erstwhile partner. Again, Clara found herself the object of Felix's undeniable, if strangely erratic charm. Under the influence, she blossomed and bloomed. Felix, with one eye on Margaret's now unreadable countenance, leaned closer to Clara to whisper an invitation to view the beauties of the moonlit garden. As he had hoped, she crooned her delight and, with an air of anticipated pleasure, allowed him to escort her through the long windows leading on to the terrace.