The Complete Regency Surrender Collection

Chapter Seven

Descending the staircase in the centre of Hatchards, Katrina scanned the room below her. This bookshop was one of her favourite places in London. The soft whispers and the occasional sound of the turning of pages were welcome after spending the entire morning on social calls with Mrs Forrester and Sarah.

As she continued to search for her maid Katrina let her gaze skim over the few patrons who were selecting books from the dark wooden bookshelves that lined the walls. An older woman in an elaborately decorated black hat was comparing books with a younger woman dressed demurely in lavender. Near them a dandy dressed in a navy jacket and puce trousers stood in a studied pose, reading the book he held through his quizzing glass.

Scanning the room further, Katrina felt her heart skip a beat. Standing near her maid, at a table piled with books, stood a broad-shouldered, dark-haired gentleman in a finely cut bottle-green coat, buckskin breeches and top boots. Was her time in London destined to be cursed with the presence of the rude Englishman from the Russian Ambassador’s ball?

Katrina hesitated on the staircase, wondering if she should turn around and go back upstairs before he spotted her. Suddenly he lifted his head, as if sensing her gaze, and their eyes met. She could not turn back now. Taking a breath, she gripped the wooden banister and proceeded to slowly walk down the stairs towards Meg.

Katrina picked up the first volume of Frankenstein and thumbed through the pages. ‘Have you found anything of interest?’ she asked Meg.

Her maid smiled and showed Katrina the book in her hand.

‘I do not believe Clarissa is an appropriate choice for you,’ Katrina said.

‘I’ve heard it’s scandalous, and I’m hoping they have it at the lending library. The heroine is told to marry an unappealing gentleman and then is tricked into running away by a rake. I bet there is a dungeon in the story. I love a story that takes place in a dungeon.’ Meg sighed and then glanced inquisitively at the book in Katrina’s hand.

Taking into account her maid’s vivid imagination, Katrina quickly placed Frankenstein back on the table. ‘I’m well aware of the plot. You do know you can borrow any of my books?’

‘Do they have dungeons, kidnappings, evil earls or ghosts?’

‘No.’

‘Then why do you think I would want to read them?’ Meg asked, wrinkling her brow.

There was a deep laugh from across the table. Keeping her head averted under the rim of her bonnet, Katrina blocked her view of the gentleman across the table. Searching for a more appropriate novel, Katrina spotted a copy of her father’s book. As she reached for it her hand brushed against a strong hand encased in a brown leather glove. Startled, she looked up.

‘We meet again,’ the annoying Englishman said.

No, we don’t, because you are too rude to seek an introduction!

Katrina took a breath to compose herself before she spoke. ‘So it would seem.’

‘Forgive me. I believe that is the book I have been searching for.’

‘This book?’ Katrina asked, holding it up to show him the title on the spine.

‘Yes, that is it.’ He reached for another copy and began to turn the pages. There was a hesitation before he looked up at her. ‘I’ve heard it’s a very good book. You would not happen to know anything about it, would you?’

‘I can highly recommend it. The book presents the observations of a traveller and contains much happy humour.’

Katrina glanced around the shop to see if anyone was watching them. Meg had moved to a nearby bookcase, engrossed in Clarissa. What was the point of having your maid accompany you around the town if she walked away when the man you wanted to avoid began speaking with you?

He walked around the table and stood next to her, smelling of leather and fresh air. ‘The account is humorous?’

‘Yes, Lord Byron has said he knows it by heart, and Scott has said it is positively beautiful. I understand the book is selling rather quickly. You might wish to purchase one before they are all sold.’ She looked closely at him, challenging him to actually buy it.

‘You appear intimately acquainted with the book,’ he commented, his eyes narrowing.

‘I suppose I am. My father is the author.’

‘You are Mr Vandenberg’s daughter?’ he asked in a rush of breath.

‘Yes, my lord, I am.’ She crossed her arms over her chest. If he said one disparaging thing about the fact that her father was a writer she was leaving immediately. He would deserve the cut.

He tipped his head to her. ‘Then I shall be certain to take your recommendation. My grandmother speaks highly of it as well.’

‘Your grandmother?’

‘Yes. My grandmother seems to have misplaced her copy. I came here today to purchase a new one for her.’

He was intending to purchase her father’s book because his grandmother had lost her copy? That seemed rather...sweet.

