‘Then won’t you grant me this dance?’ He held out a hand to her. Rosa lifted her own gloved fingers to his and smiled.

‘I would be—’

‘I regret,’ a voice cut in, and they both turned, ‘that will not be possible. Miss Greenwood is promised to me.’

It was Sebastian. Her heart gave a strange little skipping beat at the sight of him. If Mr Rokewood looked younger in evening clothes, then Sebastian looked older. Perhaps she had grown used to the Sebastian she encountered out riding – this Sebastian was different. His face above the snowy-white cravat and coal-black tailcoat was severely handsome, and his eyes looked bluer than ever, blazingly blue, the pupils pricks of darkness in their arctic cold. His dark-blond hair had been cropped close to his skull.

Mr Rokewood let his hand drop and Sebastian put out his own, and took Rosa’s outstretched fingers. He bowed his head, kissing her gloved knuckles and, as before, she felt his fingers graze the soft naked skin at the inside of her wrist, where the glove button gaped. The touch sent a shiver through her, a mingled coldness and heat that went deep inside, to her core. When his eyes met hers, she could not look away.

‘Rosa, may I have this dance?’

‘I . . .’ She swallowed. It was hot in the ballroom and her cheeks flushed. She felt fierce and afraid all at the same time. ‘Mr Rokewood . . .’

‘Not at all.’ The young man gave a rueful laugh and shook his head. ‘Had I known you were promised for this dance I would never have presumed. Perhaps later, Miss Greenwood?’

‘Miss Greenwood has promised all her dances to me, is that not right?’ Sebastian looked at her, and his lips curved in a perfect smile, his rare true smile that could pierce to the heart.

‘I . . .’ Rosa said again.

Mr Rokewood gave a bow.

‘In that case there is nothing for me to do but beg your pardon, Miss Greenwood. And congratulate Mr Knyvet on his good fortune, of course.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Rosa said. But he was already gone, disappearing into the thick crowd, one tall dark stranger among a hundred others.

Sebastian took her hand.

‘Rosa, I’m sorry for being so high-handed. But I couldn’t help myself. Perhaps it was realizing how close I came to losing you at the hunt. Will you grant me this dance?’

She hesitated. In her head she could hear Mama and Clemency and Alexis all hissing Yes! like a ghostly chorus.

And then she thought of kind Mr Rokewood, with his rueful smile and soft dark eyes.

Another voice inside her, she was not sure whose, whispered, How dare Sebastian?

Perhaps Sebastian read the struggle in her eyes, for his face softened and he said, very humbly, ‘Please, Rosa?’

She felt again that strange, pummelled, tumbled feeling that Sebastian gave her, as if she had been battered tender by a great fall, as if her bones and muscles had been shaken sore and soft.

‘Yes,’ she said at last.

He nodded, but he did not lead her on to the dance floor. Instead he stood, searching her face with his eyes, as if looking for something.

‘What is it?’ she asked at last. There was something discomforting about his gaze. It made her feel exposed, almost dissected.

‘I heard what happened.’

‘Cherry is dead.’ Rosa felt the grief rise in her throat, choking her, but she swallowed it back. She would not cry – not here, not in front of Sebastian.

‘I don’t give a damn about Cherry. You.’ His fingers tightened on hers, fingers that could curb a horse, restrain a dog, that could hurt as well as caress. ‘I blame myself. I should have seen you had a proper escort, not that fool of an outwith.’

‘It wasn’t his fault—’

‘No. It was mine. You should have had someone who knew the lie of the land, knew that bridge wasn’t safe, someone with the power to protect you.’

‘Luke rescued me—’

‘It was sheer luck! What if it had been worse? What if you’d been seriously hurt? What could he have done without magic, without any power to help?’

Rosa bit her lip.

‘Sebastian, you’re hurting me.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He released his grip. ‘I was just . . . Please be more careful, Rosa. You ride as if you were immortal. Don’t you fear anything?’

‘Of course I do!’ The words came before she had considered them.

‘Really? What?’

A thousand answers hovered on Rosa’s tongue. Alex in a temper. The flat of Mama’s hand. Losing Matchenham. Being alone.

You, she thought.

Instead the words came unbidden to her tongue, almost a surprise to herself, even as her hand went to touch the locket at her throat.

‘Losing the ones I love.’

