She didn’t think Edward had slept in his rooms the night before, although the door connecting the two suites was locked from his side, so she couldn’t be sure. Would she have gone to him again, in the dark of the night? Perhaps not. Claire imagined herself creeping into her husband’s chamber, all lace and scanty négligé, only to find his bed already . . . occupied. Who was she? Claire imagined a stunning beauty, her golden hair cropped in the latest style. But her mind couldn’t go much further than that. Would she see her husband’s mistress at the musicale tonight, with everyone else already knowing who she was? It was probably too much to hope that Edward had simply returned to Lady Pamela. Deciding to make a particular effort with her toilette, Claire turned her attention to the mirror. An elegant lady in green silk, her large silver-grey eyes heavily fringed with black lashes, stared back at her. The face, although a trifle pale, was accented with full, red lips, and the décolletage seemed–to Claire’s unjaded eyes–to be fairly spectacular.
