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They turned at the end of the Row and Pip left them to greet some others who had gathered there, while they promenaded back.

A dashing woman driving her own phaeton drew up with a flourish of her whip. Her hair was jet black and her eyes bright blue. She wore a coat the same colour as her eyes. She was stunning.

‘Dart,’ she said. ‘Back in Town, is it?’

A faint Irish accent, Pamela thought.

‘I am.’

The woman eyed Pamela up and down and seemed to dismiss her. ‘Call on me tomorrow. I will be at home.’

She cracked her whip and the horses moved off.

‘Who was that?’ she said.

‘Lady Leis.’

‘She is beautiful.’

‘Do you think so?’

His voice was casual. Too casual. Pamela had a strange feeling in her stomach. ‘Is she—?’ She did not know how to phrase it.

He glanced at her face and then back to watching the traffic ahead. ‘Is she what?’

How did one ask such a question?

‘Someone you know...well.’

‘Well enough.’

Now what on earth did that mean? And why would it matter?

Somehow it did. She felt bruised.

Oh, now she was being stupid. They were lovers. No doubt he had other lovers in his past. As she had Alan in hers. And if he had others in his present, why would she be surprised? Had she not seen how men behaved away from their wives while working at the club? Why would she expect him to be any different? Especially since she was not even his wife.

To give it a second’s thought was foolishness. Besides, from his perspective, their relationship was based purely on lust. It would be better if she thought of it that way also. Perhaps that way she could stifle the ache around her heart.

And if she had a twinge of jealousy now, it was because of the other woman’s beauty, not because she had a place in Damian’s life.

‘A penny for your thoughts,’ he said.

Not even if he offered her a hundred pounds would she tell him what she was thinking. ‘I was admiring that woman’s hat,’ she said, nodding towards a lady wearing a high poke bonnet festooned in silk flowers.

He grimaced. ‘I prefer yours.’

And from that she had to draw what little satisfaction she could.

They were almost out of the gate when a town coach cut them off.

Pamela couldn’t see its occupant, because the blinds were drawn down.

She looked at Damian to see what he thought of it.

‘The Duke of Camargue,’ he said softly. ‘I wondered if he would be here today. Excuse me for a moment.’

He handed his reins to the driver of the other coach and climbed inside.