“I had already told him I wouldn’t be home to dine tonight, as I’d be dining with Diana, so I think he arranged to eat at his club. I told him I was feeling much improved this morning, when I saw him at breakfast. But of course, I took care not to seem too healthy.” She gave a slight cough, then another, hoping to give the appearance of fragility and weakness. The effect was spoiled a moment later when she realized that she had forgotten to tuck a handkerchief in her sleeve.

“Blast,” she muttered, patting her arm vainly in the hope that one would materialize.

“A truly convincing performance,” Penvale said darkly. “I can’t believe Audley thought for a moment you were truly ill.”

“I did try a bit harder with him, you see,” Violet protested, abandoning the futile search for the elusive scrap of linen.

She was spared further editorial remarks by Wright, Diana’s butler, who materialized in the doorway of the sitting room. “Lord Julian Belfry,” he announced solemnly.

Violet’s first thought was that she understood perfectly well why Lord Julian should have found success on the stage. The man was devastatingly handsome. His hair was so dark a shade of brown as to be indiscernible from black, cut a bit too long for fashion, which gave him an appealingly rakish air. His eyes were a vivid blue, his face comprised of the strong bones and fine angles that marked him, unmistakably, as an aristocrat.

Beside her, Diana inhaled softly. “Good lord,” she murmured. Violet couldn’t disagree.

“Belfry,” Penvale said, moving forward to shake the man’s hand. “Good to see you again.”

“Your invitation was too intriguing to turn down,” Lord Julian responded, his gaze flicking over Violet and Diana with interest. Diana stood carefully so as to display her figure to its best advantage. Violet resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Lady James Audley, Lady Templeton, may I present Lord Julian Belfry?” Penvale said, and to his credit he did not allow any of his exasperation to make its way into his voice.

“Ladies,” Lord Julian said, moving forward to bend first over Violet’s hand, then Diana’s. “It is truly a crime that two such lovely specimens of English beauty are only now being brought to my attention.” He had a reputation as a womanizer, and in this instant, Violet understood why.

“Specimens, sir?” Violet asked, raising an eyebrow. “You make us sound like organisms to be studied under a microscope.”

Diana shot her a quelling look. “I am certain Lord Julian did not intend to give offense,” she said.

“I didn’t say I was offended,” Violet said. “I was merely commenting on his interesting word choice.”

“Lady James,” Lord Julian said, straightening and staring at her with frank amusement. “It seems that everything I have heard about you is true.”

“As I cannot begin to imagine what that might be, I shall choose to take this as a compliment,” Violet said lightly. This was a lie—she had a very good idea of what he might have heard about her from other members of the ton. She had never made it a habit to maintain a demure silence; in fact, as her mother so often reminded her, it was very fortunate indeed that she had managed to—in Lady Worthington’s parlance—“snatch up” James in her first Season, because good looks didn’t make up for oddity; men didn’t want a woman who spoke her mind or read scandalous books, et cetera.

Et cetera.

Et cetera.

In any case, Violet had never been terribly bothered by it—and the fact was, slightly odd habits in a lady married to the son of a duke were far more permissible than in an unmarried miss, so she had never particularly felt the scorn of society. But she knew people did whisper. It was actually rather refreshing to meet someone like Lord Julian who addressed this matter head on.

“As well you should,” he said by way of reply, and grinned at her so charmingly that she could not help but smile back.

At that moment, the dinner gong sounded. Penvale escorted Violet into the dining room, allowing Lord Julian to fall back and take Diana’s arm, in utter disregard for the proper dinner entrance etiquette. Violet glanced over her shoulder and saw the two of them eyeing one another appraisingly. She felt rather as though she were at an auction.

Dinner itself was a slightly awkward affair—Penvale did his best to keep conversation afloat (for he could be charming when he tried), and Diana was all flirtatious invitation (indeed, Violet thought she might be taking on this role with a bit too much enthusiasm), but throughout the meal, Violet sensed an underlying strain. Lord Julian clearly wondered why he had been invited, and as the footmen cleared away the final course before withdrawing, Violet decided that the time had come to speak up.

“Lord Julian,” she said, and he focused that unwavering blue gaze on her instantly. It was absurd, she thought. Men shouldn’t be that handsome. “It was good of you to accept Lord Penvale’s invitation on such short notice, and I know you must be rather . . .” She faltered, searching for the proper adjective.

“Intrigued?” he suggested, a hint of laughter in his voice. Violet bit back a smile.

“Indeed,” she said primly, folding her napkin precisely and placing it on the table before her. “The truth is, I am in need of some assistance and I think you are just the man to provide it.”

“Lady James, I must confess, you have roused my curiosity,” he said, with a faint, suggestive pause before the last word.