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a waltz. Tannerton took her by the hand, twirling her under his arm before placing his other hand at her waist. He led her into the steps with great energy, joining the other couples, who created patterns of wheels within wheels.

      Tannerton held her with confidence and moved her skilfully. Rose had had little experience with dancing, less with the waltz, but she was aware of his grace and the allure of his physicality. This was a man who did not take a misstep, a man secure being a man.

      Such virtues ought to persuade her to succumb to him. Unfortunately, she spied Flynn leading Katy into the dance, and all Rose could think of was how it would feel to be in Flynn’s arms, to be staring into Flynn’s eyes as they twirled under the magical lamps of Vauxhall.

      When the dance was done, Tannerton did not release her hand. ‘Come walk with me,’ he urged.

      She held back. ‘Please, no. I.I have a thirst. From the dancing.’

      He gave her a rueful smile that should have melted her heart, but did not. ‘Then we must return to the supper box for more refreshment.’

      Katy and Flynn entered the box behind them. ‘Was that not fun!’ Katy exclaimed, giving Flynn another affectionate squeeze.

      Rose could barely look at her, she was so filled with envy. ‘Next waltz you should dance with Lord Tannerton,’ she blurted out.

      The marquess paused only a moment before affably agreeing. ‘A capital idea. We shall trade partners.’

      Rose was mortified that she had spoken so impulsively. She tried to tell herself that she had done it because she wanted Tannerton to transfer his affection to Katy. But that would be a lie. She’d merely been jealous.

      Mr Hook did not keep them waiting long for another waltz, understanding his audience’s preference for the more intimate dance, where the man held the woman in his arms.

      Flynn did not seem as eager this time to follow Tannerton to the dancing area. Rose felt another wave of guilt for pushing herself on him when he had placed her off limits to him, but Katy had so easily taken her place.

      All such thoughts were forgotten when she faced him and stared up into his blue eyes. He swung her into the pattern of twirling couples, not nearly as skilfully as Tannerton, but it hardly mattered. Rose settled into his arms with the feeling she belonged there.

      He did not speak, but neither did he take his eyes off hers. Rose’s vision blurred everything but him, and for this small space of time, she pretended that there was no one in the world except the two of them. At first he held her lightly, as if not wishing to touch her at all, but with each turn he seemed to pull her closer to him. She wished they would turn and turn and turn until their bodies touched and they moved as one. She wished she could burst into a joyous song that would never end.

      But the music did end. Flynn still held her.

      ‘Thank you, Flynn,’ she murmured, gazing into his eyes.

      His eyes were dark and needful, and the blood raced through her veins in response. She felt herself pulled to him, closer and closer, just as the twirling of the dance had drawn them close.

      He held up a hand and stepped back. ‘Tannerton will be waiting.’

       Chapter Eight

      Two days later Flynn once more stood before the door of Rose O’Keefe’s lodgings. Tanner had charged him with giving Rose something that would induce her to accept him. Something more precious to her than emerald rings. Something that was her heart’s desire. Something that would ensure his winning over Greythorne.

      Flynn had arranged it.

      He listened to the voices of Mr O’Keefe and Miss Dawes inside, and hesitated a moment before rapping on the door.

      ‘Answer the door,’ Miss Dawes shouted from within.

      Footsteps sounded across the floor. The door opened.

      ‘Yes?’ O’Keefe broke into a smile when he saw Flynn standing there. ‘Why, it is Mr Flynn, is it not? Come in, sir. Come in.’

      Flynn entered the room.

      ‘Mr Flynn.’ Miss Dawes’s voice was syrupy ‘.it is a pleasure to see you.’

      ‘I come to call upon Miss O’Keefe, if you please,’ Flynn said.

      O’Keefe looked hopeful.

      Miss Dawes said, ‘I hope you have come to make an offer. We cannot wait for ever.’

      Flynn disliked such brashness. ‘I would urge more patience. The marquess is taking the next step. That is why I have come.’

      ‘Rose is at the market, shopping for dinner. She will be home shortly.’ Miss Dawes gave a frustrated gesture, and Flynn spied the emerald ring on her finger.

      Flynn frowned. ‘I must take my leave. I shall return when Miss O’Keefe is home.’

      Before they could object, he was out of the door, heading to the market in hopes of finding her. He passed stall after stall of fruits and vegetables, each owner loudly attesting that his wares were the finest. One stall even sold hedgehogs, an animal some Londoners fancied as a pet, mainly because of its appetite for beetles.

      Covent Garden was also the ‘den of iniquity,’ the place where dolly-mops and lightskirts congregated, displaying themselves much like the colourful oranges, limes and lemons on the fruit stalls. Had Flynn wished for some female company, he had only to nod and show his coin, but he was intent on finding Rose.

      He spied her at a stand where herbs were displayed, lifting a fragrant bundle of lavender to her nose. He navigated his way through the shoppers to reach her.

      She saw him approach and put the lavender down. ‘Flynn.’ She gave him a cautious smile.

      He tipped his hat. ‘Good day, Rose.’

      ‘What a lovely surprise.’ Her smile fled as she glanced over to a group of doxies loudly hawking themselves. ‘Are … are you here to shop?’

      He saw the direction of her gaze and realised she thought he might be looking for female company. ‘I came looking for you.’

      ‘For me?’ Her emerald eyes looked cautious.

      ‘Come, let us walk together.’ He reached for the basket she carried on her arm.

      They strolled past the stalls in the direction of her lodgings, entering a quieter part of the street.

      ‘Why did you look for me, Flynn?’ She asked in a soft voice.

      ‘Lord Tannerton has a gift for you.’

      She blinked and looked away. ‘I do not want a gift.’

      ‘You will like this one,’ he assured her.

      She tossed him a sceptical glance.

      ‘Lord Tanner has arranged for Signor Angrisani and Miss Hughes of King’s Theatre to give you lessons in voice—’

      She clutched his arm. ‘You do not mean it!’

      He tried to keep his face composed, but her excitement resonated inside him. ‘Indeed. And if your voice is suitable, Lord Tanner has convinced Mr Ayrton to use you in the chorus, for at least one performance.’

      ‘Mr Ayrton?’

      ‘The musical director,’ he explained.

      Her eyes grew as large as saucers. ‘I would perform on the stage of the King’s Theatre?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Oh, Flynn!’ Her voice cracked and her face was flushed with colour. Every muscle and nerve in his body sprang to life.

      ‘It is wonderful!’ She twirled around, but stopped abruptly. ‘Oh.’

      ‘What?’

      She

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