Petra was ready for his kiss, her body leaning into him, her face lifting as he brought his mouth to hers. She couldn’t have feigned reluctance if she’d tried, and she had no desire to do so. Her mouth was hungry for his, opening eagerly beneath the pressure of his lips, her tongue fencing with his, tasting the warm sweetness of his mouth as she inhaled his scent. It hadn’t changed, she thought distractedly, his skin still smelled of lemon and sunshine, his linen of starch and the hint of lavender. His hands clasped her rib cage and she could feel the press of his fingers against her skin beneath the lavender silk, and as she moved against him she felt his erection rising.

Guy lifted his mouth from hers, looked down into her upturned face, his expression both soft and desirous. “Oh, dear, I should know better by now,” he said, with a rueful smile stepping away from her body, even while keeping his hands at her waist.

Petra glanced down at his body, at the bulge of his erection, and smiled a little hesitantly. She was not overly experienced in these matters, although not lacking in knowledge. “Did I do that?”

“Yes,” he said. “You did. But it’s my own fault. We’ll have to wait here for a few minutes.” He turned away to look out of the window.

“Maybe you shouldn’t be flirting with me when you’re here with your mistress,” Petra suggested, deliberately hoping to break the charged atmosphere. “Where is Lady Delmont?”

“Lady Delmont is no concern of yours, Petra.” Judging by the sharpness of his voice her deflection had worked.

“Perhaps not, but if she’s your mistress, should you be kissing someone else?”

Guy turned back, his expression no longer soft, but annoyed. “What makes you think Clothilde is my mistress?”

“It’s received wisdom in society.”

“Then received wisdom should mind its own business,” he retorted. “It’s not always correct. I suggest you return to the ballroom and Lord Aldershot.”

Petra went immediately, hiding her discomfort at having pried where she had no business, but glad nevertheless that her flat-footed questions had destroyed the dangerous intimacy of those moments. Had he implied that the Frenchwoman was no longer his mistress? It had sounded like it. But he hadn’t completely denied it either. Puzzling over the conundrum she strolled with apparent insouciance around the dance floor toward the supper room, where she assumed Charlie was still to be found.

“What happened to your partner?” Diana inquired with a mischievous smile as Petra returned to her seat at the table.

“Nothing,” Petra replied cheerfully. “We danced, the music finished, and I excused myself to come back to Charlie.”

“Well, now you’re back, would you like to dance again? It sounds as if the orchestra’s playing another waltz.” Charlie pushed back his chair, ready to stand up.