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silk velvet swirling about her shoulders. She paused at the door and looked back at her lady’s maid, who fussed with her discarded clothing.
                  “You needn’t wait up for me tonight, Victorine,”
                  “Oh, of course, my lady,” Victorine replied with a curtsey, her expression enigmatic.
                  Aline stepped into the hall as Richard was opening his bedroom door, his evening dress of black trousers and tail coat, white waistcoat and shirt, high collar and white dress tie lending his lean frame the smartest touch of elegance. She caught of glimpse of Truscott over his shoulder, as the butler-cum-valet followed with a brush, his pleased expression in stark contrast to the studied patience creasing Richard’s face as he allowed Truscott to brush the shoulders of the coat free of lint and straighten his cuffs.
                  He looked questioning at her attire. “I thought we were dining in?”
                  “It’s the Season,” Aline explained with a slight frown of puzzlement. “We cannot miss Mrs. Pat’s first night in Hedda Gabler at The Court.”
                  “Ah…I see,” Richard said, raising an arm to allow Truscott to adjust his cuff link.
                  “There, my lord,” Truscott beamed. “You look very good. Don’t you agree, my lady?”
                  “Yes,” Aline said softly, forcing herself to focus on the butler so as not to betray a hint of the excitement coursing through her veins. “You have done very well with his lordship.”
                  “Thank you,” Truscott bowed and withdrew back into the room, no doubt to putter about, visibly pleased to have another gentleman to valet.
                  “You look very good as well,” Richard lifted her hand to his lips.
                  His eyes were bright with hunger and she lowered her eyes, lifting her skirt with the hand holding her fan and bag and turning away. “We should be off, my lord, or we will miss the first intermission.”
                  “Richard,” He held her hand fast, forcing her to raise her eyes to his face. “Say it, Aline.”
                  Aline narrowed her eyes a fraction, a lump of stubbornness forming in her throat.
                  “We should be off, Richard,” She forced his name past her obstinate lips. “Come,”
                  He looked sharply at her, but released her hand much to her relief. He began to close the door to his bedroom behind him when Truscott exclaimed. Richard turned to the butler, releasing the doorknob when Truscott pushed through the door carrying a heavy black cloak and an opera hat in his arms.
                  “You cannot leave without these, my lord,” The butler shook his head in disapproval.
                  “More rules?” Richard asked flatly.
                  But he took the cloak and hat from the butler, tossing the green silk lined cloak carelessly about his shoulders and cocking the hat over his head. When Truscott extended a walking stick to him, she merely raised a brow at Richard’s aggravated look. The earl was finally dressed to the butler’s satisfaction, and Aline hurriedly placed her arm into the hand Richard extended as he moved them swiftly down the hallway and the staircase, and through the entrance hall, where James the footman opened the front door. 
    A sporty black brougham awaited them at the kerb, and the coachman switched the reins to both hands to lift his hat to her as Richard opened the carriage door and assisted her step inside. She settled into the plush interior, catching up the train of her gown out of the door with her feet, and fidgeting with her fan, whipping it open and closed as Richard entered into the carriage and settled beside her in a gust of cold night air and his warm,