She took a moment to scan the room. It was an intimate affair with no more than fifty people, and she didn’t see a single scoundrel amongst them. Pembridge must have made a last minute decision not to come.

She fought an unladylike frown as she made her way to the refreshments table. She might as well try to eat something. It might calm her stomach, and give her time to concoct an excuse for leaving early.

Baba au rhum and cream puffs with chocolate shavings. If anything, she could not fault Mrs. Talbot’s cook. The simple desserts tasted delicious, and she made quick work of savoring every last bite. Her own cook seemed to overthink food and ended up with an overly complicated art exhibit rather than something edible.

“Perhaps you will accept another plateful before all is eaten?”

Céleste startled and whirled to face the rumble intruding on her thoughts. Any excuse for leaving she might have formed was lost completely when she nearly collided into the scoundrel’s chest.

“I understand there is a new guest present who is devouring all the sweets,” Pembridge added, grinning down at her.

He was dressed to perfection in gray trousers, a light blue silk waistcoat, a perfectly snowy cravat, and a dark blue superfine coat. The man dressed as though he was born for high fashion, yet he seemed to fit in effortlessly with this crowd. Perhaps it was that wolfish smile he was always sporting, which was boyish when it was tired of being wolfish. For him, smiling must be a chronic affliction.

Céleste stepped back, bumping her thighs into the table. “Pardon?”

“Another plate?” Pembridge smiled—boyishly today—as he proffered a plate piled with sweet desserts and truffles, all of which looked incredibly delicious to Céleste.

“Are you intimating I overindulge?” she asked, licking her lips to make sure there was no lingering chocolate. That would be too humiliating to endure.

His carefree chuckle rumbled over her, sending tingly sensations over her suddenly over-warm body. She hid her reaction with a raised brow.

“I intimate nothing. I say precisely what I mean,” he said, still grinning. “And what I said sounded awfully generous of me. Charming, even.”

“Indeed,” she returned flatly.

“I am glad you agree. Besides, the last time you made me think I said the wrong thing, you were toying with me. I shall not fall prey to your games a second time.”

“You did say the wrong thing.” She frowned as she accepted the plate. “Thank you.”

He picked up another plate and loaded it with cucumber sandwiches.

After taking a large bite and managing to consume it with a grace Céleste was jealous of, he added, “Now, what is Lady Dumonte doing at a humble gathering such as this?”

“I cannot meet new people?” she challenged.

He leveled her with an amused and suspicious expression. “You have not spoken with a single person here, have you?”

“What do you mean? Of course I have!”

“The hostess doesn’t count.”

“It is really none of your business,” she muttered.

“Perhaps,” he said after a disconcerting moment of studying her. “It could be because you have not had the opportunity. Allow me to begin introductions.”

“No, I—”

“Oh, it shall not be dull,” he assured her. “I know everyone. All sorts: tailors, bankers, merchants. Madame Roux used to be a proper madame before she found religion.” He pointed to a large woman with a gaudy red dress and purple plumes sticking out from her coiffure. “Now, she could spend hours with you, explaining the mysterious ways of the Father and redemption for the fallen woman.”

“No—”

“Oh,” he interrupted with understanding. “Not exactly familiar with your priest, are you? Well, we can probably cut it short. Only an hour or two.”

Céleste shook her head worriedly.

“Yes.” He nodded, glancing about the room. “We should be able to make our way around the room by the end of the night. However, we had best leave Madame Roux for last,” he warned as he turned with her in tow.

“Wait!”

With raised brows, he turned back to her and waited. So did a few others within a rather large radius.

“I need to speak with you,” she said reluctantly.

“With me?” He pointed to his chest in mock surprise. “You came to a small parlor assembly simply to speak with me?”

Was he trying to humiliate her? Some had turned away, but many were watching as though they were putting on a performance, and he certainly seemed to be!

When she nodded very slightly, he dropped the act and smiled.

“I am astonished. Honored, but astonished. Normally, I would assume the lady is after a paramour, but our last attempt did not go so well, and I am afraid my pride could not take the chance of failing a second round. Not to mention, it is widely known that you have not taken a lover since…” He puffed his cheeks out on an exhale, looking up toward the ceiling and squinting as though he were searching for an elusive memory. Then he looked back at her expectantly.

“Really, you are too much,” she ground out.

He raised his brows.

“I have never taken a lover,” she muttered with a slight blush. “Nor do I have need of one.”

“Uh-huh,” he said quietly. “So, what do you want with me, Lady Dumonte?”

“Is there somewhere we might speak more freely?”

“I am afraid not. You shan’t find as much as a mop closet without ears.”

“Then perhaps you would call on me tomorrow,” she said doggedly.

“Lady Dumonte,” Pembridge began patiently, “thank you for the generous invitation to your ball. It was lovely, and the game we played was… interesting. But that is all over now. You are still the paragon Lady Dumonte, and I am still the scoundrel you want eradicated from your assembly rooms. Now, if you will excuse—”

“I thought you wanted to stay in Paris,” she interrupted with a challengingly raised brow.

Pembridge paused mid-bow.

“It would be difficult to remain after the invitations and credit have dried up. It might even be a challenge finding a decent game of cards.”

His eyes narrowed at the thinly veiled threat as he straightened; his smile fading as he studied her.

“Shall we speak now, Lord Pembridge?” she asked, all sweetness. “Have you suddenly recalled a deaf closet nearby?”

“Indeed. If you would follow me?” he offered with a glaringly disingenuous yet still somehow charming smile. His eyes had lost their warmth and hardened, giving Céleste a strange, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had never seen blue eyes actually look cold.

Still, Céleste nodded, and he guided her by her elbow across the room. They weaved through several small groups of men and women deep in conversation while Pembridge dipped his chin in acknowledgement to the few who noticed him passing by.

Once they left the parlor, they walked down a long hall, through an unlit room, through another adjoining unlit room, and out onto a small balcony at the back of the house.

Céleste glanced around the small space, purposely keeping her eyes off the giant figure taking up far too much of the balcony. It could not have been more than three feet wide and five feet long, but she was not about to crush her skirts against the balustrade from attempting to keep a proper distance.