Katrina caught herself before she smiled. He wasn’t sweet. He was rude! Still, she couldn’t help asking him if he was a doting grandson.

‘I suppose I am.’

He smiled at her and he appeared even more attractive.

‘She seemed truly distressed to discover it missing.’

He stepped a bit closer and inhaled. Was that some odd English custom?

Katrina eyed him and placed her father’s book down. ‘Did you just sniff me?’ she whispered.

A small smile raised one corner of his lips. ‘Now, why would I do that?’

‘Why, indeed?’ Katrina replied, narrowing her eyes at him.

She edged a little further down the table. The heat from his body somehow made its way over to her. This man had ignored her for days. Why couldn’t her body do the same to him? She could practically feel his every breath. That slightly unsettling feeling was back.

‘If you will excuse me?’ she said, turning to leave.

He blocked her way with his body. ‘You do not need to leave yet, do you?’

‘I cannot stay. You must realise our speaking without an introduction is highly improper.’ It was easier not to look at him, and she picked unseen strings from her pale blue and white spencer.

He glanced around and edged closer to her. ‘That didn’t bother you before.’

‘A momentary lapse in judgement.’

‘No one here knows we have not been formally introduced,’ he said quietly.

‘We know we have not,’ she chided. ‘And you have done it again! You sniffed me.’ She stepped away from him, feeling more than a little unsettled. ‘I can assure you Americans do bathe.’

His lips twitched. ‘Why do you smell like lemons, Miss Vandenberg?’

Katrina’s brows drew together in confusion. ‘That is irrelevant—and I refuse to carry on this conversation when I do not even know your name.’

‘We could remedy that easily. I could simply tell you what it is.’

‘Do you always flout the English rules of conduct?’

He appeared to ponder her question for a moment. Then he shook his head. ‘Actually, I never do. However, I see no harm in it this time. But if you insist we will do this in the proper manner. I shall need to borrow your maid.’

‘You’d like to borrow my maid?’

‘I would.’

He walked to Meg, who was watching the interaction between her mistress and this perplexing Englishman. They bent their heads together, and a short while later both walked towards Katrina.

‘Miss Vandenberg,’ Meg said, trying unsuccessfully to hide her smile, ‘may I present His Grace the Duke of Lyonsdale? Your Grace, this is my mistress—Miss Katrina Vandenberg.’ She curtsied and watched them both closely.

The scoundrel! Katrina’s eyes widened. ‘You’re a duke?’

A slow smile made his lips turn up invitingly. ‘I am.’

‘You are the Duke of Lyonsdale?’

‘Yes, I believe we have established that.’

Meg, as if sensing her mistress’s temper, smartly moved back to her place by the bookcase.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Katrina demanded.

‘My name? I was going to, but you seemed to need a proper introduction so I had your maid do it.’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ Katrina said as she shook her head. ‘You led me to believe you were simply a lord.’

‘How did I do that?’

‘You did not correct me when I addressed you. You must have found my ignorance vastly entertaining,’ she replied waspishly.

It had been bad enough when she’d thought he might be a titled gentleman, such as a baron, but he was a duke! In England, his station in life was so far above hers he probably would never have spoken to her again if it had not been for this accidental encounter.

She would not show him that it hurt.

‘Miss Vandenberg—’

‘I’ll not be played for a fool. I’m sure you have enjoyed telling your friends how ignorant Americans can be. Well, let me tell you—’

‘Miss Vandenberg,’ he interrupted more forcefully. ‘I didn’t correct you because we had not been introduced. I had no opportunity to tell you my name or indicate my station.’

‘You could have corrected the way I had addressed you.’

‘And sound like a pompous fool? I think not.’

He certainly would have sounded like a pompous fool, but Katrina was not convinced he didn’t have another motive for not telling her the truth. He must have had a great laugh at her expense.

‘In any event, what you did was rude.’

Both his brows rose and he jerked his head back. ‘I assure you, causing you any distress was most unintentional.’

Then his lips twitched, and she wanted to throw a book at him. The man was insufferable.

‘You are laughing at me,’ she said through her teeth. ‘I believe I have spent too much time here today. I bid you good day—Your Grace.’

As she stormed out of the bookshop she wished she could restrict her engagements to those he would never consider attending.

* * *

Julian’s encounter with Miss Vandenberg left him perplexed. No one had ever schooled him in proper behaviour before. No one would ever have dared. And yet this American had thought it necessary to inform him that he was rude.

