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with the curious but dispassionate expression that was as much liveliness as he’d yet seen in her.
    â€œMiss Brotherton,” he said, taking her hand and not kissing it, merely bowing. He knew how to treat a lady with respect. “I spoke to Mrs. Townsend about offering my escort to Almack’s on Wednesday.”
    â€œOh,” she replied. “Are we going to Almack’s? I had no idea.”
    The poor young lady had no notion of good ton and needed to be guided. Also, it wasn’t the kind of place he could imagine Denford attending, duke or not. And, of course, not Oliver Bream. Penniless artists—he felt certain Bream was not one of the rich Sir Joshua Reynolds breed of painter—did not attend exclusive assemblies of the haut ton. “I shall come with my carriage at nine, if that suits.”
    Miss Brotherton looked at her cousin, who nodded. “Nine o’clock Wednesday,” he repeated before taking most punctilious leave of all, whether they deserved it or not. He, at least, knew how to behave.

Chapter 3
    A couple of hours later, four painters were enjoying the rapidly dwindling contents of Robert’s wine cellar and arguing about art and the common man, one of their favorite subjects. Since Caro’s round dining table had been chosen to encourage group conversation, Cynthia and Anne were able to follow the debate, to the pleasure of the artists, who always enjoyed an audience.
    Caro turned to the Duke of Denford. She was a little concerned about his attentions to the countess. Not that she wasn’t fond of the duke, who had been until very recently Julian Fortescue, one of Robert Townsend’s oldest friends. Caro had nothing against Cynthia’s having a little flirtation, since her husband was abroad on an extended diplomatic mission. Windermere had behaved badly, very badly. In Caro’s estimation, he deserved little consideration. But Julian was a strong draft for a young lady who had, until lately, lived all her life in the country. Caro didn’t trust him one inch.
    It was a shame Oliver had recovered from his passion for Cynthia so quickly. He was a gentle soul and would never place her in a situation she was too unworldly to manage. He was, in fact, the perfect candidate for a fledgling career as a flirt. Caro intended that Windermere, when he returned, would find a very different wife from the naïve girl he’d callously wed and abandoned.
    â€œDid you come here today to see Cynthia?” she asked.
    Denford knew just what she was up to. “Playing the mother hen, Caro?” he asked.
    â€œCynthia’s naught but a chick, and you are a big bad fox.”
    He leaned in, his mouth inches from her ear. “I could be persuaded to turn my wicked attentions elsewhere. Remind me again why I’ve never seduced you.”
    A great many women found Julian irresistible, but she’d never been one of them. “Perhaps because neither of us was interested.”
    â€œI don’t think that can be the reason. I’m always interested.”
    â€œUntil a year ago, I was married to your close friend.”
    â€œNo, I don’t think that’s it.”
    Caro rolled her eyes.
    â€œYou deserved better than you had from Robert,” he said, no longer teasing.
    â€œI won’t hear a word against him,” she protested.
    â€œYou never will,” he replied.
    â€œI was happy with him. I loved him.” Doubtless Julian, who regarded her with the keen observation he accorded everything, especially a picture he wanted to buy, had noticed that she didn’t say Robert loved her. It wouldn’t have been a lie. Robert had loved her, almost until the end. By the end, he’d loved nothing except the shake of the dice, the turn of the next card.
    â€œTime to move on,” Julian said. “You should look for another husband, or at least a lover.”
    He was right. If nothing else, a husband might save her from