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to a neighbouring group so she could hear what was being said behind her.

      There was a lot of giggling, several gasps of surprise and then one young lady said, ‘Colonel Gregory? Why, Suzy, you cunning thing! What does your papa say?’

      ‘As it is Giles, why, what could he say? He has always been against it, but darling Giles is so persuasive.’

      ‘Oh, you lucky thing! I saw him at the Duchess’s ball and I thought he was so dashing and handsome…’

      Joanna moved abruptly away. So, he had asked Lord Olney for Suzanne’s hand in marriage and the Marquis had agreed. Now all she could look forward to was the announcement. Joanna scooped a glass of champagne from the tray carried by a passing footman and drank it defiantly before she realised that the Earl of Clifton had entered the room and was being greeted by his hostess. Joanna took a careful step backwards towards a screen but was too late: he must have enquired after her, for Mrs Jameson was scanning the room and nodding in her direction.

      Regretting her height, which made her so visible, Joanna slipped her empty glass on to a side table and prepared to make the best of it. He could hardly ask her to marry him in the middle of a crowded reception, after all.

      She watched him make his way across the room, critically comparing him to Giles. Rufus was slightly above medium height with an elegant figure and a handsome, slightly aquiline, face. His hair was very blond, his eyes a distinctive shade of blue, and Joanna suspected he knew exactly how attractive he was to look at. He was also always immaculately dressed in an austere fashion.

      But compared to Giles’s tall, muscular figure, his air of confident command and the quiet humour in his face, Rufus Carstairs cut a poor figure to her eyes, and, although she could not quite decide why, a sinister one at that. His eyes flickered over her rapidly as he approached and once again she had that disconcerting feeling that he was paying more attention to her figure than was proper.

      ‘My lord.’ She curtsied slightly as he reached her side.

      ‘So formal, Miss Fulgrave.’ He took her hand in his and bent to kiss it. Joanna snatched it away, hoping that this unconventional greeting would go unnoticed.

      ‘My lord!’

      ‘Oh, come now, Joanna.’ He tucked his hand under her elbow and began to stroll down the length of the room. ‘How can you stand so on ceremony with an old friend even if we have only recently been reunited?’

      ‘We were hardly friends, my lord,’ she retorted tartly, wondering if she could extricate her elbow and deciding it would create an unseemly struggle. ‘As I recall, you considered me a pestilential brat and I thought you were a bully.’

      ‘But now you are a beautiful young lady and I am but an ardent admirer at your feet.’

      ‘Please, Lord Clifton, do not flirt, I am not in the mood.’ She looked around the room for rescue. ‘Look, there is Mr Higham. Have you met him? I am sure he would wish to meet you.’

      ‘I have no wish to meet him, however.’ Rufus’s hand was touching her side, she could feel its heat through the thin gauze of her bodice. Only a few days before Giles’s hand had rested there. ‘Joanna, when are you going to permit me to speak to you?’

      ‘You are speaking to me now. Oh, good evening, Miss Doughty. How is your mama?’

      With a faint hiss of irritation Lord Clifton steered Joanna away from her friend. ‘That is not what I mean and you know it, Joanna. Your parents are more than willing for me to address you.’

      Joanna wondered if she had the courage to refuse him there and then and risk a scene, but those blue eyes were glittering dangerously and she was suddenly afraid of what he might do. ‘Yes, I know, but it is too soon, my lord, we are hardly acquainted again.’

      He smiled suddenly, but the attractive expression did not reach his eyes. ‘Such maidenly modesty! I know what I want, Joanna, and what I want, I get. I have a fondness for beautiful things and my collection is notable. And I do not think I am going to be fighting off many rivals, am I? I have heard the whisperings since I returned to London. Miss Fulgrave, it seems, is very picky and turns down every offer. Do you expect men to keep offering and risking a rebuff?’

      ‘I am surprised that you risk it, then,’ she retorted, trampling down the mortifying thought that people were gossiping about her.

      ‘But I told you, I get what I want and I want you, Joanna. Just think of the triumph of carrying off the Perfect Débutante, the young lady who has refused so many. How lovely you will look installed as chatelaine of Clifton Hall. I will be calling very soon. Now, I am expected at Rochester’s for cards. Goodnight, my dear.’

      Watching him saunter back across the room and take his smiling leave of his hostess, she wanted to throw the glass at the wall, scream, do something utterly outrageous, but only the dark glitter of her eyes betrayed her innermost feelings. Somewhere, deep inside, the girl she had once been before she had met Giles was reawakening: older, more socially adept, polished, but still that rebellious, adventurous spirit burned, and now it roused itself and stared out at a hostile world through new and defiant eyes.

      The next day while walking in Hyde Park with her maid, she saw a smart curricle bowling along the tan surface towards her. At the reins was the petite figure of Lady Suzanne, a dashing tricorne and veil on her blonde head, her figure clad to perfection in a deep blue walking dress. She was laughing with delight as she controlled the two high-stepping bays at a brisk trot and, with a wrench, Joanna realised that not only was the man beside her Giles Gregory but his right hand was over Suzanne’s on the reins and he was laughing too at her uninhibited enjoyment.

      They swept past Joanna and for a moment she thought he had not noticed her, then the team was reined in and began to back. Joanna could hear Giles’s voice, ‘Keep your hands lower, Suzy, for goodness’ sake, you are trying to make a team back up, not encourage a hunter over a fence!’

      The curricle drew level with her again just as he said, with unmistakable pride in his voice, ‘Good girl! There, I told you you could do it. Good morning, Miss Fulgrave, I do beg your pardon, we were past before I recognised you. I hope your family is well?’ His eyes asked something else, and Joanna felt a surge of warmth that not only had he remembered her distress, but that he had the tact not to mention it in front of Lady Suzanne.

      ‘Quite well, I thank you, Colonel,’ she replied, wondering at her own composure. ‘All of us are in good health.’

      ‘Excellent. Are you ladies acquainted?’

      ‘Oh, yes,’ Lady Suzanne said with a light laugh. ‘We know each other by sight, do we not, Miss Fulgrave? And, of course, I saw you at my aunt’s ball.’ As did most of the ton, her expression said, as her pretty blue eyes rested on Joanna’s face. She did not like another woman drawing her Colonel’s attention, that was plain.

      ‘Indeed.’ Joanna could feel the seams of her gloves creaking as she clenched her fists. ‘And I saw you. Such a lovely gown. Good day, Lady Suzanne, Colonel. Enjoy your drive.’

      She forced herself to smile as she turned on her heel and began to walk home. Nothing mattered any more, the only thing left was to immerse herself in whatever diversions presented themselves so that she did not have the opportunity to even think about Giles.

      Her mother noted with concern her silence and set face when she came in but within days she found that her daughter’s uncommunicativeness was the least of her problems.

      At the end of two weeks the list of outrages committed by her lovely, obedient, perfect daughter included flirting heavily with every rake who came within her orbit, being found playing dice with three young gentlemen in a back room at a party, galloping on Rotten Row and eating ice cream in Gunther’s with Lord Sutton, having ‘lost’ her maid. This was on top of her managing, by what stratagems her mama could not establish, to avoid Lord Clifton on every occasion he called. The final straw was to walk up St James’s because—as she told her speechless mother—she ‘wanted to know what all the fuss was about’.

      That

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