‘And who do you love?’

‘Cherry. My father.’

‘They are gone,’ he said, his voice brutal in its casual statement of the truth. ‘Who do you love now?’

She knew she should say Mama, Alexis . . . She set her jaw.

‘I love them still.’

‘You cannot cling to the past, to death.’

They were at the edge of the dance floor and, as the first notes of the next dance rang out, he took her hand, guiding it to his shoulder, and touched her, very lightly, at the waist.

‘Sebastian – I don’t know the steps.’

‘This is a waltz. You must know how to waltz, don’t you?’

‘I’ve never learnt,’ she said desperately.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll guide you. Follow my lead.’

He was as good as his word. As the music swelled out, Rosa felt him grip her, with that lean deceptive strength hidden beneath his faultlessly tailored evening dress. And his magic gripped her too.

‘What are you doing?’ she whispered as she felt her feet begin to move, irresistibly, in time with the music.

‘They are all our kind,’ he whispered back. ‘Not an outwith in the room, I promise. Stop fighting me, Rosa. Trust yourself to me.’

She thought of Luke, of his rough cockney voice, close to her in the darkness, describing Sebastian’s magic.

Knyvet’s is black, like smoke.

She imagined his magic swirling around, encompassing them both, twisting her and turning her to the sound of the music, mingling with her own red-gold fire into a blaze that would engulf her.

‘Rosa, you are magnificent.’ Sebastian’s voice, close to her ear. His hand on her waist, guiding her, until she could almost believe him. She could do this. She could.

She closed her eye and let the music consume her along with his will, giving herself to the dance and Sebastian’s arms.

As the waltz ended on a last triumphant chord he pulled her close and she felt the lean, hard strength of his muscles beneath the evening jacket. His lapel was silk-smooth against her cheek and she breathed the scent of him – the spice of cologne and the bitterness of smoke. The last strains of the music faded and she waited for the hubbub of voices to take its place – but there was nothing, only the sound of her own fast breathing and Sebastian’s heart.

Rosa opened her eyes, wondering how the room had become so silent, so fast.

They were not in the ballroom.

They were in the conservatory at the back of the house. There was no way they could have danced there. Sebastian must have used his magic to take them there and she had not even noticed. Rosa pulled back from his grip. She shivered at the sudden realization of his power.

‘Why are we here?’ she whispered. Her voice was loud in the silence, echoing off the vaulted glass ceiling. ‘Why have you brought me here?’

The room was in darkness, save for the light from the stars above them showing through the glass roof and the cold white moonlight. The moon was almost full, and its beam made strange shadows of the palms and exotic plants, turning the stone-flagged floor into a maze of black and white stripes and shards. They were quite alone. Faint, faint strains of music drifted from the faraway ballroom. There was no one who would hear her if she cried out.

‘Don’t look so frightened,’ Sebastian said. His face was pale in the darkness, the shadows beneath his cheekbones sharp and stark. He smiled. ‘You look at me as if I were a wolf sometimes, Rosa, and you Little Red Riding Hood. I won’t eat you, you know.’

His fingers were cold and very strong.

‘Rosa, I brought you here because something happened this weekend. When I heard news of your accident I realized – I couldn’t . . .’ He stopped and swallowed. Rosa held her breath. This was not the Sebastian she knew, the smooth, polished Sebastian carved of marble. It was a strange, new, hesitant Sebastian, whose fingers gripped hers with painful intensity.

‘I love you, Rosa,’ he said. He looked up at her, his blue eyes almost as pale as his face. ‘I realize that now. I cannot lose you. I will not lose you. Rosa . . .’

He knelt on the stone flags. His hair in the moonlight was almost white, ash white. Rosa’s heart began to beat very hard and very fast. This is it, she thought. Dear God.

‘Rosa Greenwood, will you marry me?’

For better.

For worse.

Matchenham.

Freedom.

Oh God.

Silence. Silence apart from her beating heart and shuddering breath. Sebastian said nothing, he only knelt, his head bowed submissively, waiting for her answer. Rosa hoped for him to say something – as if his reaction would give her a clue about what to do. But he said nothing. There was no way out.

‘I . . .’ Rosa whispered. ‘I don’t – I . . .’

Sebastian did not move. She clenched her hands, trying to stop herself from trembling. She had no idea what to say – no idea what to do.