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a healthy respect for his tongue. She had seen him give more than one unlucky offender a blistering set-down, for affronts much slighter than hers, and she had expected something of that sort herself.
    But to her amazement, Stonenden seemed to blot out the incident entirely. She had seen him again, of course—it was inevitable that she should, in the small world of London society—and she was astonished to find that he acted just the same. He asked her to stand up with him and chatted at parties as if nothing unusual had passed between them. Indeed, he seemed, if anything, more amused by her company. To Katharine, this had appeared a further example of his utter disregard for others. She had no idea what he felt about their changed relation, but she did know that he cared nothing for her embarrassment and awkwardness. This had made the whole affair much worse. She could not have endured it for any length of time, but, soon after, she had left the country with her father, never thinking of Stonenden again until this moment.
    The memory fading, Katharine looked up, again wondering what thoughts passed behind those inscrutable dark blue eyes. It was no good asking him, of course. He would not say, and he would take malicious amusement in her curiosity. It was not worth thinking about. Smiling slightly, she shook her head. “In that case, my best defense is to refuse to be angry, is it not? So, I am all compliance.” Her smile broadened with false sweetness.
    â€œBravo! Still an opponent worth one’s steel, I see.”
    But Katharine had abruptly ceased to attend and was looking over her partner’s shoulder with a frown. Her expression held such unmistakable concern that he glanced quickly back to see what she was looking at. “What is it?” he asked.
    â€œWhat?” answered Katharine, clearly distracted.
    â€œWhom are you watching with such a black look? I pity the poor soul from the bottom of my heart.”
    Katharine sniffed. She wished there were some grounds for pity, but she had been looking at Tom Marchington waltzing with the Countess Standen, holding her much closer than was customary or proper, and though she could easily believe that her look had been black, she was only too aware that the countess had nothing to fear from her. She continued to gaze at them, and Lord Stonenden now isolated the subject of her stare. “Are you wondering at Elise Standen’s new flirt? We all are, I promise you. He is quite the country bumpkin, and not at all in her usual style.”
    The condescending amusement in his voice so infuriated Katharine that she snapped, “That country bumpkin happens to be newly married to my cousin!” As soon as she said it, she could have bitten her tongue in irritation. After urging Elinor to be discreet, she herself had just exposed the whole matter to one of the most sardonic critics in the ton .
    â€œAh,” replied Lord Stonenden. “So that’s it, is it?”
    Katharine struggled to cover up her slip. “Yes, isn’t it amusing? He is indulging in a bit of light flirtation, quite unlike him. My cousin is delighted to find he has such skill.” She looked down as she finished, her excuse sounding lame even in her own ears.
    â€œIs she?” answered her partner dryly. “What an unusual girl she must be, to be sure.”
    Katharine raised her eyes and tried to frame some light reply.
    â€œOh, for God’s sake, don’t look so stricken,” he said. “I promise not to tell anyone what you have said, if that is what you are worried about. Do you think me a gossip too?”
    Katharine was too surprised to answer him, and at that moment the music ended and they were surrounded by couples moving to the edge of the floor. Lord Stonenden escorted her to a chair and was about to speak when they were joined by Lady Eliza Burnham.
    â€œKatharine!” she said. “The very person I wanted. I must speak to