Robert gave her a rather puzzled look, wondering if she was teasing or flirting, but she appeared to be serious. “What can I lend you, Vanessa?”

“A cigarette, please. I’m dying for a smoke. Aren’t you?”

“Actually, I would like a cigarette, and, of course, I will give you one, not lend it.”

“My mother won’t allow smoking in the drawing room, so don’t be surprised if a few chaps step out here to have a smoke.”

He nodded, took out his cigarette case and offered it to her.

She took the cigarette, smiled at him sweetly. “Thank you,” she murmured.

Robert took one for himself, and put it in his mouth, closed the gold case.

Vanessa, watching him closely, said, “I bet that’s from Cartier’s.”

“You’re very observant,” he remarked, and put the case in his jacket pocket, retrieved a box of Swan Vestas and proceeded to light their cigarettes. They smoked in silence for a few seconds. Then he said, “You seem to know what I do for a living, but I don’t know anything about you. Want to fill me in?”

“I will, but there’s not much to tell. I’m called a debutante, but I loathe being one, so I won’t go through the motions. I want to be a writer, you see.”

“I do see, and I suppose your parents don’t like that idea, do they?”

“No. But they don’t pressure me too much.” She gave him a long look, her eyes on his, and continued, “I wanted to be a war correspondent at one time, you know like Mr. Churchill when he covered the Boer War. But my father said that women weren’t allowed to cover wars. So that was that.”

Robert nodded. “I believe he was correct. It’s a dangerous profession even for a man.”

“I know, and I thought if I got killed—” She broke off, took a sip of champagne, glanced away.

Robert Lassiter was silent, endeavoring to truly understand what was going on here. He knew he felt as if he had been hit by a truck. This woman took his breath away, filled him with rampant sexual feelings. He desired her, wanted her, for always. As down-to-earth as he was, he knew, nonetheless, things like this did happen to men and women. The French called it a coup de foudre; he called it recognition, the moment when twin souls suddenly meet.

He had great insight into people, and he was pretty certain Vanessa had felt the same when they finally came face-to-face. But he needed to be sure.

She was lighthearted, flirting with him, playing him a little, and he was allowing it. And yet she had been quite blunt when she admitted she had wanted to talk to him on other occasions and had tried to seek him out. And she had made a plan to do so tonight.