Once in the corridor, Margaret's cheeks cooled. They were quickly surrounded by her usual court and Felix, behaving more circumspectly than he ever had before, relinquished her to the throng. Idly, he strolled along the corridors, taking the opportunity to stretch his long legs. He paused here and there to exchange a word with friends but did not stop for long. His preoccupation was not with extending his acquaintance of the ton. His ramblings brought him to the corridor serving the opposite arm of the horseshoe of boxes. The bell summoning the audience to their seats for the next act rang shrilly. Felix was turning to make his way back to his box when a voice hailed him through the crush.

"Your Grace!"

Felix closed his eyes in exasperation, then opened them and turned to face Lady Portland. He nodded curtly. "Clara."

She was on the arm of a young man whom she introduced and immediately dismissed, before turning to Felix. "I think perhaps we should have a serious talk, Your Grace."

The hard note in her voice and the equally rock-like glitter in her eyes were not list on the Duke of Twyford. Felix has played the part of the fashionable rake for fifteen years and knew well the occupational hazards. He lifted his eyes from an uncannily thorough contemplation of Lady Portland and sighted a small alcove, temporarily deserted. "I think perhaps you're right, my dear. But I suggest we improve our surroundings."

His hand under her elbow steered Clara towards the alcove. The grip of his fingers through her silk sleeve and the steely quality in his voice were a surprise to her ladyship, but she was determined that Felix Cambridge should pay, one way or another, for her lost dreams.

They reached the relative privacy of the alcove. "Well, Clara, what's this all about?"

Suddenly, Lady Portland was rather less certain of her strategy. Faced with a pair of very cold blue eyes and an iron will she had never previously glimpsed, she vacillated. "Actually, Your Grace," she cooed, "I had rather hoped you would call on me and we could discuss the matter in...greater privacy."

"Cut line, Clara," drawled His Grace. "You knew perfectly well I have no wish whatever to be private with you."

The bald statement ignited Lady Portland's temper. "Yes!" she hissed, fingers curling into claws. "Ever since you set eyes in that little harpy you call your ward, you've had no time for me!"

"I wouldn't, if I were you, make scandalous statements about a young lady to her guardian," said Felix, unmoved by her spleen.

"Guardian, ha! Love, more like!"

One black brow rose haughtily.

"Do you deny it? No, of course not! Oh, there are whispers aplenty, let me tell you. But they're as nothing to the storm there'll be when I get through with you. I'll tell—Ow!"

Clara broke off and looked down at her wrist, imprisoned in Felix's right hand. "L...let me go. Felix, you're hurting me."

"Clara, you'll say nothing."

Lady Portland looked up and was suddenly frightened. Felix nodded, a gentle smile, which was quite terrifyingly cold, on his lips. "Listen carefully, Clara, for I'll say this once only. You'll not, verbally or otherwise, malign my ward—any of my wards—in any way whatever. Because, if you do, rest assured I'll hear about it. Should that happen, I'll ensure your stepson learns of the honours you do his father's memory by your retired lifestyle. Your income derived from the family estates, does it not?"

Clara had paled. "You...you wouldn't."

Felix released her. "No. You're quite right. I wouldn't," he said. "Not unless you do first. Then, you may be certain that I would." He viewed the woman before him, with understanding if not compassion. "Leave be, Clara. What Margaret has was never yours and you know it. I suggest you look to other fields."

With a nod, Felix left Lady Portland and returned through the empty corridors to his box.

Margaret turned as he resumed his seat. She studied his face for a moment, then leaned back to whisper, "Is anything wrong?"

Felix's gaze rested on her sweet face, concern for his peace of mind the only emotion visible. He smiled reassuringly and shook his head. "A minor matter of no moment." In the darkness he reached for her hand and raised it to his lips. With a smile, Margaret returned her attention to the stage. When she made no move to withdraw her hand, Felix continued to hold it, mimicking Francis, placating his conscience with the observation that, in the dark, no one could see the Duke of Twyford holding hands with his eldest ward.