He should have been insulted by the way she’d spoken to him, but she had been so certain in her conviction, so passionate about the way she deserved to be treated, he had not been able to fault her.

He was a man of strong convictions as well. When he had entered the shop it hadn’t occurred to him that he would leave finding Miss Vandenberg even more desirable than he already had.

By the next day he was still reliving their discussion and anticipating when he would speak to her again.

Deciding to visit the woman who was indirectly responsible for their encounter, Julian sought out his grandmother when he returned home from his committee meeting. Upon entering her private sitting room, he found her resting in a bergère chair, with a book in her hand.

‘Come in Julian,’ she said, waving him closer. ‘You truly have spoiled me.’

He walked across the gold and white Aubusson rug and sat down next to her. ‘I see you are enjoying your book.’

‘You were slippery, presenting me with that volume yesterday. The arrival of this copy was quite unexpected.’

‘This copy?’ he replied, perplexed.

‘Yes—the one you had Mr Vandenberg inscribe.’

Julian gestured to the copy of A Traveler’s Tale that she held in her hands. ‘May I...?’

His grandmother placed a black ribbon between the pages and handed the book to him. ‘It is a lovely inscription.’

He eyed his grandmother through his lashes and turned to the title page. He was speechless. Obviously Miss Vandenberg must have arranged this—but why?

When she had stormed out on him yesterday Julian had not known if he should go after her. No one had ever walked out on him before. What had possessed her to have her father inscribe a book for his grandmother?

‘I did not do this,’ he admitted, handing back the book.

‘Of course you did. I have told no one else I misplaced my copy.’

‘I believe Mr Vandenberg’s daughter arranged this.’

‘His daughter? How would she know?’

‘I mentioned it to her yesterday, when we spoke at Hatchards.’

‘How very delightful of her. You have never said that you are acquainted with the family.’

‘I am only acquainted with the daughter.’

His grandmother arched her brow. That was not a good sign. ‘Just the daughter? How unusual for you. How did you make her acquaintance?’

‘A mutual friend,’ replied Julian, picking a speck of lint off the sleeve of his navy tailcoat.

‘I see. And is the lady in question married?’

‘She is not.’

‘And how long have the two of you been acquainted?’

‘Not long.’

Her eyes narrowed, causing Julian to shift restlessly in his seat.

‘Tell me about this girl.’

‘She is not a girl.’

‘How old is she?’

‘I do not know. I thought it wasn’t polite to enquire.’

His grandmother chuckled. ‘When the lady in question is my age, it absolutely is not. But for a younger one I do not think it at all beyond the pale.’

‘And a lady of your age would be how old, exactly?’

‘You impertinent man—we are discussing your friend, not me.’

‘And why exactly are we discussing Miss Vandenberg?’

‘She had her father send me this lovely book. I am curious as to what kind of girl would do such a thoughtful thing. You say she did this completely without your influence?’

‘I doubt the lady could be influenced into doing anything at my bidding,’ he muttered.

‘Nonsense—you are Lyonsdale.’

‘At the moment that fact does not seem to be to my advantage with her.’

‘Why not?’

‘Miss Vandenberg is a little cross with me at the moment, due to my title.’ He knew it was absurd, and saying it out loud made it appear more so.

‘I do not understand. Does she not realise the significance of your station?’

‘She does. However, I do not believe she cares.’

‘Because she is an American?’

‘Because she is Miss Vandenberg. In truth, I find at times that she baffles me with her logic.’ And his reaction to her mere presence baffled him more.

His grandmother tilted her head and he realised he’d said too much. Miss Vandenberg wasn’t a woman he was courting, or even a woman he should be thinking of courting. And yet he’d told his grandmother more about her than he had about any other woman.

Knowing that she was annoyingly perceptive, he knew he needed to place distance between them before she started asking a litany of questions. He pushed himself off the chair and walked to the window overlooking Grosvenor Square.

‘Would you take me to Almack’s tonight?’ she called to him.

Dear God, he should have just left the room. The last place he ever wanted to go was Almack’s. He might as well place a notice in the Morning Chronicle, stating that he was shopping for a wife.

‘Why in the world would you want me to do that?’ he asked, trying to think of an excuse as to why he could not take her. ‘You’ve been going there for years without me.’

‘Yes, and it is about time you used those vouchers of yours. Each year you pay for them, and each year you never use them.’

