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to join his compatriots. Relieved, she shrugged out of her cloak and handed it to the long-suffering footman who still stood waiting for her. Quickly she stepped into the room opposite the one her cousin had entered and moved out of sight of the wide doorway. Thus established, she took stock of her surroundings.
    She had never before been in such an intensely masculine atmosphere. It must be, she thought, similar to a gentleman’s club, that inner sanctum of masculinity from which all women were excluded. Smoke rose lazily from cigars and pipes without regard to feminine sensibilities. Snifters of brandy and glasses of port or wine sat on the tables beside them. The rumble of male voices filled the air, punctuated now and then by a bark of loud laughter. Julia suspected that she would hear things tonight that would make her blush.
    She wandered through the room, then out the connecting doors into the larger room beyond. This, she realized, must be a small ballroom. Here, in addition to the tables of cardplayers, were two tables centered by the popular wheels of chance and another long table where a game of dice had drawn the attention of a large number of men. A woman in her forties stood beside one of the players, seemingly observing the play, but Julia noticed that her eyes were rarely fixed on the table. Her gaze roamed the room with calm efficiency, taking in everything without seeming sharp or inquisitive. She smiled and nodded at one person or another who raised a hand in greeting, and after a moment she moved away from that table to another one. This woman, Julia decided, must be Madame Beauclaire herself, for she definitely had the air of someone in charge. Julia studied her covertly, a little amazed to find that the mistress of a gaming house moved and spoke with such an air of gentility. Her dress of olive green crepe was less revealing than Julia’s own, very much the sort of thing a middle-aged Society matron would wear to a party, and only a simple strand of pearls encircled her throat. She wore only one or two rings, including a simple gold wedding band, and a set of small diamond-and-pearl ear-bobs danced in her earlobes.
    Her gaze turned to Julia, and Julia knew that she was summing up her clothes and manner in the first steps to determining exactly who and what this stranger was. When she looked straight at Julia, Julia favored her with a small smile, then turned away—without haste—and moved back out into the entry hall. A visit to the music room across the hall, where a woman vainly battled the noise with a number on the pianoforte, established that Lord Stonehaven was not in the house.
    Julia took out her nerves on the lace handkerchief she carried, wringing it between her hands. What was she to do if the man did not come tonight? Even if he came, how would she occupy herself until that moment? She had felt the gazes of more than one interested man on her during her stroll through the rooms, and she felt sure that it would not be long before she began receiving invitations of a decidedly improper sort. The best thing, she thought, was to keep moving, and with that in mind, she turned and started across the hall back to the larger room. Just as she did, the front door opened, and she turned. The footman who had answered the door stepped aside with an obsequious bow.
    Lord Stonehaven stepped into the hall.
    Julia stopped short. Suddenly she could not breathe. Nor could she tear her eyes away from the figure standing at the other end of the hall. He was tall, with the wide shoulders and long, muscled legs of a sportsman. Elegantly attired in black evening wear, a starched cravat tied perfectly at his neck, he was the picture of a well-to-do gentleman. Diamond studs winked at his cuffs.
    He looked up, and his eyes met hers. For a moment they were frozen in time, staring at each other. Stonehaven was, Julia had to admit, the most handsome man she had ever seen. Thick black hair, cut fashionably