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be a fool,” Philana whispered. “Tell him yes.”
    It was the gentle tap Cassie had so feared. She forgot everything: propriety, her threatened repute, the fact she’d killed an earl, that she needed to rescue her family. Instead, she went tumbling over the precipice, madly, wrongly, craving Lucien’s body close to hers.
    “Yes,” she said, “I would like that very much.”

Cassie let Lucien take her hand. With Eliza and Lord Ryecroft following, they started toward the other end of the ballroom. As they went, more than one local woman in the knots and clutches of well dressed guests turned her feathered or flowered head to watch in disapproval. Their menfolk stroked their chins in new consideration as they eyed Cassie.
    Their reaction didn’t surprise Cassie. She knew their sort of folk. During her marriage to Charles she’d lived about a hundred miles south of here, on the other side of the Scots border. No matter how eager these folk were to emulate London’s fashions both in clothing and cant they remained what they’d been born: country folk with country opinions. To them Almack’s approval was no recommendation and the waltz remained a decadent, immoral dance certain to lead to the debauching of England’s children.
    She and Lucien stopped on the area of smooth parquet flooring set aside for dancing. There were only five other couples beside them and Eliza and the earl. Cassie recognized all of them from London.
    Lucien put an arm around her then clasped her hand in his. In that moment Cassie knew the waltz’s detractors were right. Although the requisite space remained between their hips she felt as if Lucien held her intimately against him.
    The corners of Lucien’s mouth lifted into a slight smile. “I forgot to ask. You do waltz, don’t you Mrs. Marston?”
    “I do.” Before she’d known how impoverished they were she’d hired a dancing master to help prepare Eliza for her come out. The waltz had been one of the dances he taught, so Cassie had learned along with Eliza. They still owed the man half his fee.
    “They don’t approve,” Lucien said, his gray eyes warm, the lift of his chin indicating the glowering guests.
    The nearest violinist lifted his bow in direction. The warm voice of the viola sang out, followed by the deeper toned cello setting the dance’s distinctive pace. Lucien’s fingers tightened against the small of Cassie’s back.
    “Come then, let’s show them the error of their opinion,” he said and in tune to the swelling music drew her into the glorious, graceful movements.
    The years hadn’t changed his ability to move about the floor. By their first circle Cassie had forgotten that her head hurt or the weight of the task that lay before her. All that mattered was the beauty of the music and Lucien’s nearness.
    She felt the heat of his hand against the small of her back. Every breath was flavored with his sandalwood scent. His gray eyes were intense. His sun-streaked hair curled lightly against the collar of his coat, tumbling forward a little so that it touched the strong line of his jaw.
    Another wave of attraction washed over her, the sensation potent enough to make her shiver. The cunning lift of Lucien’s lips said he noticed. His arm tightened around her ever so subtly.
    He lowered his head. “Holding you this way is like a glimpse of heaven,” he said, his rich voice barely audible above the music.
    It was an outrageous flirt, a reminder of their shared past when Cassie had punctured the arrogance of any man who tried to employ such flummery against her. Fighting a smile, she fixed him with her most chiding look.
    “Surely my lord, you can be more subtle than that,” she said, using the same words she’d employed six years ago to tweak him.
    He laughed, his face alive with delight. “You haven’t changed a whit.”
    Would that it were true. Smiling, Cassie shook her head as they glided into another turn. “You haven’t changed either.”
    “What