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sat down beside her. Elaine, however, had other plans: she rose from her chair and crossed the room to where George was holding forth. The rapt manner with which she listened to his account of the shooting adventure made it plain to Horace that he had no chance with her. He therefore turned to Olivia, who was sitting a little apart from the others. Pulling up an ottoman beside her chair, he perched upon it and began again to describe to her his amazing prowess in shooting a grouse against such terrible odds.
    George, having relinquished the floor to his brother-in-law, stepped back out of the circle and, sipping his drink, studied the people in the room. Again, as on the night before, he found his eyes drawn toward Olivia Henshaw. He couldn’t help noticing that though she kept her eyes on Horace’s face, she shifted in her chair and twice tried to excuse herself. But Horace seemed to be engaged in a long-winded monologue that gave her no opportunity to do so. For no reason that he could account for, George decided to go to her aid. He put his glass down on the sideboard and crossed the room to her. “I beg pardon, Thomsett,” he cut into the monologue, “but my sister is asking for you.”
    “Oh, is she?” The big fellow pulled himself to his feet and bowed to Olivia. “Excuse me, Miss Henshaw. I shall be back directly.” And after awkwardly backing up a few steps, he bowed again, turned, and hurried away.
    George stood looking down at her. “Did you want something, Miss Henshaw? I had the impression you were trying to rise.”
    “Had you, indeed?” She gazed up at him shrewdly. “Then your sister didn’t really ask for Mr. Thomsett, did she?”
    “No.” George threw her a small, conspiratorial smile. “I thought you might need rescuing.”
    She did not return the smile. “That was good of you, my lord,” she said coolly, “but I was not in need of rescuing. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.”
    George was taken aback. “I assure you, ma’am, that I meant no disrespect.”
    “I’m sure you didn’t. It is disrespectful nonetheless to assume that someone is helpless when she isn’t at all.”
    “You’re quite right, of course,” he said, but he seethed inside. He’d tried to do a good deed, and she was turning the kindly act into an insult. But he could see that it would do no good to argue the point. He would let it pass. “I do apologize,” he said.
    She nodded and looked away. Her manner made it clear that she was dismissing him. This infuriated him even more. Who did this spindly old maid think she was to dismiss him in that high-handed way, the Queen of the Realm?
    He stood his ground. “May I sit down?” he asked.
    “Here?” She seemed truly surprised.
    “Yes, of course here. You didn’t think I was asking your permission to sit across the room, did you?”
    “Well, I... I...” She was obviously flustered. “I. .. didn’t think you’d...”
    “You didn’t think I’d what?”
    “I didn’t think you’d wish for my...” Her eyes flitted up to his and down again. “Never mind.”
    “Then may I sit down?” he persisted.
    She looked over her shoulder as if hoping for a rescuer. “I think Mr. Thomsett is starting back,” she said in hurried refusal.
    His eyebrows rose in mock offense. “Don’t tell me you want to save this seat for him !Are you truly interested in hearing again how, despite the sleet, he managed to direct his bullet right into the bird’s eyeball?”
    She winced at the words, but a little laugh bubbled up from her chest despite her effort to stifle it. “Oh, sit down, sit down!” she said helplessly. “You, Lord Chadleigh, have a decided streak of—if I may be blunt—of assertiveness in you.”
    He dropped down on the ottoman. “Assertiveness? That, ma’am, is not being blunt. It’s being tactful. I think you really mean impudence.”
    “That is being blunt. But yes, that’s just what I mean.”
    “And you’re quite right to