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“Introduced? Oh, good Lord, what a sweet, little bird you are.” The woman laughed. “There are no introductions here. If you want to speak to somebody, go up to them and introduce yourself—it’s as simple as that. This is my house, and I make the rules. None of this nonsense about having to agree to dance with whoever asks you, or not going to the balcony alone. Pshaw! No, here we can befree. My name is Clara Van De Rio, and I am anactress.”

She struck a pose, laughing.

Emily gawked at her. An actress. Anactress! She was meeting one of those scandalous creatures for the first time!

I can hardly believe it.

Emily remembered her manners, at last. She bobbed a neat, little curtsey. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Van De Rio.”

Clara gave a gurgle of laughter. “Oh, sheisa delight, Your Grace. You were quite right. You may call me Clara, Miss Belmont—everybody does. But come, come, step out of the cold. I daresay you have a good deal of exploring to do.”

They stepped inside, and a wave of heat and noise hit Emily. She almost staggered a little.

“What… What is this place?” she whispered to the duke.

He grinned down at her and held out his hand. He had taken off his glove, so she slipped hers off too before she took his hand.

“You’re about to find out,” he murmured. “Come along, little Miss Belmont. I have a great deal to show you.”

CHAPTER15

“They call it a painter’s party,” the duke said, leading the way through a narrow, gloomy hallway towards an open doorway spilling out light.

His fingers were laced through hers. Emily’s heart thundered.

“Oh, and another thing,” he added over his shoulder. “This is quite an informal gathering. First names only.”

“Does that mean you’ll be calling me Emily?” she asked, mustering a smile.

He grinned at her, his teeth glinting in the gloom. “I was thinking that you might wish to call me Cassian.”

Cassian.

Emily rolled the name around in her mind, savoring it. She’d known, of course, what the duke’s first name was, but using it—even in her head—was another matter.

“I like it,” she found herself saying. “It suits you.”

He chuckled. “Only for tonight, mind you. Then back to formalities.”

“Why, am I to still call youYour Graceonce we are married?”

He stopped dead, turning to face her. “You mean to marry me, then?”

She flushed at her mistake. “I was speaking hypothetically.”

His eyebrows twitched. “Of course.”

He turned and led her into the main room, and she sucked in a sharp lungful of air.

It was a ballroom, she could tell, but it was almost unrecognizable from the ballrooms she was familiar with. The place was full of people wearing a wide array of clothes. A plump, middle-aged man walked by in a velvet, feathered cloak, the hem trailing behind him. A pair of gentlemen scurried by, hand in hand—no, they were not gentlemen, Emily realized in amazement. They wereladies, their hair tucked under worn caps, wearingbreeches.

She saw women and men in ordinary, working-class clothes and more than a few people in gowns and suits as fine as those of any duke or duchess in the land. They all mingled together, talking and laughing at the tops of their voices, mixed drinks in their hands.

There was a pianoforte in a corner, and a gentleman sat there, playing a jaunty song that Emily did not recognize. A pair of women played violins, and a third woman sat at a harp. There were couples dancing nearby, but it was no dance she recognized.

That is, shedidrecognize some of it—it seemed to be part waltz, part jig, and part cotillion, and nobody was paying much attention to the steps. As she watched, a man in a patched waistcoat seized the hands of a woman in a silk gown and swung her around in a fast circle, the two of them hanging onto each other for dear life. She was laughing, her head thrown back, hair streaming down her back.

A lump formed in Emily’s throat.