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be trouble. At Miss Lamont’s Academy the rules about men had been clear and simple. She knew them back to front. Knew how to please, what social conventions to obey and how get by without any notice taken of her. Now, every step she took seemed to be the wrong one and took her closer to him.
    Worse still, a sinful part of her welcomed it.
    Ahead was the staircase, rising up from the main entranceway, with polished wood and ornate carvings. There were far too many people nearby, chatting loudly and clinking glasses. Their movements would be seen if they risked venturing from cover now – and so they waited in shadow.
    Isaac’s arm was against Ruth’s. A small connection that made her mouth dry. She observed his profile, her frown growing heavier. There was a half-grin on Isaac’s face, as though this were some adventure – and he treated it as such, talking to Joshua in a low voice about how they had to be quiet. It was a game to them both and the little boy loved it, fists bunched into his nightclothes, eyes wide with a rebellious joy. The pair were two peas in a pod: naughty, mischievous and yet somehow making both traits seem endearing. Roscoe was far less alarming in this environment and she let herself admire his well-built form that echoed those heroes from classic mythology. He didn’t notice; he was distracted – and she could risk it, only for tonight.
    “They’re leaving,” whispered Isaac. “Be ready.”
    Ruth strengthened her grip on Joshua’s hand, only to find Isaac offered his own to her, seemingly without thought. He wasn’t looking her way, eyes on their escape. Ruth hesitated, fingers half-outstretched to his, hovering at a midpoint between them. It wouldn’t mean anything. Practicality told her to take it, as she would have taken Lottie’s hand. But he wasn’t Lottie and such behaviour between a man and a woman was different and surely if she placed her hand in his then—
    “Now,” said Isaac quickly, grasping Ruth’s wrist and pulling her and Joshua free from their hiding place. Music brushed against them. The hallway and far ballroom were visible for a flash, before their feet were on the stairs. Ruth adjusted her grip, gloved palm against Isaac’s, holding on tightly. They were almost on the landing, fighting laughter, swept up in the excitement, when Lady Winston appeared. She wore a shawl so fine that it looked like a cobweb across her shoulders, gown glittering in the low candlelight, faded hair and light clothes giving her all the appearance of a ghost.
    Isaac pulled up short, Ruth almost tripped over him and the little boy crashed into her legs. The moment Joshua saw his grandmother, he bolted up the final steps and flew at her, arms outstretched. Ruth’s hand was cold from where the boy had dropped it. The other was still in Isaac’s and she quickly stole her fingers back and kept them close, bunched up against her stomach.
    “You are meant to be in bed, young man,” said Lady Winston to her grandson, but her tone was warm and banished any worries that Ruth might have had about Joshua’s well-being. “Did you give the maid the slip again?” The older woman, with slow, shrewd movements, turned to Ruth. “I hope he hasn’t been a nuisance to you both?”
    “Not at all,” she answered. “I found him in the orangery and thought I could get him upstairs without too much trouble.”
    “And you are?”
    “Miss Osbourne.” She curtseyed, before turning to introduce Isaac, but Lady Winston got there first.
    “Then you must be Albert Pembroke! I have already heard all about you; I know your mother.” Lady Winston, eyes crinkling, held out her hand and Isaac pressed his lips to her glove. “What a handsome couple you make. I can already tell you’re quite suited to one another.”
    “No, he’s not…” Ruth trailed off, a stray thread of thought caught on the idea. If only he was, if only he could step into Albert’s place. A man who was everything she hadn’t