“Yes, there must be much the two of you have to settle between you, especially after the scandalous painting of you that was recently hung in the Royal Academy—or does your husband know about that yet?”

“Your curiosity is misplaced, Miss Prendergast. And quite impertinent. If I thought my cousin susceptible to your self-indulgent charms, I would be greatly concerned.”

Lorna glanced up at Pierre, who looked nearly desperate with discomfort. She tapped him lightly with her folded fan. “Why, Monsieur Dumont, I am grieved that you think of me so little.”

“In truth, Miss Prendergast, you have been all I have thought of since meeting you,” Pierre replied gallantly, and he flicked a warning glance at Ginny as if to demand she not create a scene.

He might well save himself distress, Ginny thought with growing boredom, for she had no intention of being drawn any further into a discussion of Steve Morgan, nor did she desire to remain a witness to Lorna Prendergast’s flirtation with Pierre. There were much more important things to think about than this rather spoiled young woman.

“Excuse me,” she murmured, “I see my aunt is looking for me.”

Before Pierre could protest, Ginny had moved away from them and crossed the ballroom, weaving her way through full skirts of satin and silk, the glitter of jewels and the drone of conversation a familiar background. Snatches of gossip fluttered in the air on wings of suppressed excitement.

“…but my dear, you must know that he was seen in an intimate tête-à-tête with an opera singer…”

“Such a handsome man, but dangerously wicked, don’t you agree, my dear Lady Epson?”

A delicate shudder accompanied the dowager’s gossip, and she leaned forward to say in a loud whisper, “An Italian opera singer—Francesca di Paoli, I believe. She was so enraged by his defection to his wife that she threw an absolute tantrum and promptly began seeing that German duke. I heard that she was to attend this ball tonight, and if she does, what a delicious scene that would be!”

Laughter followed their conjecture, and they both turned to watch as Ginny moved past them on her way to the far end of the ballroom where Tante Celine stood with some of her friends.

Damn Steve, he would abandon her to the gossip of old cats, she fumed as she made polite replies to her aunt’s queries and sipped champagne punch more freely than she should. Why did he always do this?

And the gossip about Francesca di Paoli, his former mistress and a thorn in her side…. Surely she would not be here this evening! Oh, that would be just too much to bear if the haughty Italian diva made an appearance!

“Ginette,” Tante Celine leaned forward to say with a slight frown, “are you unwell?”