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the ballroom, accompanied by conversation and well-bred laughter.
    Mr James Carstairs had loosened the intricate folds of his cravat a little, and was casually reclined in his seat, toying absently with the bevelled stem of the wineglass on the table in front of him.
    “What do you say, then? Another hand?” Mr George Mayhew reached out and snagged the decanter of port, leaning over to refill James’s glass. “The luck seems to be rather in with me tonight and I’ve a fancy I’ll put your pockets to let, James.” He gave his friend an evil grin.
    “Not for me George,” replied James, waving away both the port and the offer of a game. He was bored with cards. “Generous as you are I think I shall pass.”
    “What, no stomach for sport?”
    “Devil a bit.” He gestured in lazy good humour at the pile of notes by his friend’s elbow. “It is no such thing as sport when Lady Luck sits in your lap and all her kisses are for you. But no, it’s been a long evening.” He stood in one fluid move and strode to the window, and there brooded out at the stone buildings of London, lit up by the moonlight. “I’ve more of a mind to walk home.” He missed the countryside, the wide open spaces.
    “Walk? Walk ? Thrice bedamned to you with all your prowlings. Why would you want to walk?”
    “Ah, I have been sitting still too long. My legs desire a stretch.” The season had only just started and already he was longing to escape. He was tired of stuffy rooms filled with sedate murmurs. Town was trying his pat ience. He needed some fresh air; or as fresh as the air ever got in the crowded and reeking City.
    “After all that prancing about? God only knows how many young misses you stood up with – I lost count – but I would not have thought your legs in any need of further stretching.” George cast a doubtful look at James’ lower half.
    James quirked an eyebrow at him, amused as always by his pretence of indolence. “You needn’t take exception to my walking, my dear fellow. I had no plans to involve you.”
    “Can’t have a delicate flower such as yourself roaming the streets unchaperoned, now can we?” asked George, hoisting himself to his feet with a long-suffering sigh.
    “Quite right. Quite right,” murmured James agreeably. “Where would you like to go, oh noble duenna?”
    George responded with a rude ly flatulent sound as he left the room, James at his heels. “I am seeing you home, and no further. And then you will have the grace to lend me your carriage so I need not scamper the streets alone.”
    The two men jogged briskly down the stairs.
    “Do we need to find Kitty and bid our farewells?” asked George apprehensively. James read this as an unwillingness to fall into the snare of their elderly hostess, who had an embarrassing habit of groping him when she had had too much to drink. 
    “Last time I saw her she was deep in her cups. She’ll neither know nor care that we’re gone,” he said with a private smile. If George were less polite, he would not suffer such problems. When James had been her object of desire he merely picked up the unwanted hand, regarded it witheringly and gave it back to the woman without once looking at her. They had both pretended it never happened, and she had never tried again. The more tactful and less experienced George simply sidled away as if by accident, and remained a target.
    The men nodded politely to various acquaintances as they brushed through the crowd, but did not stop. More than one young lady sighed and pouted to see them leaving.
    “I’m not sure the neighbourhood between here and your residence is quite the thing, you know,” said George archly as he collected his hat from the hands of his butler. It was a gross understatement. The area in question was disreputable or downright dangerous.
    “We shall come to no serious harm,” said James, untroubled by anything the streets had to offer. “So long as you can restrain yourself,” he flicked an