I made a quick decision. The flirtatious banter had gone and was unlikely to return. I still needed to be in full control of this situation and with Byron’s friends on their feet and the tense atmosphere in the bar, I wasn’t going to achieve that if I stuck around. I threw some money down and stood up, putting my bag on my shoulder. ‘I told you I was a pacifist,’ I said softly. ‘This is a little too rough and tumble for my liking. Thank you for the champagne. It was lovely meeting you. I’ll have something to tell my grandchildren.’ Then, without another word or glance at either him or the Cockney, I walked out.

Something poked me in my ribs. There was a muffled protest coming from my bag: Bob. I jabbed him back and began to count, crossing my fingers as I did so. One. Two. Into the lobby. Three. Four. Five. Shite. This was taking too long. Past the table with the elaborate flowers. Six. Seven. Up to the doorman. Arse. I’d misjudged the situation.

‘Integrity!’

I allowed myself a tiny smile. No, I’d got it right after all. I turned slowly, reluctantly.

‘Byron,’ I said with a sigh. ‘I think my quiet evening has been ruined. It’s time to head home.’

He regarded me seriously. ‘I can’t let you do that.’

He would have to do better than that. Come on, Golden Boy. Give me something to work with. ‘I don’t think it’s up to you.’

‘But it is. How can I possibly let you go with what happened there as the only story for your grandchildren? It’ll hurt my reputation immeasurably. You need to give me another chance so that they’ll think better of me.’

Better. I gave a silent round of applause. ‘I promise I’ll paint you in a very favourable light, my liege.’

He winced. ‘Don’t call me that. My father might be Steward but that doesn’t mean I will be.’

‘Byron.’ I softened my voice and looked at him up through my eyelashes, noting his reaction. Yep. He might be a pretty face but he was also pretty dumb. ‘I can’t go back in there,’ I told him, gesturing towards the bar. ‘It really is better if I go home.’

He tilted his head, a bronzed curl falling across his eyes. ‘We were getting along very well, Integrity,’ he murmured. ‘Let’s not ruin things. I have the penthouse suite. I can get Timothy to send up the champagne. No one else is going to drink it and it would be a shame to let it go to waste.’

I did an imaginary dance. I am a sexual goddess. At least for tonight anyway. ‘I don’t know… I’ve got work tomorrow and…’

‘Please. Just one drink.’