‘But even so. I hate the thought of you facing them alone. The only saving grace is that Raymond de Guise is gone and never to return.’ Vivienne did not notice the look that flickered across Nathaniel’s face – or, if she did, she was so wrapped up in herself that she thought nothing of it. ‘I’ll be back soon, Nathaniel. I could have danced with you tonight, if they’d let me out of this damned room. They think I’m some delicate flower but . . .’ She would have gone on, but her throat was parched and suddenly she was racked with coughs. Nathaniel poured her water from the glassware on the room service trolley and helped put it to her lips. ‘They’ll have to let me out at Christmas. My stepfather is sending a car for me. I’m to have Christmas dinner in Suffolk. With my mother.’ She used the word like a curse, because that was what it was. How long had she been in England, and how often had she seen her mother in this time? The two were so far apart that it seemed a vast chasm yawned open between them. ‘When I get back, they won’t be able to confine me again. Not when my stepfather finds out—’

‘You can hardly speak with your father of this, Vivienne. Mr Charles is doing what he can to protect you—’

‘Protect me?’ Vivienne protested, hoisting herself up.

‘What do you think Lord Edgerton would think if he knew his daughter—?’

‘Well,’ Vivienne snapped, finding her fire at last, ‘the first thing he’d do is ask who joins me in my . . . indulgences. And who might that be, Nathaniel?’

For a time, Nathaniel was silent. Then, thinking twice, he wrapped his arms around Vivienne and kissed the nape of her neck. ‘I’m only thinking of you, Vivienne. What if something worse had happened to you? Where would I be then?’

The words made Vivienne soften; it was exactly what she’d wanted to hear. ‘I took it too far, Nathaniel, that’s all. We can still have a good time, can’t we?’

His lips on her neck had stirred something in her. She drew back from him, just enough for there to be air between them, and tried to kiss him full on the lips.

Nathaniel turned his head.

‘Nathaniel?’

He hesitated. If Vivienne had had more wits about her, perhaps she would have seen the scorn in his eyes. It was the scorn a boy has for a plaything he no longer needs, a toy tarnished and best left forgotten. ‘You’re not . . . strong tonight, Vivienne. You need your rest. If you’re to dance at New Year, you should recuperate properly. Don’t push your body.’