Judith was breathless by the time Lord Braithwaite returned her to her grandmother. It had been a vigorous set and she had enjoyed it thoroughly despite the fact that she had had to endure being so close to Lord Rannulf and Julianne the whole time. But that fact had had its compensations. She had understood from the way he replied to all of Julianne’s efforts to draw him into flatteries and flirtation that he really was not behaving like a man who was about to declare himself. More important, perhaps, she had overheard Julianne maneuver him into agreeing to waltz with her during the fourth set. It was the time when she, Judith, would watch most carefully, though how she would save Lord Rannulf from the proposed trap she did not know. She could not simply warn him. How foolish she would sound!

“Perhaps, Miss Law,” Lord Braithwaite said, “your father did allow you to learn the steps of the waltz?

And perhaps you will do me the honor of dancing it with me?”

He had gazed at her with open admiration throughout the dance. It had been very flattering. He was a handsome and amiable young man.

“My father had no chance either to forbid or to approve waltzing lessons,” she explained. “The dance has not even reached our neighborhood yet. I shall enjoy watching you dance it with someone else, my lord.”

Her grandmother, she noticed, plumes nodding in concert with Lady Beamish’s as they talked and commented upon the scene before them, was easing her earrings off her earlobes and wincing as she did so. Poor Grandmama— would she never learn that there were no earrings she would find comfortable?

“Grandmama.” Judith leaned solicitously over her. “Shall I take them upstairs for you and put them away?”

“Oh, will you, my love?” her grandmother asked. “But you will miss your dance with Sir Dudley.”

“No, I will not,” Judith said. “It will take me only a minute.”

“I would be very grateful, then,” her grandmother said, putting the jewels into her hand. “Will you bring me the star-shaped ones instead, if it is not too much trouble?”

“Of course it is not.”

Judith hurried from the ballroom and up the stairs to her grandmother’s room, taking a candle from a wall sconce in with her. She found the large jewelry box, returned the precious earrings to the velvet bag from which most of this evening’s finery had come, though there were still plenty of pieces left in it, and hunted through the section she herself had allotted for earrings. But she could not see the star-shaped ones. She rummaged around among the necklaces and bracelets with no success. She was about to choose another pair of earrings instead when she remembered that the star-shaped earrings were the ones she had taken from her grandmother’s hand after the evening at Grandmaison. They must still be in the reticule she had carried that evening. She closed the box and put it away as quickly as she could, hurried to her own room, and was relieved to find the earrings just where she had thought they would be.

She hastened from the room and almost collided with a chambermaid who was passing by. They both squeaked in alarm and then Judith laughed, apologized for being in such a rush, and ran back downstairs.

The sets were already forming, she could see through the ballroom doors, but as luck would have it she ran up against Horace as she hurried through them. She stopped abruptly, feeling both flushed and breathless.

“Going somewhere, Cousin, in such a hurry?” he asked her, blocking her way when she would have stepped around him. “Or should I say coming from somewhere in such a hurry? Some assignation, perhaps?”

“I have been to fetch some different earrings for Grandmama,” she said. “Excuse me, please, Horace. I have promised this set to Sir Dudley.”

To her relief he stepped aside and gestured her in with an exaggeratedly courtly sweep of one arm. She hurried to complete her errand and turned with an apology to her partner.

It was lovely to be dancing again so soon. Sir Dudley Roy-Hill engaged her in conversation as much as the figures of the dance allowed, and she met the openly admiring glances of several other gentlemen. At home she would have been somewhat disturbed, imagining that she must have done something forward to invite such leering attention. But leering was her father’s word. Tonight, with her newfound belief in her own beauty, she could see that the looks were merely admiring. She found herself smiling more and more.

Yet all the time she was aware that the next set was to be danced with Lord Rannulf Bedwyn. He had had almost no choice, she knew. Lady Beamish’s words about any gentleman having to ask her early if he wished to dance with her had quite unwittingly forced him into being gallant. But she did not really care. On two occasions—both out at the lake—he had come to spend time with her when he might easily have avoided the encounters. Let him dance with her now, then. And she did not care what Aunt Effingham had to say about it in the morning, though doubtless there would be plenty. Soon enough she would be going back home where at least she would not be expected to behave like a servant.

