can assure you there will be no such lapse again.’
He coiled away from her and thrust his taut hands against the chimney piece. When he rounded on his heel, his expression appeared unfathomable.
‘I think we’ve had enough for today.’ He ran his fingers through his hair again. ‘We’ll continue tomorrow, Miss Ashe.’
Shocked to her core by her response to him, Cameo buttoned the bodice of her dress right to the top of her neck. In a trembling grip she grabbed her bonnet and cloak and rushed from the studio as fast as her shaking legs could take her.
‘Ah, happy shade—and still went wavering down,
But, ere it touch’d a foot, that might have danced.’
—Alfred, Lord Tennyson:
‘The Gardener’s Daughter’
A hand parted the fronds of the potted palm tree. ‘What are you two whispering about?’
‘George!’ Cameo dropped her fan. ‘You startled me.’
Her brother gave his easy smile. ‘You look quite panicked. Just what is it that you have to be so guilty about?’
Retrieving her fan, Cameo pretended to study the ballroom, with its huge white pillars, gilt-painted cornices and ferns in huge tubs. The chandeliers scattered their rainbow reflections on the shimmering polished floor, challenging the dazzle of the women’s bright jewels. ‘Nothing.’
‘Hmm. Why is it I don’t believe you, little sister?’ George turned to Maud, standing beside Cameo, who peeped up at him from beneath her lashes.
‘Hello there,’ he said with a smile that Maud returned adoringly with added dimples. ‘Now tell me what is it you’re both so intent on discussing here in the corner that keeps you from dancing?’
‘Oh, well...’ Maud fluttered.
‘Are you telling each other secrets?’
Cameo had considered telling Maud all about her visits to Benedict Cole’s studio. How she wanted to pour out to her friend everything that happened. But she didn’t want to put Maud in such a position. It would be unfair, even though she longed to tell her all about it.
‘I don’t think you could keep a secret from me, could you, Maud?’ George asked. ‘How would I get it out of you?’
Maud giggled.
‘Blast.’ George’s teasing expression changed. ‘Look who’s coming towards us. It’s your new beau, Cameo.’ He raised his voice and gave a nod. ‘Good evening, Warley.’
‘St Clair.’ The man who approached them gave a stiff bow in return and then bowed to Cameo. ‘I hoped you might do me the honour of giving me the next dance, Lady Catherine Mary.’
As she bent a reluctant curtsy in reply her skin crawled, as it always did when she came close to Lord Warley. Still, there was no way to refuse the son of her papa’s oldest friend a dance. She loved her father too much for that.
‘I’m sure she’d be delighted,’ George said with a straight face.
The orchestra struck up another Viennese waltz. Cameo tried to avoid instinctively pulling away as Lord Warley pressed her up against him.
His tongue wet his lips. ‘Delightful evening.’
‘Delightful.’ Cameo dodged his feet landing upon her toes in their white-kid slippers, which offered no protection. He made a sharp turn and she stumbled.
‘Watch your step.’
It had been his fault, not hers. She fumed as he spun her again, nearly bumping into the couple next to them. George gave her a grin as he expertly swept Maud past.
From over George’s shoulder, Maud sent her a look of sympathy. They had made a list of dance partners once, ranked from best to worst. Lord Warley with his groping hands was at the bottom of both their lists. George, of course, was at the top of Maud’s.
Oh, Maud had to say yes to her brother’s proposal tonight. Her friend looked so sweet in her ruffled white ball dress trimmed with pink roses, staring up at George’s smiling face.
From under her lashes, Cameo studied her own dance partner. Often she heard Lord Warley called handsome, but for Cameo his sloping chin spoilt his dark good looks. His eyes were brown, his black hair brushed from his forehead. He had similar colouring to Benedict Cole and was almost as tall.
Benedict Cole.
She was imagining him everywhere.
That kiss. All she thought of was that kiss, that explosive, passionate kiss. Her lips tingled at the memory. Surely such a kiss was something real and rare. Why then had the artist rejected her so coldly and dismissed her from the studio as if she were an inconvenience?
Lord Warley trod on her foot again. ‘So sorry.’
The pressure was so hard it seemed as if he had done it on purpose, to gain her attention.
She looked up sharply. There was no clue on his face.
‘You look very well tonight.’ He glanced down at her lacy white dress and her cameo necklace, tied with a blue-velvet ribbon to match her sash.
‘Thank you.’ She fought her sudden urge to pull up the lace of her low décolletage.
They swept past the pillared alcoves, half-curtained with heavy cream brocade and the scrutiny of the grand society ladies who sat behind the curtains. Her mama sat at one of the tables, no doubt being congratulated on the fine pair her daughter and Lord Warley made. Wickedly, Cameo imagined dancing by with Benedict Cole. What would they think if they found out she’d been kissed by the bohemian artist in his studio in Soho? What would they think if they’d seen the way she responded?
The passionate touch of Benedict’s lips seemed on hers again, the vision so powerful she wanted to close her eyes and just sink into those sensations.
Stop it, she instructed herself. Stop it.
The last strains of the waltz finally played out. With relief she escaped Lord Warley’s hold. ‘Thank you.’
‘Would you care for another dance?’
Pretending to consider, she opened her fan and gave it a dismissive flick. ‘How kind. But I think that I might appreciate a rest.’
‘Just what I was thinking,’ he said smoothly. ‘The terrace?’
Cameo fumed with frustration as he once again took her arm and steered her towards the French windows which opened on to the terrace. He’d cornered her. There was no way she could be rude to a friend of the family. Still, fresh air was preferable to having her feet stamped on in another dance.
Outside, the garden sparkled with candles. Cameo sank down on to one