He wasn’t giving in. Her reasoning wasn’t good enough.

She rubbed her knees and sighed. ‘If I don’t move these bones they may stiffen permanently.’

Crossing his arms, he arched a sceptical brow. If the woman hadn’t been born into the aristocracy, she might have made a fine living on the stage.

‘I do not have many years left,’ she continued. ‘Is it so wrong for me to wish to spend time with my grandson? I rarely see you any more, with all the time you are spending with Lord Kenyon’s committee and other Parliamentary affairs.’

She blinked a few times, and Julian wasn’t certain if he saw tears in her eyes.

Should he remind her that they saw each other most mornings over the breakfast table? He searched the frescoed ceiling for an answer, but the cherubs just laughed down at him. He allowed her to live with him in London during the Season because he cared about her, and knew they probably didn’t have many more years left together. Perhaps it was time he hired her a companion and rented her a townhouse.

Letting out a deep breath, Julian knew he was going to regret agreeing to go with her. And yet he was unable to say no.

Chapter Eight

As Julian stepped into the cavernous assembly room at Almack’s the large mirrors magnified the many women and men who turned to look. Heads poked around the gilt columns to his right, and some people even had the impudence to raise their quizzers at him. This was why he avoided mixing with the likes of the marriage mart. Their unabashed interest in him was tiresome.

He walked further into the room, with his grandmother on his arm and his mother at his other side. They left a buzz of voices in their wake.

‘This is a testament to how much I care for you,’ he whispered down to his grandmother. ‘Do not expect me to escort you here again.’

She blinked up at him innocently and readjusted her hand on his arm. ‘Evenings such as these have a way of turning unexpectedly. You may change your mind.’

‘There is nothing in Christendom that would make me enjoy myself tonight,’ Julian replied through a polite smile, knowing the people around them were trying to listen to their conversation.

His mother nodded regally at the Duchess of Skeffington and Lady Harlow. Julian knew his mother was not fond of the gossipy pair. He wasn’t either, and had no qualms about pretending he did not see them.

‘You are shocking people tonight with your presence, Lyonsdale,’ his mother said from behind her fan. ‘They see a man in search of a wife. Perhaps you might consider announcing your intentions and quelling their interest?’

‘Madam, tonight I have no intention of announcing anything.’

His mother pursed her lips together and looked away. Julian was surprised she hadn’t broached the subject of Lady Mary sooner. He assumed she was here somewhere. Lady Morley would not be remiss in displaying her daughter to the eligible men of the ton. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable. Tonight he would speak with Lady Mary and discover if he would be able to endure sitting across the breakfast table from her each morning.

Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the mixed floral scents and the body odour that permeated the room. There would be no escaping to the terrace for some cleaner air tonight. He scanned the room for Lady Mary and stifled a yawn. With all these masses of white spinning about the floor he would never be able to identify her unless she was standing directly in front of him.

He leaned over to his grandmother. ‘Please tell me they have begun serving something more fortifying here than that insipid lemonade.’

‘I wish I could—but that is what flasks are for, my boy,’ she whispered, patting her reticule.

From the corner of his eye he spied Lady Morley, heading their way. Before he was able to summon an excuse to avoid having to speak with the woman his grandmother came to his rescue.

‘Oh, look—I believe I see Lady Cowper,’ she said. ‘Will you excuse us, Beatrice?’ Without waiting for a reply she tugged on Julian’s arm and they began walking towards one of the patronesses who ruled Almack’s.

‘Now you see why I avoid these evenings,’ Julian said, studying the crowd in front of them and trying to determine the least dangerous route to Lady Cowper. ‘They can be most trying.’

‘Chin up, my boy, I believe this night is about to become quite interesting.’

He glanced down at his grandmother. Why did he have the feeling she was privy to something he was not?

They approached the affable Lady Cowper, and the ladies exchanged pleasantries. Then she turned her full attention to Julian. ‘What a pleasure to see you, Your Grace. It has been some time since you’ve been in attendance.’

‘Yes, I suppose it has.’

‘It appears we have caused quite a stir this evening,’ his grandmother commented, glancing around.

‘Yes, in fact I believe your arrival has surpassed tonight’s latest sensation.’

His grandmother stepped closer and lowered her voice. ‘Really, Lady Cowper? Do tell.’

