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and there was a perpetual half-smile upon his lips. She felt a surge of dislike. Why hadn’t he gone to Althorp instead? She loathed him, having from the outset realized that he was no friend to her where her pursuit of Rupert Allingham was concerned. Outwardly he was always polite and friendly, but she could never rid herself of the feeling that he was laughing at her behind her back, as if he found her faintly ridiculous. There was, she decided, something rather malevolent about him; it was there in his sharp, incredibly blue eyes and in that irritating, contemptuous curve on his fine lips. He was not a man to trust, for he would always set himself against her. She studied him for a long moment. He was very like his sister in appearance, but there the similarity ended, for where he was sly and untrustworthy, Imogen was all that she could have wished for in a useful friend.
    Nadia’s glance moved over the crowded floor again, seeking out Imogen, who a moment before she had noticed dancing with Guy. She saw them almost in the center of the floor. Imogen wore a primrose silk gown and her red hair was twisted up beneath a dainty gold satin hat from which curved a most elegant ostrich plume. She wore the superb Longhurst pearls, a matching necklace and bracelet of the largest and most perfect pearls imaginable, and she looked eye-catching enough, thought Nadia grudgingly, but she could have looked even better had she had the wit to wear blue. The Longhursts all had such magnificent blue eyes, even the loathsome Edward, and in Nadia’s opinion Imogen revealed a lamentable lack of true fashion sense when she neglected always to emphasize this feature. However, in spite of this failing, she was still undoubtedly one of the loveliest women present, although Nadia’s charity did not extend to allowing her the title of the loveliest, since that was an accolade she accorded to herself alone.
    How handsome and distinguished Guy looked in black velvet, the diamond pin in his intricate cravat sparkling in the warm light. Nadia smiled to herself. He was a man for whom any woman would throw caution to the winds. He had every quality she found desirable in a man: he was titled, more than a little attractive, wealthy, and was possessed of, when he chose, a devastating charm. Her lips pursed in puzzlement as she watched them, for it was a mystery to her how someone as shallow and insincere as Imogen had won the heart of a man like Guy de Lacey. He seemed the sort who would be drawn by a woman’s inner qualities rather than by her looks alone, and yet his choice of bride indicated that looks were after all his sole desire, for Imogen Longhurst had beauty and an infinite capacity for selfish scheming, but precious little else. As Nadia made this detached, disloyal criticism, it did not occur to her that the faults she found in Imogen were just as prevalent in herself.
    * * *
    Imogen didn’t speak as she and Guy danced; indeed she hadn’t spoken to him for some minutes now. She kept her beautiful eyes downcast, and there were telltale spots of angry color on her pale cheeks.
    “How long is this to continue?” he asked suddenly.
    “As long as you persist in your attitude toward Nadia.”
    “I simply don’t like her.”
    “She’s my friend.”
    “I’m fully aware of that, but I still don’t like her. Nor am I best pleased that you’ve invited her and the Lievens to Poyntons in February for our betrothal. The Lievens may be all that society desires at the moment, but they aren’t exactly to my taste.”
    “Are you to choose my friends for me when we’re married? Is that the sort of husband you intend to be?” Her eyes filled with tears.
    His fingers tightened around hers. “Don’t wrong me, you know that there isn’t any truth in that,” he said gently.
    “But you wrong Nadia. Please, Guy, like her for my sake.” She looked imploringly at him, determined to make him do as she wished.
    “Imogen, I love you dearly, but I