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never occurred to me in those daysthat some massive disaster might occur to spoil the event. This is the first entertainment I have hosted in London since my marriage three years ago, and everything feels different, most notably the level of my confidence. Perhaps we ought to have returned sooner, but we have both been so happy in the country with our children.”
    She was the massive disaster that was threatening to ruin this particular evening, Cassandra understood. She pursed her lips and said nothing.
    “I have been terrified,” Lady Sheringford continued, “that no one would come to the ball except my brother and sisters and mother-in-law, though it was a comfort to know that they would all at least bring their spouses—except my brother, of course. He is not married yet.”
    “You need not have feared,” Cassandra said. “The notorious always draw attention to themselves. People are incurably inquisitive.”
    The countess raised her eyebrows and would have spoken, but the earl had returned with their drinks.
    “Perhaps, Lady Paget,” he said as Cassandra sipped her wine, “you would do me the honor of dancing the next set with me.”
    She smiled at him and at his lady, then back at him.
    “Are you sure,” she asked, “you would rather dance with me, Lord Sheringford, than beg me to leave Claverbrook House?”
    “Perfectly sure, ma’am,” he said, smiling and exchanging a glance with his wife.
    “We are sufficiently acquainted with … notoriety, Lady Paget,” the countess said, “to be happy to ignore it in others. Especially when the other person is our guest.”
    “Your uninvited guest,” Cassandra said, drinking more wine.
    “Yes, even then,” the countess agreed. She laughed unexpectedly. “I met my husband at a ball to which he had not been invited. I have always been thankful that we were both there anyway. I might not have met him otherwise. Please enjoy yourself.”
    Someone had touched the countess on the shoulder and she turned to see who it was. It was the devil, Cassandra could see—Mr. Huxtable.
    “Oh, Constantine,” the countess said, smiling warmly, “ here you are. I was afraid you had forgotten that you were to dance this next set with me, and I would be left a forlorn wallflower on the sidelines.”
    “Forgotten?” he said, slapping a hand to his heart. “When I have lived all day in eager anticipation of just this moment, Margaret?”
    “Oh, foolish!” She laughed. “Have you met Lady Paget? Constantine Huxtable, Lady Paget, my second cousin.”
    He fixed her with a steady look from very dark eyes, and bowed.
    “Lady Paget,” he said. “My pleasure.”
    Cassandra inclined her head and fanned her face.
    “Mr. Huxtable.”
    She read speculation in the polite stare of his eyes. But he would definitely not be the one, she decided. For those eyes also looked somewhat hard and dangerous, as if he were warning her without the medium of words that if she had come with the intention of casting some cloud over this ball of his second cousin’s, she might find herself answering to him. He would be too much of a challenge. She might have been intrigued by him if this were merely a game she was playing. But it most certainly was not.
    “Your ball is a grand success, Margaret,” he said. “As I predicted it would be.”
    He continued to look at Cassandra as he spoke.
    Cassandra drank the rest of her wine.
    “I believe the dancing is about to resume,” Lord Sheringford said, taking her empty glass from her hand and setting it down on a table close to the wall. “Shall we, ma’am?” He offered his arm.
    “Thank you.” She set her hand on his sleeve and let her fan fall on its string from her other wrist.
    She wondered if the earl and countess were merely trying tocontrol the potential damage her presence at their ball was likely to cause or if they were simply being kind. She rather suspected the latter but was thankful to them either way.
    Cassandra looked at the earl