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Lord Purfoy may be grateful that the almost supernaturally gifted Taz had deigned to stay on as his tiger, despite the blandishments to stray to even grander equine establishments, but he never feared his valet would be inveigled to serve a different master: John’s admiration was for Lord Purfoy alone.

To practise his craft to the highest levels he needed a fine figure of a man to dress; he felt honoured to have such a distinguished example of manhood as his lordship, with his broad shoulders, lean physique and elegant long limbs.

Lord Purfoy was the Olympian ideal whose refined muscularity showed off superbly crafted coats, pantaloons and breeches to greatest advantage.

His long shapely calves needed no padding and looked elegant in either top boots or silk stockings.

His lordship’s servants took pride in the fact that their master so thoroughly put his peers in the sartorial shade.

Shrugging into his greatcoat, he placed his curly-brimmed hat on his head, grabbed an umbrella and walked into the stormy night to climb into his chaise, brought round from the mews by Taz.

Lord Purfoy arrived late at the Bassett mansion and as he entered the wide hallway, he paused.

Candlelight, usually so diffuse and soft, here, through force of numbers, multiplied a hundredfold in the reflections of windows, and mirrors dazzled the eye.

The orchestra resonated through the vast room and a young woman was singing Handel’s aria, ‘Ombra mai fu’. All his senses were heightened.

Lady Bassett claimed him, delight suffusing her haughty features. ‘My dear Lord Purfoy, how glad I am that you could come.’

He kissed her hand, meeting her calculating eyes with a half-smile. ‘How could I consider missing such a celebrated gala?’

The grand hostess, who could subdue armies with one cold glance, was almost skittish in his presence.

He bowed and proceeded into the room. His eye had alighted on Alick Wolfe, taller than most, leaning against a pillar talking to Ferdy Shilton, distinctive in silver.

As he approached his old friends his eyes were searching the crowd – for people he knew, he told himself – but really only for Miss Gray.

Corinna caught him by the arm. ‘Rav! How good to see you. I thought you’d think better of it once you saw the weather.’

He bent and kissed her on the cheek. ‘You are as beautiful as ever, my dear.’

‘Well then you’ll have to break your habit and dance with me.’

Lord Purfoy smiled. ‘All my habits are broken,’ he smiled ruefully.

Corinna suspected the main culprit in this destruction and said, ‘Miss Gray seems to be very much restored to health,’ pointing her out dancing a waltz in Zadoc Flynn’s arms.

Purfoy caught sight of Eliza’s flaxen head in the swirl of dancers.

She was turned away and her back appeared to be almost naked, covered only by the tracery of lace.

Once again he felt jolted by the sight of her in such unexpected dress.

He turned to Corinna. ‘That’s quite a surprising gown, Cory; I know it’s your gift and I hold you responsible for inflaming the young gentlemen in her vicinity. ’

Corinna bridled. ‘It’s the new fashion from Paris. To the cognoscenti it’s not alluring at all, just the height of elegance.’

‘Well, my dear, I commend you for its style and refinement but to a gentleman of lively imagination, it is a good deal more.’ His tone was full of raillery but as he watched Eliza being steered rather inexpertly around the floor by Mr Flynn’s meaty arm, he wanted it to be his hand on her slender back, and was shocked by such an unwelcome thought.

* * *

Eliza had been grateful that Mr Flynn was her partner for her first waltz in public.

They had learned the dance together in their lessons with Mrs Wilson and understood each other’s roles.

She felt entirely comfortable in his broad embrace; there was something unexpectedly exciting about being in the arms of a large strong man who felt utterly dependable and safe.

They were managing quite well, she thought, and congratulated him; he only trampled her once, their turns were thrilling and they managed not to crash into any other dancers.

Mr Flynn was in a fine mood. ‘This is grander than any soirée I’ve been to in New York.’

Eliza asked him, ‘Do you still intend to bring Miss Bowman to the ball?’

‘Why? Are you still concerned I shouldn’t?’

‘It’s just that I too am an outsider to Society and am ignorant of the complexity of its conventions. I fear all kinds of haughtiness and false pride rule.’

‘Well, it doesn’t bother me. I’m just a beef-witted colonial, after all.’ He smiled his big grin. ‘But I’ll tell you one secret, Miss Gray. I’m entering Ohio in the Owner’s Race at Epsom. But you’re not to say a word.’

