Gerrard shook hands with Lady Entwhistle, then Sir Harvey continued, “He tells me his friend, Mr. Adair, can explain the details better-ah, here he is now.”

Barnaby, whom Gerrard had beckoned to join them, came up and was introduced to the Entwhistles. Sir Harvey and Lady Entwhistle decided to retire to the library to hear all Barnaby could tell them.

With Gerrard, Jacqueline took her leave of them. As she turned back to the room, Elsie Tannahay caught her eye. “Come walk with me for a little, my dear. It’ll save you from the overly interested, at least until the dancing starts.”

Gerrard offered Lady Tannahay his arm; with a gracious smile, she took it. He offered his other arm to Jacqueline.

Millicent waved them on. “I’m off to talk to that reprobate Godfrey. I want to keep my eye on him.”

They parted. As they strolled down the room, Lady Tannahay relentlessly claimed Jacqueline’s attention, chatting about inconsequential matters; her position in local society ensured that no one attempted to interrupt, but everyone was watching.

Many had witnessed the scene earlier, and had understood the implications; they were now busily explaining to those who hadn’t seen.

Lady Tannahay directed them onto the terrace; they admired the lights strung through the trees. On hearing it was in part Gerrard’s work, Lady Tannahay complimented him on the effect. “Quite a magical creation.”

Music drifted out from the ballroom, summoning the dancers. Accompanying them back inside, Lady Tannahay halted and smiled. “Well, we’ve done our part for the evening’s entertainment-Gertie Trewarren should be thoroughly grateful. Now we can give ourselves over to amusement-enjoy the rest of your evening, my dears.”

With a gracious nod, she moved away.

Roger Myles pushed through the crowd; grinning, he bowed before Jacqueline. “My dance, fairest one.”

Jacqueline laughed, and gave him her hand.

Gerrard squeezed the hand that lay on his sleeve and leaned closer to whisper, “Come back to me here at the end of the dance.”

She cast him a glance, but nodded. He let her go, and watched Roger gaily claim her attention.

Deciding such light relief was precisely what she needed-what would most effectively lighten her mood-he retreated to the side of the room. All was going as planned, and Lady Tannahay had turned up trumps for them. Noting the many ladies and gentlemen who glanced appraisingly at Jacqueline, he felt confident their strategy was working; after tonight, no one would credit any tale of Jacqueline being involved in Thomas’s death.

Barnaby rolled up while the dancers were still whirling. “Sir Harvey’s a shrewd one-he grasped all I had to say immediately. Like Jacqueline, they’ve already mourned Thomas. They have other children, and want to see this put to rest for everybody’s sake. In terms of Jacqueline, they’re definitely in our camp. They’ll help in any way they can in learning who’s behind all this.”

Gerrard nodded, his gaze on Jacqueline twirling down the line of dancers.

Beside him, Barnaby surveyed the nondancers, most of whom were of the older generation. “I’d forgotten what it’s like in the country-the discovery of Thomas’s body is the main topic of conversation.” He caught Gerrard’s eye. “I’m going to circulate and see if, using my status as ignorant outsider, I can draw a bead on who’s behind the whispers.”

Gerrard looked back at the dancers. “Do you think there’s any chance that way?”

“I don’t know, but the more I run up against the effects, the more I realize the whispers have been both subtle and very pervasive. Whoever’s behind it, they have access to a large number of ears.”

With that, Barnaby drifted away. The music came to a triumphant end. Laughing, the dancers halted; the lines wavered, then broke up.

Gerrard saw Jacqueline turn and look for him. Roger Myles went up in his estimation by taking her hand and leading her back. Yet she’d barely regained his side before the musicians struck up again, and Giles Trewarren appeared to claim her hand.

He suffered through that dance, but the next was the first waltz. Meeting Jacqueline and Giles at the edge of the dance floor, he claimed Jacqueline’s hand, chatted with Giles until the first squeak of the violins, then swept Jacqueline into his arms and onto the floor the instant the first familiar strains floated out.

And felt something within him ease as the sensation of having her in his arms once more permeated his brain.

They’d revolved four times before Jacqueline caught her breath. Aware of the subtle shushing of the heavy silk of her gown against his coat, the brush of his long legs against her skirts, the intensity of his gaze as he looked down at her, his attention so focused…she dragged in a huge breath, and gave thanks when his eyes remained locked on her face. “You’re very good at this.”