‘That American author Vandenberg is here, with his daughter. I understand the man is entertaining, and his daughter is quite accomplished.’

Julian’s heart skipped a beat, and he fought the urge to scan the assembly room for her.

His grandmother’s eyes widened a little too much. ‘Really? They are here tonight? I would enjoy making the man’s acquaintance. A Traveler’s Tale is a most enjoyable read.’

‘I am certain Madame de Lieven can introduce you. She has sponsored the family.’ She leaned in close and lowered her voice. ‘We were astonished when she promoted the Americans. However, I find they comport themselves surprisingly well.’

‘Americans are not the provincials some imagine them to be,’ Julian stated firmly, feeling an inexplicable need to come to their defence.

Both women stared at him in surprise, before Lady Cowper narrowed her gaze. ‘Surely you’re aware that we have seen very few American women in our circles? It was difficult to determine how they would behave.’

His grandmother began to cough, and Julian would not have been surprised if she had dramatically thrown herself on the floor to enhance the effect.

‘My word, do you require assistance?’ Lady Cowper asked with true concern.

His grandmother shook her head and the coughing miraculously stopped. ‘A glass of lemonade should help ease the tickle in my throat,’ she said, patting her chest. She grasped Julian’s sleeve and gave it a subtle tug, leaving him no choice but to walk with her to the refreshment table.

He handed her a glass and held back a laugh when she poured in some clear liquid from a small silver flask. He wasn’t certain what she had added, but as long as it was potent he didn’t really care. Selecting a glass, he held it out to her, and she added a generous splash. The smell of gin reached Julian’s nose as he raised the glass to his lips. If his father had been alive now the man would have had an apoplexy, knowing the matriarch of their family carried gin on her person. However, if it would help Julian survive an evening in the marriage mart he would not admonish her.

‘Do you see her?’ his grandmother asked as her gaze trailed over the room.

He had known she was up to something! He took a long drink. ‘To whom are you referring?’

‘Oh, I think you know.’

‘What exactly are you plotting?’

‘Why do you believe I am plotting anything?’ she asked, arching an inquisitive brow.

‘I am not dim-witted,’ replied Julian, and he arched his brow in return.

‘No, you are not.’

‘That was not an answer.’

‘What was the question?’

He momentarily closed his eyes. When he looked back at her the glass in her hand was empty. ‘I’m trying to decide if it is wise to give you more lemonade.’

She reached behind him and took another glass. ‘You do not need to attend to me all evening. You should look around. You might find someone of interest.’

Julian eyed his grandmother in annoyance. Why did the women in his life seem to have this need to meddle in his affairs? He stood near her, refusing to give any indication that he was in search of a wife. However, this time when his gaze travelled across the room he easily spotted Miss Vandenberg amid the whirl of white. He was transfixed as he watched her attempt to move gracefully through a quadrille with that idiot Lord Boreham.

‘Are you going to dance with her?’ the pest at his side whispered.

He glanced down at her. ‘I have no desire to dance this evening.’

‘Forgive me. I thought you had found something that held your attention. I must have been mistaken.’

‘You most certainly were,’ he replied, his eyes inexplicably drawn back to the dancing couple.

She lowered her voice even further. ‘If that is Miss Vandenberg, Madame de Lieven will know if she has been given permission to waltz.’

Julian stared at his grandmother, aghast. ‘I have never waltzed here, and I do not intend to do so now.’

However, if they did waltz together he would have her undivided attention. She would not be able to leave the conversation when it was convenient for her, as she had each time they’d spoken in the past.

A smile tugged at his lips as he watched her walk off the dance floor.

* * *

When the quadrille ended Katrina returned to Mrs Forrester and Sarah, who were standing near one of the white gilded columns. She was grateful for the reprieve.

‘You appear to have both feet intact,’ Sarah teased. ‘Perhaps Lord Boreham has taken dancing lessons.’

Fanning herself to cool her heated body, Katrina smirked. ‘No, I have simply become adept at hiding my pain.’

‘Did you hear about the caricature that was printed of him recently?’ Sarah asked, staring questioningly into her glass of lemonade.

Most of these satires mocked political figures and the Prince Regent. Katrina knew there were others that were drawn of certain members of the ton, but since she was fairly new to London, and not well acquainted with too many people, she never paid much attention to them. However, now she was intrigued. ‘What does it look like?’

