No doubt it was a simple result of having seen him more often than usual of late, she told herself firmly.

“. . . that dress, Violet,” Diana was saying, and Violet started, realizing she hadn’t been attending to anything her friends were saying.

“I’m sorry?” she asked, a trifle guiltily.

“I said,” Diana said patiently, “that I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you wear that dress before.” She cast it an approving glance. “I must say, I do like it.”

“Of course you do.” Diana’s own gown, which was a deep shade of green with intricate beadwork on the sleeves, was as daring as Violet’s own—and yet Violet knew it to be far from the most scandalous dress in Diana’s wardrobe. She had to admit that the effect was enticing, however—Diana’s impressive bosom was displayed to great effect, and the green of the gown brought out the green flecks in her lovely hazel eyes. Violet wondered if this was for the benefit of Lord Julian. He had not been as taken in by her charms as men tended to be upon meeting Diana, and yet she could certainly be stubborn. If she had truly decided to take a lover at last, Violet wasn’t sure how well she liked Lord Julian’s chances in the face of Diana’s resolve.

Further conversation was forestalled by the arrival of Lord Julian himself. He was, just as he had been at Diana’s dinner, very handsome; the black and white of evening attire suited him as well as it did any man, and he wore his clothes well, with the air of confidence that is natural to a man who has been told since birth that he is special, favored above other men. Even when a man cast off that world, as Lord Julian had done, the confidence seemed to linger.

“Audley,” he said, shaking James’s hand easily, showing no sign of even remote discomfort. “I’ve not seen you in an age, I don’t think.”

“Belfry,” James said, and there was something ever so slightly odd about his voice as he spoke. Violet looked at him sharply, but there was nothing unusual in his expression—not that that was saying much, of course. “It was good of you to invite us.” Was Violet imagining the wryness to his tone?

Lord Julian shrugged lazily as he shook Penvale’s and Jeremy’s hands in turn. “I ran into Penvale at dinner the other day,” he said, which was true enough, as things stood. “He mentioned that he still saw a fair amount of yourself and Willingham, and I thought you chaps might enjoy an evening out. Especially with such lovely company,” he said, flashing a winning smile at Violet, Diana, and Emily. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Lord Julian added, and Violet had to fight hard to suppress a smile.

“My wife, Lady James,” James said, stepping back toward Violet and touching her elbow lightly. In the early days of their marriage, he had always included her first name as well as her courtesy title when introducing her, unlike most gentlemen of the ton—not that any gentleman would be so bold, or rude, to refer to her with such familiarity, but James had done so nonetheless. It was a small breach of social norms, but one that Violet hadn’t realized she’d appreciated until he’d ceased doing so.

“And this is my sister, Lady Templeton,” Penvale added, with a lazy nod toward Diana. Not that it was necessary—even if Diana and Lord Julian hadn’t already met, it would have been obvious which lady was Penvale’s relation.

“And their friend Lady Emily Turner,” James finished. Lord Julian, who had bowed over Violet’s and Diana’s hands in turn, redirected his attention toward Emily, who had lurked slightly in the shadows, escaping his interest until now. He paused for a brief second before bowing over her hand.

“Lady Emily,” he said, straightening. “I believe we have an acquaintance in common.”

“Indeed, sir?” Emily’s voice was, as ever, carefully calibrated—not so warm as to seem overfamiliar, not so cool as to seem rude.

“Indeed. A Mr. Cartham, I believe, counts himself among your many admirers?” Violet detected a distinct note of distaste in Lord Julian’s tone at the name, though there was nothing in his expression to betray what his opinion of Cartham might be.

At the sound of Cartham’s name, Emily stiffened almost imperceptibly—Violet wasn’t even certain that Lord Julian noticed. She dearly wished in that moment that the rules of etiquette allowed her to jab an unmarried man she had purportedly just met in the midsection.

“Yes,” Emily said, her tone one of polite disinterest. “I am indeed acquainted with Mr. Cartham, though my admirers are not so numerous as you seem to believe, my lord. I fear you have been badly misinformed.”

“I am never that, Lady Emily,” Lord Julian replied, and Violet watched him with renewed interest. There was something in his manner that struck her as odd; the intensity of his gaze on Emily was out of proportion to anything Violet would expect of a gentleman being introduced to a lady. His expression undoubtedly held appreciation for Emily’s charms, but there was something else, something appraising in the way he looked at her that Violet felt must somehow be related to his apparent familiarity with—and possible distaste for—Mr. Cartham.

“But,” he added, as though he, too, became suddenly aware of the oddness of the moment, “the reports of your beauty, I am pleased to see, are not exaggerated in the least.”

“You are very kind, my lord,” Emily said demurely, but she continued to look at him curiously even as Lord Julian redirected his attention to the group at large, with something in her gaze that Violet couldn’t quite translate. Appreciation of his appearance, certainly—any lady with a pulse would have felt as much. But curiosity, too—and it was unusual for Emily to allow anything as telling as curiosity to show on her face, given her usually perfect composure.