Her eyes darted to James before she could stop herself, and she saw that he had adopted a deliberately bland expression. She looked back at Penvale and narrowed her eyes at him slightly.

“Yes,” she said carefully, and heaved a dramatic sigh. “One does never know what to expect upon waking each morning, but I seem to be having one of my good days.” She gave a sad little smile. “Who knows how long it will last, though? I suppose I should enjoy the time I’ve been blessed with.”

She thought that she might have laid it on a touch thick, but, really, how long was James going to continue this charade? While her primary aim at the moment was forcing James to admit he still wanted her, she was petty enough to admit that she also found the prospect of needling James to the point of admitting she wasn’t truly ill to be incredibly satisfying. She would wrench a confession out of the absurd man if it killed her.

Of course, the trouble was, as always, that James didn’t look the least bit absurd. He looked so very, very handsome in his evening kit, the precise knot of his snowy white cravat keeping his chin at just such an angle so as to show off the devastating lines of his face. He just looked so very . . . male. It was in the way his broad shoulders filled his coat, the manner in which the careful cut of his clothing did nothing to conceal the muscle and strength beneath them. He was standing there with that closed-off look on his face, the one that angered her more than she would have ever thought possible, and yet a significant portion of her mind was occupied by the distracting wish to fling her arms around him and claim him as her own.

She had observed dogs, on occasion, urinating on trees to mark their territory, and while her instincts had fortunately not yet reached that primitive level, she felt an unexpected sympathy with the desire.

Her rather ridiculous thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable voice of Diana. “There you are! Emily and I have been looking for you since we arrived, and just look who we found along the way!”

The group turned as one to see Diana and Emily making a beeline for their corner, Sophie being tugged alongside them, her arm firmly linked through Diana’s as though they were the dearest of friends, rather than passing acquaintances. Violet couldn’t resist sneaking a glance at James as they approached. A look of suspicion crept across his face. He looked at Violet, and she shot him a quick, satisfied smile before stepping forward to greet her friends.

“Diana! Emily!” she said, seizing each of their hands in turn, as though she’d not seen them in weeks, rather than a day. “Sophie!” she added, turning her head slightly toward James as she spoke so that he would be unable to miss her use of Sophie’s given name. “You look beautiful.”

This much at least was true; no more of the muted colors of mourning for Sophie. She was wearing a daringly cut gown of emerald green, her blond hair gleaming in the candlelight. Violet had never seen Sophie—in the years she had encountered her at society events—in a gown with a bodice so revealing. While Sophie was not particularly curvaceous, having a petite, trim figure, the cut of this dress could have made a stick look enticing. And Sophie was certainly not a stick.

Violet gave Sophie a quick, conspiratorial smile, then stepped back to allow the ladies to greet the gentlemen.

After kissing Diana’s and Emily’s hands in turn, James turned to Sophie. “Lady Fitzwilliam,” he said, bowing over her hand, everything in his manner entirely correct. The flirtatiousness of the day before was entirely absent and Violet realized, with a slight pang, that he truly had taken her words to heart. She felt her resolve waver for a moment—she was beginning to feel slightly awful about what she was about to do. Or, to be more accurate, what Sophie was about to do.

“I feel I owe you an apology,” James continued, straightening. “My behavior in the park was not that of a gentleman, and entirely inexcusable.”

“Not at all, my lord,” Sophie replied, and Violet nearly started, so entirely foreign was the seductive note that she heard in Sophie’s voice. “There is nothing to apologize for.”

James blinked. “Nonetheless,” he said, his voice less assured, “I deeply regret any discomfort I may have caused—no lady deserves to be treated in such a fashion.”

Sophie laughed, and the sound was tinkling, flirtatious, not at all like her natural laugh—and James knew it. His face was slowly draining of color.

“Lord James,” Sophie continued as James struggled for words, “you’re looking very well this evening.”

“As are you, my lady,” James managed gallantly, the expression on his face akin to that of an animal facing an unpredictable predator at close range. “It is an unexpected delight to see you again so soon.”

“I assure you, my lord, the pleasure is all mine,” Sophie purred—purred? Violet was impressed. In a different life, she thought, Sophie could have had a brilliant career on the stage.

In a feat of impressive timing, no sooner had this thought crossed her mind than she heard Penvale’s name called; Lord Julian Belfry approached.

“My lord, I was not aware that you frequented these sorts of events,” Diana said after Belfry had greeted each group member in turn and been introduced to Sophie.

“I don’t, normally,” Belfry said, looking extremely handsome—and extremely unconcerned by the whispers he had undoubtedly left in his wake as he cut across the ballroom. “However, I found myself lacking other plans for the evening, and I thought the company here might prove . . . entertaining.” His tone was casual, but Violet didn’t miss the unmistakable look of interest he cast in Emily’s direction. Emily, looking so beautiful in a prim white dress with her shining golden curls that it was almost laughable, really. Emily, who—unless Violet was very mistaken—cast a look of her own in Belfry’s direction, her cheeks coloring under his regard.