“It’s an arrangement that suits us both. She’s a practical woman with absolutely no sense of smell.” He winked. “I couldn’t ask for more.”

The bell clanged again, and Margaret checked her watch, giving a little exclamation of dismay. “I must go. I have a dinner to attend and then a soirée. Very boring,” she added, embarrassed to have mentioned either engagement, “but I will have to change my clothes.”

“Yes? You look perfectly fine to me,” Sebastian said.

Her gown was one of her oldest and decidedly past its best. What was more, with its long sleeves and high collar, it was clearly not an evening gown. Sebastian never commented on her clothes. He rarely paid her any sort of compliment about her appearance and that was one of the things she liked about him.

“I’m not going to a pie shop, Sebastian, I’m going to dinner with one of my mother’s oldest friends. If I turned up in an outdated day dress smelling vaguely of Alfie’s napkin, she would be extremely offended.”

“In that case we’d better get rid of the ink on your face, too.”

He came round to her side of the desk, dabbing the tip of her nose with his handkerchief. “It tickles,” Margaret said, wrinkling her nose.

“Hold still—there’s another spot just here.”

Sebastian leaned in to dab at her cheek. She could smell the ink on his fingers, the sandalwood of his soap, the slightly musty wool of his waistcoat. His fingers fluttered down over the side of her face, down her throat to rest on her shoulder.

“Margaret.”

His voice sounded odd. Daring to meet his eyes, she knew with utter certainty that her doubts about his feelings were misplaced. “Sebastian.” Her voice was no more than a whisper. She had no idea what to do. If she moved she would break the spell.

For a long moment they stood together, gazes locked. Time seemed to stop, along with her breath, until he gave a soft sigh, and she lifted her face and surrendered her lips to his. She could feel his breath on her cheek, fast and shallow, sense his nerves were stretched as taut as hers. The taste of him, the softness of his mouth, the roughness of the cheek she lifted her hand to caress, the terrified delight of being so intimate with him, shocked her. Then tentatively, he moved his mouth on hers and she followed his lead, and her shock gave way to pleasure.

The clang of the front door-bell made them leap apart. Dazed, they stared at each other. “Good God,” Sebastian said, his cheeks colouring. “I’m sorry! That was very wrong of me.”

“Please don’t apologise. I was just as culpable,” Margaret said, freeing her hands.