“No need for apologies. I must say the quiet time worked out for me. Allowed me time to resolve some issues. A quiet walk does wonders, I gather,” he said, chuckling.

It was obvious he was trying to relieve her of the guilt of abandoning him. She had truly been unwell. Having writhed on her bed all night, she had drifted off to a fitful sleep in the early hours of the morning and slept past the time for their meeting.

“I hear the strings of a waltz. What do you say, Miss Burlow? Grant me this dance?” he asked, offering her his hand.

She accepted his hand, smiling widely at him.

As they took their places on the dance floor, he put his hand on her waist, smiled down at her with adoration, and then proceeded to twirl her around in the opening steps of the dance.

Catherine was quite sure she was being selfish in hoarding the man’s attention and affection while she was attracted to someone else. Even while she stood in Lord Livingston’s arms, she could feel the heat of Richard’s gaze on the nape of her neck, and sure enough, when she turned in his direction, the man was watching them with the dark fires of jealousy in his eyes. At first, she had to suppress a shiver of desire, but that feeling quickly transformed into anger.

What right did he have to be jealous when he was the one who rejected her, deeming her unworthy to be his Duchess?

She could never tell what prompted her to do it, but she was suddenly filled with the urge to stoke the fires of his jealousy even further. Turning back to Lord Livingston, she smiled widely at him. Lowering her head, she looked up at him from beneath her lashes, affecting the sultry look that Richard had taught her.

“I don’t think I have mentioned it, My Lord, but you are quite a graceful dancer. Whenever I dance with you, we float across the dance floor. I am confident you can lead us to success every time,” she said in a breathy whisper that Richard assured her made gentlemen lose their heads.

She was gratified when Lord Livingston faltered slightly, and his cheeks darkened with a splash of color.

He cleared his throat. “I thank you for the compliment, Miss Burlow, but,” he said, dropping his voice, “if we are to finish this dance with no incident at all, I think that would be the only compliment I can take for now.”

Now it was Catherine’s turn to blush. She never knew that the Viscount had a mischievous side to him. Maybe because she saw him as a friend, she tended to forget that he was a man too. A virile gentleman at that.

Coughing slightly to hide her flustered state, she gave him a bright smile. “I am sure that I don’t know what you’re speaking of,” she returned, affecting an innocent smile.

The knowing smirk on Lord Livingston’s face told her he did not agree with her, but he was too much of a gentleman to voice that.

She had started this whole situation by making innuendos, and what red-blooded man would not play along when he was interested in the lady in question? Catherine would do well to remember that in her future interactions with the Viscount.

“I think the dance is coming to an end,” she said when she noticed that he was staring intently at her. She recognized that look—hedesiredher.

Sure enough, when the Viscount looked up, the gentlemen were bowing to their partners and leading them off the dance floor.

He turned back to her. “I believe you are right, Miss Burlow.”

He executed a perfect bow, and she curtseyed in return and then took his arm as he led her off the dance floor.

Catherine could still feel Richard’s gaze from across the room, and sure enough, she could see that his expression had turned thunderous. The way he clenched his fist told her that he was on the verge of losing his self-control. That look should have scared her. Instead, her body was flooded with delicious heat. Unconsciously, she waved her fan in an attempt to cool down a little.

“You seem flushed, Miss Burlow.”

She looked up to see Lord Livingston looking at her with concern.

“I’ll get you a drink. A lemonade or sherry, perhaps?”

“Lemonade will be fantastic, My Lord,” she replied, smiling sweetly at him.

With a bow, he strolled away to the refreshments table.

Catherine seriously doubted the lemonade would cool her down, not when she was in close quarters with the source of the heat.

It seemed she was doomed to battle with the heat Richard stirred inside her with no relief in sight.

“Cat,” a whisper came from the ferns along the wall.

She turned around, and sure enough, Emmy was hiding behind a fern, only her face showing off the side of the shrub. With a hand, she beckoned to her.

Looking around to ensure that no one was paying attention to them, Catherine followed her behind the fern. When she reached her, Emmy took her hand, dragging her towards the hallway.