This news made Eliza uneasy. She knew this race was held in such high esteem by the Corinthians who fancied themselves the best horsemen in England with the most magnificent horses money could buy.

At this point she scanned the room, looking for the most famous Corinthian of them all, and yet was taken aback to see him there at last. Lord Purfoy had arrived and was talking to Mrs Wolfe.

Eliza could no longer concentrate on her steps and apologised to Mr Flynn.

‘I’m sorry, sir, may we stop now and collect some refreshment? ’

He bowed and escorted her to the room where burgundy, brandy, lemonade and ale were on offer, alongside small sweet and savoury pastries.

Mr Flynn was congratulating her and himself for a fine first waltz when Eliza sensed the atmosphere in the room change.

Her back was to the door and she feared she was deluded by her own longing and dared not look round.

Then a tall figure appeared at her elbow.

A cloud crossed Mr Flynn’s face as Lord Purfoy nodded to him in greeting and put out his hand to Eliza.

‘You’ve come!’ she blurted out.

He smiled. ‘I’ve kept my word. I have a long-held prejudice against prancing round a ballroom floor, but I promised you a dance and am not in the habit of breaking my promises.’

Taking her leave of Mr Flynn, Eliza placed her hand on Raven Purfoy’s arm and allowed him to escort her back into the ballroom.

Such had been the clamour from the younger dancers for another waltz that the orchestra began with a piano-forte introduction.

Everyone took their positions in a circle and as the orchestra joined the melody, Lord Purfoy placed his arm with great decorum lightly on her waist and she rested her hand on his shoulder.

Being in such close proximity to him was a completely different experience from dancing with Mr Flynn.

Eliza wondered if this perturbation she felt in his arms was just her imagination.

It was as if the atmosphere in the room was charged with the volatile turbulence of a coming storm.

They began the steps, formal at first, with physical distance between them.

They did not speak but their eyes met and she found it difficult to look away.

The music sped up and the couples were necessarily in a closer embrace as they twirled across the floor.

Eliza was dizzy and smiled into his face.

‘Lord Purfoy, you assert you don’t dance but you do it so well!

’ He did not respond in his usual sarcastic way and his expression remained set, his eyes narrowed.

He pulled her firmly to his hip as he took her into a fast turn, and then an extra twirl.

She felt the muscles in his waist and thigh and his shoulders tense under her hand.

She was reminded of his power and strength and her eyes widened with the almost unbearable pulsation of energy between them.

He had danced them into the shadowy embrasure of a window and they stopped, both breathless.

Eliza was struck how candlelight revealed so much because its flickering light illuminated so little.

In its luminous halo, all things shone with significance and around it waved the encroaching dark.

All she was aware of was Lord Purfoy’s face gleaming above her, a strange daredevilry in his eyes.

His arm was still firmly round her waist and her dizziness made her cling to him.

To Eliza’s astonishment, he suddenly buried his face in her hair and said with such quiet intensity she could barely hear, ‘ Tu m’enivres. ’

She was shocked by the emotion in his words and had to know what he meant, asking, ‘I’m not educated like you, my lord. Tell me again.’

‘You intoxicate me.’ His voice was almost a moan.

So heightened was the moment and so unexpected his utterance that she found herself lifting her face to him as if for a kiss.

His whole being seemed anguished and struggling for control.

He gazed unseeingly out at the tempestuous dark as he said, ‘It may be the stormy air, or that dress, or a fever upon me, but I’m so close to breaking every code I have lived by and running off with you into the night.

’ His brilliant eyes then met her startled gaze as he cried, ‘What have you done to me, Miss Gray? Art thou some enchantress? To so fill my dreams with you…’

A small explosion in her heart made her stand very still, trying to take in the true meaning of words she never thought she would hear from his lips.

Lord Purfoy released her. His eyes were as shocked as hers and he abruptly led her back to Corinna who was sitting on a sofa between the windows in desultory talk with an acquaintance.

By then his lordship had recovered his composure and said with his usual drawl, ‘Thank you, Miss Gray, for your charming company. Now it’s off to the card room for a game or two.

’ She watched his elegant back weave through the crowd, and felt bereft.