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lie. And she said it without blushing or hesitating — the way a courtesan would be expected to say it.
    The fact that Octavia wasn’t the courtesan everyone thought her to be was a far more delicious — and unbelievable — secret. But that was Somerville’s secret as much as it was hers, and she’d take it to the grave.
    She held his gaze for another few seconds, then leaned back in her chair again. Lord Rafael looked stunned. She gestured for a footman and asked for more champagne and brandy. Only after their glasses were filled did she say, “I am enamored, Lord Rafael. If I had known that you felt the same, I would have insisted on making your acquaintance months ago.”
    It was all a lie, of course. Or, at least, more of a lie than the other fact she had given him. She hadn’t thought of their initial meeting in Hyde Park more than once every day or so. And she hadn’t specifically sought out gossip about him — although she had made note of everything she heard.
    Octavia only knew him by reputation. Everyone knew that he drank far too much. But unlike most drunkards, he never embarrassed himself or lost at cards. He had been mentioned favorably several times in the dispatches from Spain, but he had abruptly returned to England and sold his commission the previous year. No one quite seemed to know how he occupied himself, or who his friends were, or why he was in London — and yet they all agreed that he was the most charming, friendly gentleman in their acquaintance.
    Odd, to be known as friendly and yet not have any close friends. Her time with Somerville had trained her to pay attention to these details — to understand how the currents flowed through the ton, who moved with the waves and who was a rock that everyone else broke around. Knowledge, after all, was power. And power was something Octavia could no longer go without.
    So when Lord Rafael had walked into Somerville’s drawing room as though he belonged there, despite never having accepted an invitation before, Octavia had resolved to find out why.
    But she hadn’t expected to flirt with him.
    Or for that flirtation to feel real.
    He regarded her now, not touching his brandy even though he was rumored to live on the stuff. Finally, he said, “If you are enamored with me, your taste is less exquisite than I had heard.”
    “Seeking a compliment, my lord?” she said. “I already praised your limbs and your teeth — it would be unseemly to praise you more extravagantly.”
    Lord Rafael laughed, breaking a bit of the tension that had sprung up between them after her declaration. “No compliments necessary, Madame Octavia. Especially if you can only note the obvious. I had hoped you would fancy my perfectly-tied cravat, but if limbs are your preference, so be it.”
    His cravat was perfectly tied. “You must come to stay with us in Devonshire this summer, then. I’m sure Somerville would pay your valet handsomely to teach his valet those tricks.”
    It was an impulsive invitation — but again, she was intrigued by him, and wanted to see how he would react. Somerville always returned to his Devonshire estate in July. She hosted house parties for him there, but with few women in attendance, she mostly used her summers to gain a bit of peace from the social whirl.
    And sometimes, when she had a day to herself, she would ride over to Maidenstone. Not that she ever went to the abbey. She hadn’t spoken to Lucy since becoming Somerville’s mistress four years earlier. But Octavia could visit Julian’s grave, and now her grandfather’s, without Lucy ever knowing she was there.
    Lord Rafael’s gaze sharpened. “Will you be at the Maidenstone party in August? I confess I didn’t know whether you would attend.”
    The Maidenstone party. It was all London had talked about since invitations were sent the week before.
    Octavia hadn’t received one.
    “It’s not how I would prefer to spend my summer,” she said, evading. “Somerville’s estate