‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ Edward stared down into the troubled face raised to his. She had no idea of the impact she had made on his life, he thought wryly. Before he had met Ruby he had been going along in his own sweet way and had never really thought deeply about life and love. True, he had decided to break the mould and go into commerce, a vulgarity he knew his parents still hadn’t forgiven him for despite his success, but his social life as a bachelor with mistresses from the top drawer who would present no complications when he decided to end the liaison had seemed natural enough. And then this changeling-like creature had burst onto his horizon, a woman who looked so fragile and ethereal on the outside but who was made of pure granite on the inside, certainly where he was concerned, that was. She had kept him at arm’s length for over three years – three years – and he had been patient, heaven knew he had been patient, but he’d had enough. He didn’t know if it was the amount of champagne he’d imbibed tonight that had brought things to a head, but he knew he couldn’t carry on for much longer playing the friend, not and remain sane.

He opened his mouth to speak, intending to ask Ruby to accompany him into Godfrey’s morning room where they could have some privacy for what he was about to say, but as he did so his arm was jostled, and when the woman who had bumped into them turned to apologize, he inwardly groaned. Belinda Ferne-Rice. Of all the people here tonight, it had to be one of his old mistresses and this one in particular with her airs and graces. Their affair had been over for years now but she still persisted in adopting an over-familiar attitude with him when they met socially. He had let their association go on too long at the time in spite of losing interest quite quickly, but he had found her to be a jealous and vindictive harpy of a woman once they had got together and it had seemed easier to jolly her along until she became bored with him. But she never had. And so he had taken the coward’s way out and disappeared off to the States for a month or two, writing from there to end their association. It hadn’t been his finest moment and even now he was ashamed of how he had behaved towards her.

‘Belinda, how lovely. I don’t think you’ve met a friend of mine? Ruby Morgan? Ruby, this is Belinda Ferne-Rice.’

‘How do you do, Miss Morgan.’