Sarah glanced over at Lord Boreham, who was standing a few feet away with a group of young bucks. ‘In it he is sprawled on the ground at the entrance to the Palace of Westminster. I do not recall the caption, but the image was memorable. A number of the dandies standing with him now were having a good laugh over it last evening.’

Although she was not fond of the marquess, Katrina felt sorry for him. It must be mortifying to have someone you didn’t know make a mockery of your life.

‘Katrina, if you persist in moving your fan so rapidly I fear the lady behind you will discover her peacock-feathered cap flying away!’ advised Mrs Forrester.

Katrina slowed her hand. ‘Pardon me, but it is so warm in here. I’m looking forward to stepping through the next dance just to create a breeze.’

‘A waltz would do nicely,’ Sarah said.

Katrina leaned in closer. ‘I cannot believe we need permission to waltz here. I have been waltzing all over Europe, and now someone of no relation to me must give their consent.’

‘Well, I find it unusual that men cannot wear trousers here,’ Sarah said, scanning the stocking-clad calves of the men around them. ‘What an odd rule.’

‘Perhaps the patronesses are using their influence as an excuse to admire finely formed legs,’ replied Katrina. ‘What I don’t—’

‘Madame de Lieven, how wonderful to see you,’ said Mrs Forrester, a bit too enthusiastically.

Katrina raised her fan to hide her laugh and turned. Her eyes widened when she saw the Russian Ambassador’s wife on the arm of the Duke of Lyonsdale.

‘It is lovely to see you, ladies,’ Madame de Lieven said, inclining her head. She introduced Mrs Forrester and Sarah to the Duke, and then turned to Katrina. ‘I understand you are already acquainted with His Grace?’

Katrina could feel the weight of his attention as she lowered herself into a curtsy. ‘I am,’ she muttered.

‘Ladies,’ he said, in that deep voice that reverberated through her body. ‘I hope you are enjoying yourselves this evening.’

Mrs Forrester replied rather quickly—perhaps because she was wary of what Katrina or Sarah might say. ‘Thank you, we are. I believe Almack’s is an experience one must have in order to fully appreciate it.’

That was vague enough. Katrina bit her lip to keep from laughing.

‘And what do you appreciate the most?’ he asked them, with a knowing look in his eye.

‘We’ve been discussing the fine dancing,’ replied Mrs Forrester.

‘And the fashionable attendees,’ said Sarah as she glanced down at the Duke’s muscular calves, encased in white stockings.

When Katrina coughed to cover her laugh, he narrowed his eyes at her. ‘And, Miss Vandenberg, what have you come to appreciate this evening?’

Don’t say finely formed legs!

Katrina knew he suspected their discussion had not been innocuous. Could she ignore a duke in the middle of Almack’s and not lose her voucher? Probably not. She lowered her hand and stared directly into his green eyes.

He arched his brow.

She glared momentarily.

His lips twitched.

‘I have been enjoying honest discussions with my friends.’ She saw in his eyes that he understood what she implied.

Madame de Lieven cleared her throat and they both turned her way. ‘Miss Vandenberg, His Grace has requested a waltz with you, and I have happily granted his request.’

Katrina stared at her and prayed she had remembered to close her mouth. ‘How kind of you,’ she managed to utter. Who was she to speak for Katrina? And that insufferable man knew she could not turn him down now.

‘I believe the waltz is next,’ Madame de Lieven noted, appearing pleased with herself.

Lyonsdale held out his arm and sent Katrina a challenging look. ‘Then it is wise for us to proceed to the dance floor,’ he said.

She glared at him while politely resting her hand on his sleeve. They excused themselves and strolled through the crowd of people who parted for them. Watchful eyes followed their every step.

‘I assure you I do not bite,’ he whispered into her hair.

She chewed her lip to stop herself from telling him to go to the devil. Stepping on to the dance floor, he spun her around elegantly and placed his gloved hand on her back. Heat ran from his hand through her entire body. It was becoming difficult to breathe normally. A momentary sense of panic made her wonder how quickly the waltz would end. Maybe she could fake an illness in the middle of it?

He pulled her closer. She pushed her body further away.

‘I have the distinct impression that you would rather be elsewhere,’ he said. ‘May I ask why?’

‘No, you may not. I am still angry with you, lest you had not noticed.’

‘I thought you might be. Does your anger preclude us from speaking?’

‘It does. Angry people should not converse. It leads to further ill will.’