She didn’t just mean waltzing.

The faint curve of his long lips suggested he understood, but all he said in reply was, “So are you.”

Looking up, he whirled them through the turn at the end of the long ballroom, his hand at her back, heated and heavy, drawing her fractionally closer; when they were precessing once more up the room, he looked down at her once more. “You can’t have been dancing all that much in recent times.”

“No.” Eyes locked with his, she thought back. “Not since before Thomas died.”

And even then, never with a partner so assured, so confident in his ability that she could without a qualm resign all control and simply enjoy the moment, the movement, the indefinable energy of the dance.

“I like to waltz.” The admission slipped past her lips without thought.

His eyes held hers. “So do I.”

They’d reached the other end of the ballroom, and an even tighter turn. While others paused and adjusted, he drew her closer still; she sensed his strength as he swept them through and past.

Exhilaration flared, and raced down her veins.

Desire followed, tempted forth by the look in his eyes, by the knowledge of what he was thinking, seeing in his painter’s mind. She studied his eyes, felt herself falling, drowning in the glowing brown-drawn into his vision, under his spell.

A sensual shiver slithered down her spine; her skin flushed, then prickled. Her nipples furled tight. Heat, not from without but within, burgeoned.

“If I dance much more with you, I’ll need to carry a fan.”

He laughed; his eyes glinted. Yet his gaze, to her unscreened, remained passionate and intense, not an invitation but a promise.

A clear statement that between them there would be much more.

She wondered why she wasn’t frightened, not even trepidatious. With him, such emotions had never surfaced, never colored her view of him, or, more particularly, of them. Of what might be…would be, once she agreed.

The music was building to its culmination; his expression grew more serious, his gaze more intense. “Have you decided yet?”

The words were deep, even, but not demanding. More enticing.

“No.” She held his gaze as they swirled to a halt. “But I will. Soon.”

He studied her eyes for an instant longer, then nodded.

Gerrard forced himself to release her. He led her to the side of the dance floor. Her next partner promptly appeared to claim her hand.

He relinquished it with growing reluctance; he would much rather have led her to some private place where he could spend the next hours convincing her to be his. Instead, mindful of his other goal, he danced with other young ladies, and made sure they had as many of the facts regarding Thomas’s death as he felt they could keep straight.

Then Eleanor came up and made it clear she’d saved a dance for him. Ordinarily, he’d have ruthlessly quashed such presumption, but against the risk of giving her even such minor encouragement, he decided to accept, to see, in light of Jacqueline’s appearance tonight, what Eleanor now thought of the circumstances of Thomas’s death.

But Eleanor wasn’t interested in dead bodies. “It’s all so long ago. I’m sure Jacqueline, poor dear, wouldn’t have had anything to do with it, so there’s really nothing more to be said, is there?” Eyes bright, fixed on his face, she tried to press closer, but he prevented it. Lowering her lids, she favored him with a sultry glance. “I’d much rather talk of more exciting things.”

He managed to steer her through the rest of the dance without uttering a blistering setdown; releasing her with relief, he wondered that Lady Fritham-who seemed the usual sort of matron-wasn’t aware of Eleanor’s startlingly improper propensities. He might be doing his best to seduce Jacqueline, yet he was quite certain she was a virgin. Eleanor…there was something in her eyes, a blatantness in her behavior, that left him perfectly certain she’d already dipped her toes in Eros’s fountain.

Normally, he wouldn’t hold that against any lady-he wasn’t such a hypocrite-yet in Eleanor’s salacity there was something that repulsed him, and not just him but Barnaby, too. They hadn’t discussed it; they didn’t need to-one shared glance was enough. Neither felt at all attracted to Eleanor, which was mildly strange as she was physically very beautiful.

The thought had him searching the throng for Jacqueline; the sight of her heading his way lightened his mood, even if she was on Matthew Brisenden’s arm. But Matthew was another who failed to see any attraction in Eleanor; unlike Gerrard, he was open in his disapproval, and Eleanor took herself off.

Gerrard swallowed an impulse to thank Matthew, but did catch his eye and incline his head in approval. The evening continued; increasingly guests moved back and forth between the terrace and the gardens, and the ballroom and reception rooms beyond.

At last, the opening bars of the supper waltz sounded; with real relief-real if hopeful anticipation-Gerrard drew Jacqueline into his arms and started them revolving down the floor.