She could hardly wait for the next set to begin. If only it could last all night. Or forever.

If only it could last all night or even forever, he thought. She danced the slow, stately steps of the old-fashioned minuet with elegance and grace. She did not look directly into his eyes except once or twice, very briefly, but there was a look on her face that spelled awareness and— surely—happiness.

His attention was focused fully on her while all about them the varied colors of gowns and coats slowly swirled in time with the music and light from the candles overhead gleamed on hair and jewels and the perfumes of colognes and hundreds of flowers mingled in the warm air.

How differently he saw her now from that time at the Rum and Puncheon. Then, though they had talked and laughed together and he had enjoyed her company, in all essentials she had been little more to him than an extraordinarily desirable body to be bedded. Now she was . ..

Well, now she was Judith.

“Are you enjoying the ball?” he asked when their joined hands brought them close to each other for a moment.

“Exceedingly well,” she said, and he knew she meant it.

So was he. Enjoying a ball, which he had rarely done before, enjoying the slow minuet, which he had never done before.

There was something between them, he thought, like a strong current of energy, binding them and at the same time isolating them from everyone else in the room. Surely he could not be imagining it. Surely she must feel it too. It was not just sexual desire.

“Do you waltz?” he asked her.

“No.” She shook her head.

I will teach you one day , he thought.

She lifted her eyes to his and smiled as if she had heard the thought.

He was, he knew, the envy of every man in the room. He wondered if she realized just what a stir she was causing this evening or just what sour looks she was drawing from her aunt.

“Perhaps,” he said, “if you have not promised every remaining set, you will reserve one more for me.

The last?”

She looked at him again and for a few moments held his gaze.

“Thank you,” she said.

That was almost the sum total of their conversation all the time they danced. But there was that feeling of being bound, of sharing hearts and emotions, of words being unnecessary.

Perhaps, he thought, by the end of the evening she would be tired of dancing and they would sit together somewhere where they were properly in view of the other guests but where they could have some private conversation. Perhaps he could ascertain if her feelings toward him and his offer had undergone any change during the past two weeks.

Perhaps he would even ask her again tonight if she would marry him, though he rather believed he would prefer to ask her tomorrow, outdoors, where they could be entirely private together. He would ask her uncle for permission, take her down to that little lake, and then declare himself.

There was something about her manner—he was sure he was not imagining it—that encouraged him to hope that she would have him after all.

He amused himself with such thoughts and plans as he watched her dancing, that quiet glow of happiness—surely it was that—on her face.

And then the music drew to its inevitable end.

“Thank you,” he said, offering his arm to escort her back to her grandmother’s side.

She turned her head to smile at him.

“You dance very elegantly together,” his grandmother said as they approached.

Lady Effingham was behind her mother’s chair, Rannulf saw.

“Judith, dear,” she said, her voice cloyingly sweet, “I hope you have thanked Lord Rannulf properly for his kind condescension in leading you out. Mother seems very tired. I am sure you will not mind helping her to her room and remaining there with her.”

But Mrs. Law swelled up rather like a hot-air balloon, glittering and jangling as she did so. “I most certainly am not tired, Louisa,” she said. “The very idea of my missing the rest of the ball and leaving my dear Sarah to sit here alone! Besides, Judith has promised the set after the waltz to Mr. Tanguay, and it would be ill-mannered of her to disappear now.”

Lady Effingham raised her eyebrows but could hardly say anything more in the presence of Rannulf and his grandmother.

The waltz was next and he had been effectively forced into dancing it with Miss Effingham. He found her amusing, at least, he thought as he bowed and turned away to find her. Not that she would be flattered by the nature of his amusement, he supposed. And he had the last set to look forward to. And tomorrow morning. Though he must not be overconfident about that. If Judith Law did not wish to marry him, she would not do so merely because of who he was or because of his money.