The dowager countess laughed. “I am not so old that I do not recall how it feels to have a man look at me that way, my dear Amelia, and neither are you. Is it true, do you think, that he still has his famous Italian opera singer as mistress even though his wife has just returned? I cannot imagine why he would not be more discreet, though his wife has hardly been very discreet herself. My dear, the most delicious on-dits claim that she actually lived in a Turkish harem, and then there is that painting that hung in the Royal Academy, the one by Alma-Tadema that is scandalously revealing. It is her, I have heard it said.”

A light tap of folded fan against her companion’s arm accompanied the significant glance and whisper. “It is said that the Prince of Wales purchased it from the Academy for his own private collection…. What do you think of that?”

“I think,” the dowager replied with a sniff, “that it is far too obvious there is much mystery and rumor about the ambassador’s wife, and not all of it can be just the latest gossip. Mrs. Morgan has had her own share of admirers, I am told.”

“Oh my, yes! When she first returned to London, she was seen in the company of Herr Metz, the Swiss banker. Much has been rumored about his preference for boys, though it is claimed that he is only a friend of her cousin, Monsieur Pierre Dumont. Very interesting, I think….”

The jeweled fan fluttered more gossip, their boa feathers studded with emeralds and sapphires, intricate patterns of gilt wafting speculation between the women with relish.

“And now Morgan has been appointed as the Mexican ambassador, though I hardly see why it is necessary. There is always revolution in that country, and England should not be involved. Ah, but these politicians must have their intrigues, I suppose. Do you think it true that his wife’s former husband, the Russian prince, was actually killed by him? He does look as if he could do murder, looks very dangerous despite the fact he’s dressed so impeccably.”

As conjecture swirled around them, Steve and Ginny danced a waltz, his arm around her slender waist as he held her against him. His hand spread on green satin the exact shade as Ginny’s emerald eyes, lean brown fingers pressed firmly into the small of her back.

Exotic eyes tilted up at him, and a sparkle lit their depths as she smiled provocatively. “They are all making guesses about us, I am certain.”

“And do you care?” His hand tightened briefly. “Let them talk.”

“Shall we give them something else to talk about?” Her soft murmur was accompanied by a subtle shift of her body, so that he felt the press of her breasts as a seductive reminder against his chest.