Peter Dewland bowed politely before Chloe and she gave him a shy smile. Ever since she met Peter in Charlotte’s box, the night of King Lear, she had liked him. He seemed to be as quiet as she was, and he never bothered her with inappropriate comments or by trying to kiss her. They found their places in the country dance and by the luck of the draw they were one of the first couples to dance lightly down the arch of joined hands, twirling, whirling their way down the set and back up the other side. They talked for a while, and Peter told Chloe all about the fireworks she had missed by leaving Vauxhall so early.

“Would you like some lemonade?” he asked, aware that the dance was drawing to a close.

“Yes, I would.” Chloe smiled up at him guilelessly, unaware that furious blue eyes were surveying them both from a foot or so away.

Peter smiled back warmly. He really liked Chloe; she reminded him of his young cousin, Bess. “I’ll return immediately.”

Six feet of hard muscled body loomed up at Chloe’s right shoulder. She turned her head quickly. It was Will. His eyes were just as blue as she remembered, bluer than the sky on a blistering day in July.

“Oh, it’s you,” she said lamely.

“Yes, it’s me,” Will snapped back. “What in God’s name have you done with yourself?”

“Why, what do you mean?”

Will’s eyes narrowed. “It was Charlotte, wasn’t it? She’s fitted you out like some kind of French tart. You look awful. What are you doing—trying to marry an earl?”

It was a particularly unfortunate remark since at that moment Chloe’s next dance partner appeared: Braddon Chatwin, the Earl of Slaslow.

“There you are, Miss van Stork. No, you can’t dance this one,” Braddon said genially to Will. “She’s mine for the next and for supper.”

The look of bruised hurt in Chloe’s eyes faded to cool ice as she nodded at Will and took Braddon’s arm. Then she deliberately turned and smiled up at Braddon.

“Shall we take a small walk on the terrace before dancing, my lord?”

Braddon Chatwin’s friendly face lit up. “I’d be delighted to, Miss van Stork. I’d be delighted to.” As they wove their way off toward the terrace, all Will could hear were Braddon’s repeated protestations of delight. He cursed silently. What was the matter with him? He’d been waiting and waiting to see Chloe, and then when he saw her he behaved like a dunce, a mean-spirited, nasty sap-skull.