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not the party that is to blame for the fluttering in your stomach and the tremor in your limbs.”
    “Do not say it.” She knew what he was implying.
    “I do not have to. You know who is to blame as much as I.”
    “ He has nothing to do with my anxiety.” Why was she bothering to deny it? She never hid her feelings from Nathaniel, why do so now? So she wouldn’t have to face the sympathy in his eyes when Wynthrope lost interest in her?
    Nathaniel appeared not to have heard her—or was willfully ignoring her? “I used to feel the same way every time I knew I was going to see Anthony.”
    Moira swallowed against the hard lump of envy in her throat. “It is hardly the same situation. I have only just met the man.”
    “You have thought he was beautiful since you first laid eyes on him.”
    Yes, that was true. For as long as she could remember, she had believed Wynthrope Ryland to be the finest man in Christendom. Odd how they had never actually met before this. “So?”
    He stopped on the steps. She had no choice but to stop as well. He waited until she looked at him to speak. “So stop acting like you are the one who could be clapped in irons for daring to be attracted to someone and take some pleasure from your life.”
    Moira glanced away. He knew just where to poke her to get the reaction he wanted. He was right. He was the one who had to conduct every relationship in secret, under the threat of persecution, not her. All she had to face was a little public embarrassment. Surely there were worse things.
    Like having to return to her parents. Just the thought made her blood run cold. That was why she couldn’t risk an affair.
    She couldn’t risk anyone finding out she was still a virgin and her marriage void.
    Unless, of course, her lover promised not to tell. Unless he fell in love and wanted to marry her. Such a man wouldn’t betray her secret, not if he loved her and she him.
    It was such a big risk, and Moira wasn’t entirely certain it was worth it, not when she’d been made sport of in the past.
    “I will consider it,” she promised her friend. Considering was a far cry from actually doing. And by making such a vow to Nathaniel, she was ensuring herself at least a brief reprieve from his well-intended pushes to “take some pleasure” from her life.
    Minerva was indeed waiting for them, pacing the drawing room carpet as though she sought to wear a hole in the delicate fleur-de-lis pattern. Her jaw dropped when her gaze fell on her older sister.
    Moira hid a smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting, dearest.”
    The pretty younger woman simply stared at her, her brown eyes as wide as saucers. “Moira! You…you look so lovely.”
    Her surprise wasn’t meant to be hurtful, Moira knew that. Still, it was all she could do not to wince at her sister’s tone.
    “I shall be the envy of every gentleman present,” Nathaniel remarked, saving Moira from having to respond. “How fortunate I am to be escorting two such lovely ladies.”
    Minnie beamed under his praise, even though she must know just how charming she looked with her glossy ringlets and flattering peach gown. She was all hair, eyes, and bosom, her little sister. She knew she was attractive to the opposite gender, and yet she seemed to always need reassurance of it.
    They arrived at the party ahead of the other guests. It was only right that Moira be there to welcome guests along withOctavia. After all, it was because of her and Minnie that Octavia had offered to host the gathering to begin with.
    Octavia was content to let Moira stand beside her and her husband, North, until the house began to fill with partygoers, then she sent Moira off to mingle—something Moira found as painful as having a tooth pulled. She never knew what to say to people. Fortunately, she knew that most people liked to talk about themselves.
    She was standing by herself near the ballroom mantel, sipping champagne and listening to Varya Christian, the Marchioness of Wynter