His Lordship was known as the most lavish and thoughtful host of fashionable society. He served superlative food, prepared by a dozen French cooks, and wines from a vast cellar. There was music in every room; gambling-tables were piled with gold; candles burned by the thousand. The house swarmed with earls and dukes and knights, countesses and duchesses and ladies, and to the casual eye everything seemed most decorous. Satin-gowned ladies curtsied and smiled over spread fans, brocade-suited gentlemen bowed from the waist with a flourishing sweep of their hats. Voices were low and conversation apparently polite.

But in fact they were gleefully at work destroying one another’s characters. The men, as they stood watching a pretty woman, boasted that they had laid with her, discussed her physical defects and compared her behaviour in bed. The women yanked reputations apart with equal or greater vigour. Darkened bedrooms all over the house sheltered couples seeking a temporary refuge. In some obscure corner a Maid of Honour was lifting her skirts to let the gallants decide whether her legs were as pretty as another’s, squealing and giggling when they ventured to employ their hands too boldly. One of the fops had sneaked a girl from Madame Bennet’s into the house under the guise of mask and cloak and she was performing for several young men and women somewhere behind locked doors.

Arlington never interfered with his guests but let each amuse himself according to his own tastes.

At seven o’clock, the night being still young and most of the guests sober as well as curious, they were gathered in the main drawing-room and keeping one eye at least on the new arrivals. They were waiting for two women who had not yet come: the Duchess of Ravenspur, and Lady Carlton. Her Ladyship—whom almost no one had seen—was rumoured to be the greatest beauty ever to appear in England, though opinions on this score were already strong and divided. Many of the women, at least, were prepared to decide the moment she arrived that she was by no means as beautiful as had been reported. And the Duchess of Ravenspur, no doubt from fear that her Ladyship would outshine her, was expected to do something spectacular in order to save herself.

“How I pity her Grace,” said one languid young lady. “It runs through the galleries she lives in terror now of losing what she has. Gad, but it must be a bothersome thing to be great.”

Her companion smiled with lips pressed together. “Is that why you never climbed the ladder?—for fear of falling off?”

“I don’t care a fig for Lady Carlton or what she looks like,” commented a thin young fop who kept his hands busy with manipulating a woman’s fan, “but I’ll be her slave if she can put the Duchess’s nose out of joint. That damned woman has grown intolerable since his Majesty gave her a duchy. I used to lace her busk for her when she was only a scurvy player—but now every time we’re presented she makes a show of never having seen me before.”

“It’s her vulgar breeding, Jack. What else can you expect?”

A voice like a trumpet interrupted them. “Her Grace, the Duchess of Ravenspur!”

Every eye in the room swept toward the door—but only the usher stood there alone beside it. They waited for an impatient moment or two and then, with her head held high and a kind of fierce challenging pride on her face, the Duchess came into view and slowly walked through the doorway toward them. A wave of shock and amazement swept along before her. Heads spun, eyes popped and even King Charles turned on his heel where he was talking to Mrs. Wells and stared.

Amber came on imperturbably, though it seemed all her insides were quaking. She heard some of the older women gasp and saw them set their mouths sternly, square their shoulders and fix upon her their hard reproving glares. She heard low whistles from the men, saw their eyebrows go up, their elbows reach out to nudge one another. She saw the young women looking at her with anger and indignation, furious that she had dared to take such an advantage of them.

Suddenly she relaxed, convinced that she was a success. She was hoping that Bruce and Corinna were there somewhere to have seen her triumph.

Then, almost at once, she became aware that Almsbury was just at her side. She looked at him, a faint smile touching the corners of her mouth, but something she saw in his eyes made her expression freeze suddenly. What was it? Disapproval? Pity? Something of both? But that was ridiculous! She looked stunning and she knew it.

“Holy Christ, Amber,” he murmured, and his eyes went swiftly down over her body.

“Don’t you like it?” Her eyes hardened a little as she looked up at him and even in her own ears her voice took on a confident brassy sound that was part bravado.

“Yes, of course. You look gorgeous—”

“But aren’t you cold?” interrupted a feminine voice, and turning swiftly Amber found Mrs. Boynton beside her, looking her over with feline insolence.

Another voice, a man’s this time, came from her other side. “Ods-fish, madame. But this is the greatest display that ever I’ve seen in public since I was weaned.” It was the King, lazy, smiling, obviously amused.

Amber felt suddenly as if she had been hurt inside.

She turned sick with a feeling of horror and self-disgust. What have I done! she thought. Oh, my God! what am I doing out here half undressed?

Her eyes swept round the room and every face she saw was secretly smiling, covertly sneering at her. All at once she felt like the person in a dream who sets out confidently to go uptown stark naked, gets halfway there and then realizes his mistake. And, like the dreamer, she wished passionately that she were back home where no one could see her—but to her wild dismay she realized that this time she was caught in her own trap. She could not wake up from this bad dream.

Oh, what am I going to do? she thought desperately. How am I going to get out of here? In her anguish and self-consciousness she had all but forgotten Lord Carlton and his wife.

And then, so unexpectedly that she almost started, she heard their names called out, loud and clear: “My Lord Carlton! My Lady Carlton!”

Without even realizing that she had done so she grabbed Almsbury by the hand and her eyes turned toward the door. The colour drained out of her face and neck as she watched them walk in; she did not even see the quick glance Almsbury gave her but she felt the warm reassuring pressure of his hand.

