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to the woman. She would have remembered her appearance—pale skin contrasting with dark hair, eyes a deep blue that looked nearly violet, and a gown with a scandalously low-cut bodice.
    “Miss Forsythe is in the process of writing a biographical account,” Cale said. “Naturally, all the names will remain anonymous.”
    Elizabeth was still puzzling over what that meant when Miss Forsythe, her ample bosom heaving with excitement, said, “I just thought of a perfect title yesterday. Confessions of a Courtesan . What do you think of it?” She beamed at them, her exotic beauty nearly blinding Elizabeth.
    “Splendid,” Cale said with an approving smile.
    Miss Forsythe waited for her to speak. Elizabeth felt a blush creep into her cheeks. She knew now where she’d heard the name before. Julia Forsythe had been linked to some of the most influential men in the aristocracy. But surely, none of those men would have had the gall to invite her to the same dinner party a countess was attending. “Ah…y-yes,” she stammered. “Indeed, a splendid title.”
    “Do you write for Mr. Cameron?” the courtesan asked politely.
    “No,” Elizabeth said. “I’m…a distant relation.”
    The other woman’s gaze swung between the two of them like a pendulum. “Of course you are, dear,” she said with an all-too-knowing curve of her lips.
    Elizabeth bristled.
    As soon as Julia left them, she turned on Cale. “ She is one of your writers?”
    He nodded. “I’m expecting high sales from that book. People delight in scandal.”
    He didn’t notice the incredulous look Elizabeth pinned him with. “And your relationship with her?” She didn’t particularly want to sound like a shrewish fishwife, but she was having a difficult time with the idea of a notorious courtesan working for Cale.
    He looked down at her, a confused notch between his brows. “What about our relationship?”
    “Is it purely professional?”
    His confusion was replaced by a grin. “Are you jealous, Elizabeth?”
    Dreadfully. Painfully. Horribly jealous. “No,” she clipped out, gut twisting. “Your predilections have no bearing on me.” Her voice sounded stilted even to her own ears, a clear indication she’d just uttered a falsehood.
    His smile grew broader. “My relationship with Miss Forsythe is strictly professional,” he said. “I would never involve myself with someone who worked for me. It’s not good business. And in any case, my interest lies elsewhere.”
    She adjusted her gloves, an excuse to look away from him. “I shouldn’t be here with her. It’s not proper.”
    “Come now, you won’t let one little courtesan scare you away, will you?” he teased, and then added, more seriously, “I invited all my current authors. It wasn’t my intent to make you uncomfortable.”
    “I know,” she said, immediately contrite. Of course he hadn’t. She was being ungracious.
    “You’ll stay?” Was that a hint of worry in his voice?
    A lock of brown hair had fallen over his forehead, and she had to ball her hands into fists to resist the urge to brush it back. “I’ll stay.”
    If she’d had any lingering suspicions over his interest in Miss Forsythe, they were put to rest during the dinner party. He barely glanced at the other woman. If anything, his gaze lingered on Elizabeth far more often than it should have.
    His attention made her giddy. His questions made her feel she was just as intelligent as he was. He didn’t speak down to her, as Charles often had. Cale listened to her opinions with interest. When she didn’t know something, he was encouraging but never condescending.
    The lavish five-course meal was equal to anything an aristocrat might serve at a dinner party, but despite that, it was surprisingly informal. The topics that were usually avoided in mixed company, such as politics and business, and even a brief discussion of Miss Forsythe’s book, were touched upon without embarrassment or concern for gender. When the meal