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In a voice that started light and amused then grew more emotional, he said, ‘Miss Leigh, I’d know you anywhere. You could shear off your hair, grime your face with cinders and tear your dress to rags, I would still know it was you.’

Angelica had been holding her breath in disbelief and hope. Her heart was beating out its rhythm, ‘Can this be? Can this be?’ her mind whirling. Is this how it’s always been from the moment I first saw him, imperious in my dressing room? So different from the men who usually congregated there, supplicants for my favours?

He was watching her and she barely managed to say, ‘How so, Mr Asprey?’

He took both her hands and turned to face her. ‘By those witching green eyes, and the particular way you walk. You forget I’ve had to endure two performances of Hamlet when most of your delectable self is revealed to your audience.’ His smile had some of the roguery of his reckless youth.

This broke the tension between them. ‘Just when I thought you were being uncharacteristically charming, you remind me of being dishabille on stage.’ She laughed.

Then the thought of her disreputable profession quelled her ecstatic spirit, how it disqualified her from the life of acceptance and belonging for which she had begun to yearn. Her head sank with recognition of society’s prescriptions.

Sensing Angelica’s loss of heart, Mr Asprey put a finger under her chin and lifted her face. ‘You are so lovely, even with that ridiculous blue hair. I’m very close to breaking all the rules of gentlemanly etiquette and kissing you, Miss Leigh.’ He closed his eyes as if summoning his strength of resistance. ‘Knowing you has broken the constraints on my wilder self, but if I’m to get anything done in this world I have to rein in that undisciplined youth.’ He smiled and in a businesslike manner took Angelica’s hand and tucked it into his arm. ‘Come, I think we shouldn’t give any cause for gossip. Would you honour me by being my partner in the next dance? I think I can hear the strains of a waltz.’

They emerged from the orangery to the dazzling show of dancers pairing off and readying for the first waltz of the evening. This was still a new and daring dance and the excitement in the room was palpable. Angelica’s heart was hammering so hard she feared her whole body vibrated. Mr Asprey took her in his arms as the music swung into the one-two-three, one-two-three. Although there was the required gap between their bodies as they danced in a straight line, when he led her into a turn he pulled her closer to his hip so that they moved fluidly as one. It was thrilling to feel his warmth radiating through her dress, the strength of his shoulders rippling under her hand, the muscle in his waist contracting as he whirled her into a spin; Angelica feared she would swoon if his arms were not holding her close. They did not speak. She glanced up into his face and met his blue eyes that had softened and deepened, his pupils large and black.

As the music came to an end they stood for a moment, unwilling to separate. He dropped his head and whispered in her ear, ‘You so enchant my senses, Miss Leigh, you make me reckless. You are my nephew’s intended inamorata and not mine to claim.’ They both looked across at where Dante Locke and Lord Latimer were laughing with Miss Fitzjames.

‘I think his fever for me may have passed,’ Angelica said without emotion. She realised now how Mary had been trying to warn her about the growing closeness between her two friends. ‘While I was ill, he and Miss Fitzjames were united in concern and saw much of each other.’

‘And how do you feel about that, Miss Leigh?’

‘I have never really succumbed to that conceit. I just objected to being told by you and his mother that I was not worthy to be his bride.’

‘You are a proud and ardent woman. When I first met you and saw your spirit it was the beginning of my restless sleep.’

‘While you have had the temerity to ask me about my romantic life, may I ask you about Lady Linus?’

His face clouded. ‘I have been remiss. Working such long hours, I didn’t address her belief that she mattered more to me than she did. This is my fault and guilt.’

‘Your daughter told me she would run away from home if you married her.’

He laughed. ‘And I suppose she was determined I should marry you?’

‘That might have been part of her plan.’ Angelica coloured. ‘Of course I told her that being an actress quite disqualified me.’

‘I don’t think that’s for you to decide, Miss Leigh.’ Mr Asprey surreptitiously slipped off her glove and kissed the naked palm of her hand.

This caught Angelica quite unawares. He had done it before with the same electrifying effect. She shivered with a sharp intake of breath. ‘Mr Asprey!’

‘Yes, Miss Leigh?’ He looked up with a question in his eyes. ‘You must know by now just how dangerous I find your beauty.’ Angelica looked away, uncertain if Mr Asprey would only ever offer her an arrangement like Lord Rackham’s, or indeed the more benign protection Mr Breville extended to her mother. He was immediately serious again. ‘Now I must leave you with your friends while I go and pay court to my sister.’

They walked up to Lord Latimer whose eyes widened at sight of his uncle. ‘You’re here! I thought you had too much work to do, saving the factory tots from wicked mill-owners. But you couldn’t keep away from a good party, could you, Uncle?’

The orchestra struck up again and a merry Scottish reel drew everyone back to the dance floor once more. The prancing, leaping, clapping and laughing had become more exaggerated as the night wore on and alcohol lubricated the young men and high spirits loosened the young women’s manners and decorum. Angelica was faltering with tiredness after such an emotional evening and admired the tireless energy of the dancers and musicians as they played on into the dawn. Mr Asprey had disappeared to see to some problem in the stables and Mr Locke, Lord Latimer and Isobel Fitzjames went in search of food when Angelica began to think longingly of bed. She turned towards the orangery to await their return when a tall, imposing woman of middle years approached her.

‘Madam, wait a moment!’ Her voice was peremptory. Angelica turned to be confronted by a woman dressed as Queen Elizabeth in a great lace ruff and an elaborate pearl-embellished mask hiding most of her creased powdery face. Her eyes glittered.

‘That’s a very fine necklace,’ she said in a voice that was accusatory rather than conversational.

Angelica put a hand to her throat. ‘I thank you, madam. It’s my grandmother’s. I’m very lucky to have it.’

‘I don’t think luck has much to do with it. Or your grandmother, if it comes to that.’ The stranger did not take her eyes off the stones. ‘I am certain it is mine.’ Her voice rose in indignation. ‘Look at the clasp! I think you’ll find my initials in emeralds and sapphires.’

Angelica felt panic rise in her throat. This was worse than anything she had feared or even imagined. Her hands flew protectively to cover the necklace as she stuttered, ‘My father gave it to me. It was his mother’s.’

The lady’s outraged voice had summoned a small crowd and emboldened by her audience she put out a hand and in one deft tug wrenched the necklace from Angelica’s throat. She held it aloft triumphantly. ‘Look! My monogram on the clasp. This was stolen from me at gunpoint on the highway between Newbury and Hungerford some twelve years ago.’

A cold horror crept up Angelica’s spine. Had her father lied to her yet again and the necklace was not his to give? An even more heinous thought assailed her, that her father had been that highwayman, armed and dangerous, a crime that carried the death sentence. Perhaps he was even involved in a murder? With a cry she extricated herself from the accusing crowd and ran across the parterre where knots of people were conversing, coquetting and playing at love. Soon she felt the grass under her feet and the dark gardens stretched before her, the torches burning low. She could not bear the shame of being accused of theft; she dare not yet face what this revealed about her father.