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Theodora sailed into the seat at her side in a cloud of rose perfume. “Good morning, dear friend.”

The other woman’s tone was bright—too bright—and now that Ophelia thought upon it, rather insincere. Had the kindness Theodora had shown her been deceptive? A clever manipulation to further her aim of getting what she wanted at this house party?

Ophelia wasn’t sure, but she had resurrected the guard walls she ordinarily kept around herself. If only Aphrodite were here, she thought.

“Good morning,” she offered politely in return. “I hope you had a good evening last night.”

“I sincerely hope yours was better,” Theodora said, a hint of sharpness entering her tone.

Jealousy?

“It was as expected,” Ophelia returned, keeping her response deliberately vague.

She had no wish to reveal even a moment of what had occurred at dinner to Theodora. The conversation she had shared with Prestwick was private. The revelations he had made had surprised her. His gentle teasing had captivated her. As had the way he had looked at her, his stare as hot as coals pulled from the fire grate, with an intensity that suggested she was the most entrancing thing he had ever beheld.

It was intoxicating, that stare.

The Duke of Prestwick himself was intoxicating, full stop.

“Come now, you needn’t be coy.” Theodora’s tone was cajoling, a sunny smile still firmly affixed to her lips that Ophelia found herself questioning as well. “We are friends, are we not? Tell me what happened with our prize.”

Ophelia didn’t like the way Theodora said our, as if Prestwick were a communal property that belonged to them both. A possessiveness she had no right to feel surged.

“We dined in one of the salons,” she answered crisply. “That is all.”

“You dined,” Theodora repeated.

Ophelia nodded. “As we were meant to do, yes.”

“I cannot believe that is all, my dear.”

“We engaged in conversation as well.” Ophelia returned Theodora’s overly cheerful smile with one of her own.

Theodora’s nostrils flared, the corners of her lips turning down. “How dismaying.”

“I can assure you that our tête-à-tête wasn’t at all dismaying,” she countered, deliberately misunderstanding.

“I’m sure it was positively scintillating,” Theodora enthused with more vigor than was necessary. “However, I cannot help but to feel I haven’t proven myself to be a true enough friend to you yet, else you would entrust more details to me.”

“You have been a wonderful friend to me, Theodora,” she reassured, her tone brittle.

How had she been unable to see how insincere her friend was capable of being? It seemed dreadfully obvious to her now.

But Theodora was merely warming up to her act, because she continued with heightened melodrama.

“It is only that I always wished to have a sister, and I was so hoping you might be the sister of my heart.” Theodora blinked furiously, though Ophelia saw no sign of tears in her eyes.

Prestwick’s words of warning repeated themselves in her mind. I do believe everyone is that woman’s prey. She was beginning to think he was correct and she had allowed her own good nature to cloud her judgment.

“It wasn’t my intention to hurt your feelings,” she said, and that was at least the truth.

“Of course not. You are nothing but kind and good, my dear, sweet friend.” Theodora sniffed. “I do hope that you would tell me if you had designs on our portrait sitter for yourself.”

“None,” Ophelia said quickly and emphatically.

And now she was lying again. But whilst she might have designs on Prestwick, she was also wise enough to understand that nothing could ever come of them.

“He seemed rather smitten with you.”