Bruce looked very much as he had when he had left London two years before. He was thirty-eight years old and perhaps a little heavier than when last she had seen him, but still handsome, hard-skinned and vigorous-bodied, a man who changed little with the years. Amber only glanced at him—and then shifted her attention to his wife who walked beside him, her fingers resting upon his arm.

She was rather tall, though slender and graceful, with clear blue eyes, dark hair, and a skin pale as moonlight. Her features were delicate, her expression serene. To look at her brought up some elusive emotion—the same feeling evoked by an exquisitely painted porcelain. The gown she wore was cloth-of-silver covered with black lace and a black-lace mantilla lay upon her head; about her neck was the diamond and sapphire necklace which had belonged to Bruce’s mother and which Amber had always hoped might one day be her own.

The King, ignoring ceremony, went forward with Lord and Lady Arlington to greet them—and as he did so all the room set up a noisy buzzing.

“My God! But she’s a glorious creature!”

“I know that gown was made in Paris, my dear, it must have been, it couldn’t have—”

“Can they really have women like that in Jamaica?”

“Poise and breeding—than which I admire nothing more in a woman.”

Amber was actually sick at her stomach now. Her hands and arm-pits were wet, all her muscles seemed to ache. I’ve got to get out of here before they see me! she thought wildly. But just as she made an involuntary movement to escape, Almsbury’s grip on her hand tightened and he gave her a little jerk. She looked up at him, surprised, but then quickly composed herself again.

Charles, with no respect for etiquette, was asking Lady Carlton to dance with him, and now as the music started for a pavane he led her onto the floor. Others followed and it was soon crowded with slow-moving figures, pacing to the rhythmic cadence of spinets, flutes and a low-beating drum. Amber scarcely heard Almsbury asking her to dance. He repeated his request, louder this time.

She glanced at him. “I don’t want to dance,” she muttered, distracted. “I’m not going to stay here. I—I’ve got the vapours—I’m going home.”

This time she picked up her skirts and took a step, but the Earl caught her wrist and gave her so vigorous a jerk that her breasts shook and her curls bounced. “Stop acting like a damned fool or I’ll slap you! Smile at me, now—everyone’s watching you.”

With a quick shifting of her eyeballs beneath half-lowered lashes, Amber glanced round the room. She wanted to turn and scream or pick up something to throw at them, something that would destroy them all where they stood and wipe out of her sight forever those pleased smirking faces. Instead she looked up at Almsbury and smiled, pulling the corners of her mouth as tight as possible to keep the muscles from quivering. She put her hand on his extended arm and they moved toward the floor.

“I’ve got to get out of here,” she told him, under cover of the music. “I can’t stay!”

His expression did not change. “You won’t leave if I have to tie you up. If you had the courage to wear that thing in the first place, by God you’ll have the courage to stay till the end!”

Amber clenched her teeth, hating him, and as her feet kept moving in time to the music she began to plan how she would escape—slip away through some side-door the first time he let her out of his sight. Damn him! she thought. He acts like my grandmother! What’s it to him if I stay or don’t! I’ll go if I—

And then, all unexpectedly, she saw Lady Carlton not more than ten feet away. Corinna was smiling at Almsbury, but she gave a little gasp of surprise as she caught sight of his partner. Amber’s eyes blazed in fury and Corinna looked swiftly away, obviously embarrassed.

Oh, that woman! thought Amber. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her! Look how she minces and smiles and sets her foot so! Hoity-toity! How mightily prim and proper! I wish I was stark naked! That would make her eyes pop out! I’ll pay her back for that! I’ll make her sorry she ever clapt eyes on me! Just wait—

But suddenly her energy was consumed. She felt weak, lost, helpless.

I’m going to die, she thought wretchedly. I’ll never live through this. My life won’t be worth tuppence to me now—Oh, God, let me die right here, right now—I can’t take another step. For the moment it seemed that Almsbury’s arm was all that kept her from collapsing. Then the music stopped and the crowd began to move about, gathering into groups. Amber, with Almsbury still at her side, pretended to see no one as she made her way among them.

I’m going now, she told herself. And that damned blockhead isn’t going to stop me!

But as she started toward a door he took hold of her arm. “Come over here and meet Lady Carlton.”

Amber jerked away. “What do I want to know her for?”

“Amber, for the love of God!” His voice, scarcely more than a whisper, was pleading with her. “Look about you. Can’t you see what they’re thinking?”

Amber’s eyes again flickered hastily around in time to catch a dozen pairs of eyes which had been fixed upon her glance aside, eyes that glittered, set above mouths that curled with amusement and contempt. Some of them did not even trouble to look away but met her with bold scornful smiles; they were watching, and waiting—

She took a deep breath, linked her arm with Almsbury’s and together they walked toward where Lord and Lady Carlton stood in a group made up of the King, Buckingham, Lady Shrewsbury; Lady Falmouth, Buckhurst, Sedley and Rochester. As they approached, the small gathering seemed to grow quieter —as if expecting something to happen from the mere fact of her presence. Almsbury presented Lady Carlton to the Duchess of Ravenspur and both women, smiling politely, made faint curtsies. Lady Carlton was friendly and gracious and obviously altogether unaware that her husband might know this gorgeous half-naked woman. While the men, including his Majesty, all turned their heads to look at her, their eyes admiring her figure.