“He’s a neighbor, in a manner of speaking,” she replied carelessly. “His family seat is a few miles away from my home in Somerset. Joth is trying to persuade him to support a bill he wants to put up in the House about draining the Somerset Levels.” She frowned. “I thought Guy was supposed to be in the Lords tonight, supporting Joth’s bill. If he’s let him down . . .”

She let the sentence fade as she saw Charlie’s expression sharpen with interest. “Oh, well,” she attempted a light laugh as the music came to a stop. “Joth’s dealings with Lord Ashton are his own business. Shall we go and find Diana and Rupert? I saw them go into the supper room a few minutes ago.”

“As you wish.” Charlie steered her to the edge of the floor. “You sounded quite fierce just then. Do you not approve of Lord Ashton?”

“I wouldn’t have the temerity to have an opinion on his lordship,” Petra said with another careless laugh. “He’s far too lofty to move in my social orbit.”

“You know each other well enough for first names,” he pointed out, easing her through the throng toward the doors to the supper room.

“That’s only because he and Joth are so well acquainted,” she improvised. “It doesn’t mean we’re on close terms or anything. I hardly know the man. Oh, there’s Diana waving to us.” With relief she moved quickly toward the table where Diana sat with a group of friends.

“Good evening, everyone.” She greeted the table at large, taking the seat that Charlie pulled out for her. “How are we enjoying ourselves?”

The conversation was general and lively and she was able to regain her equilibrium and hope that Charlie’s interest in her relationship, such as it was, with Lord Ashton, would fade. Until she caught sight of Guy standing in the entrance to the room, looking around as if making up his mind. There was no sign of the vicomtesse.

Her heart jumped as she saw him move toward her, threading his way expertly but seemingly without a goal through the tables, pausing now and again to exchange a few words with people as he passed. Finally he arrived at the table where Petra sat, idly twisting her champagne glass between finger and thumb trying to look as if she hadn’t noticed him.

“Miss Rutherford, may I ask for this dance?” He held out his hand, his inviting smile belying the formality of the greeting. “They’re playing a waltz and I well remember how accomplished a waltzer you are.”

Petra took the offered hand, trying for a bland smile. “I hope your memory hasn’t exaggerated my accomplishment, Guy.”

“I doubt that very much,” he replied, drawing her to her feet. “If you’ll excuse us, ladies, gentlemen.” He led her back through the room to the dance floor.