Kitty had wanted to protest. She and Maggie had become close and Kitty had soon discovered that beneath that crusty exterior Maggie had a heart of gold. But she hadn’t dared to contradict Richard. For her, the sun rose and set with him and she lived in fear of upsetting him. She was quite surprised when she arrived outside his house to see that the lights were off in the downstairs rooms. If he was throwing a party she had expected the place to be ablaze with lights, despite the fact that it wasn’t yet dark outside. However, she paid the cabbie and hurried to the front door. Millie, the young maid, let her in and informed her, ‘Mr Fitzherbert and his guests are all in the studio, miss.’

‘The studio?’ That was rather a strange place to throw a party, but then Kitty supposed if his friends were arty types they would probably enjoy being in there and they could always spill out of the French doors into the garden if it became overcrowded. It was a lovely evening, after all.

‘Here she is, the belle of the ball,’ Richard said loudly when she tapped on his door, then taking her hand he drew her into the room. She saw that there were three men sitting there, each with a drink in their hands, and a little flutter of unease sprang to life in her stomach. Where were the ladies? This was hardly what she would have termed a party. The men were all avidly eyeing her up and down and she felt distinctly uncomfortable as Richard led her towards them. It reminded her of the last sitting she had done for Richard when she had become ill, although she was pleased to note that Mr Johnston himself was not present.

‘Mr Travers, Mr Fulton, Mr Sutton, may I introduce my very dear friend, Miss Kitty Nightingale. As you are no doubt aware from the wonderful newspaper reviews she has been receiving lately, Kitty is fast becoming the darling of the music halls.’

The men all stood and politely shook her hand, then Richard handed her a glass of champagne in a crystal flute. She eyed it warily and couldn’t help but remember how ill she had been when under the influence of the wine he had given her once before.

‘Now, if you would all care to be seated, the slide show will begin.’

Kitty’s head whipped around to glance at Richard. Slide show! What did he mean? She had been led to believe that she was attending a party. She took a seat just the same and saw that Richard had erected a large screen against one wall. After drawing the dark curtains across the French doors, he went to a projector, inserted a slide – and mere seconds later, an image flashed onto the screen. Kitty instantly wanted to die of humiliation. It was of herself, in a state of semi-undress, posing on the chaise longue.