I am not lustful, Patrick thought to himself. I am not jealous. The small hope that reiterating those statements would make them a fact died a quick death. All right, he thought, I am lustful. He jumped down from the carriage and automatically held out a hand to help Sophie from the carriage. And I am jealous, he thought fiercely, seeing the widened eyes of the London populace that had gathered to watch the swells go to a party.

If only … if only Sophie would throw him a laughing glance and accidentally brush against his arm. If only she had toppled from the carriage into his arms, rather than dropping his hand the moment her feet were safely on the pavement. But she was obviously merely tolerating his presence. For a moment, agony clutched Patrick’s heart. He was better off walking the streets of London than being in the presence of his so-beautiful, so-desirable, so-uncaring wife.

The minute they passed Lady Greenleaf’s receiving line, a flock of gentlemen descended, arguing over the privilege of dancing with the beautiful young duchess. Patrick stood there silently for a moment, then rudely interrupted an impudent young whelp and claimed the supper dance.

Sophie looked at him, briefly, but said nothing. As Patrick well knew, she would never cause a scene in a ballroom. He bowed and sauntered off.

Sophie watched him go, ignoring the prattling crowd around her for an instant. Somehow all her righteous anger was starting to fade away, just when she needed it. She took a deep breath. Tonight was the last of these agonizing public appearances. After that, she would retire for the season. A pregnant woman’s “confinement” was sounding better every moment. And, in fact, it was just as well that she dance with Patrick. She was getting tired of thinly veiled, solicitous comments about her husband’s frequent absences.

The supper dance started, and Patrick appeared at her side. But just as he began to bow before her Sophie shook her head, nodding at the other end of the ballroom. Patrick turned around. Braddon was standing at the top of the room, holding Madeleine’s hand.

Lord Greenleaf cleared his throat importantly, and said loudly, “I have the honor to announce that Lady Madeleine Corneille has agreed to marry the Earl of Slaslow.”

Braddon’s mother stood beside them, smiling happily. As the strains of a minuet fell into the quieted room, Braddon turned and thanked Lord Greenleaf. Then he took his new betrothed in his arms and swept into the clear space. The newly engaged couple remained a demure three inches apart. Braddon Chatwin did not allow his legs to brush Lady Madeleine’s gown, nor did he touch her in an overfamiliar fashion.