“Indeed, it appears so, my lord.” This afternoon was growing more and more odd. She should have remained home. That much was clear.

“Lady Calpurnia, may I escort you to see some of the paintings in the North Gallery?”

“I—” For a fleeting moment, Callie considered refusing before realizing that an afternoon with Oxford would be infinitely less awkward than an afternoon spent avoiding Ralston. “I would enjoy that very much, my lord.”

“Wonderful.” He offered Callie his arm. She took it, and they were off across the main gallery toward the northern exit. As they walked, he said, “We shall have to seek out the Renaissance artists here today, shan’t we?”

She bit her tongue, keeping herself from explaining that, as a contemporary exhibition, there were no Renaissance artists represented at the event. Instead, she smiled mutely and allowed the baron to guide her along. When they arrived at the slightly less crowded North Gallery, Oxford turned a bright smile on her, and, with a broad gesture, said, “What do you think?”

Callie smiled up at the baron, and said, politely, “It is an excellent exhibition this year, my lord. Thank you very much for escorting me.”

He leaned closer. “Come now, Lady Calpurnia. Surely you have more to say than that.” Pointing to a large portrait, he asked, “What of that one?”

Callie considered the painting, a rather forgiving likeness of the king, before saying, “I think that King George must have been very happy with it.”

Oxford laughed. “How very diplomatic of you.”

Callie laughed as well, considering the baron. Certainly, he was a dandy and rather vapid, but he seemed in possession of a good humor and a not-unpleasant countenance. She was surprised to find that she was rather enjoying herself.

Oxford leaned in to speak close to her ear. “I had hoped we would get a chance to be apart from your sister and Rivington.”

Her eyebrows shot up at the words. “My lord?”

“I know,” he said, misunderstanding her reticence. “It’s hard to believe that this is happening.” He ran a single finger discreetly down the length of her forearm, and his smile broadened as he leaned in once more. “But indeed it is happening to you, Lady Calpurnia.”

“Baron Oxford,” she said, quickly, searching for a distraction to save them both from embarrassment. “I thought we were going to seek out the Renaissance paintings? I do not see them here.”

“Perhaps we should look for them in a quieter, more secluded locale?” he said, his voice low. Was that whiskey on his breath?

Callie hedged. “I wonder if they might be back in the main gallery?”

He paused, considering her words. “I understand. You are concerned that we might be observed.”

She clung to the words. “Indeed, that is precisely my concern.”

He flashed his white teeth in understanding. “Of course. Let’s return to the main gallery and have a better look.”

Who would have thought Oxford would be so understanding?

Callie was so surprised by his change in tack that she couldn’t help her own brilliant smile. They made their way back to the main gallery and passed into the throng of people inside. Once in the crush, Callie was unable to keep from pressing up against Oxford, and as she did so, she felt one of his hands running down the back of her gown, dangerously familiar. Leaping away from his touch, Callie turned to him, hand to her throat, and said, “I am quite parched. I wonder if you would fetch me some lemonade while I find my sister?”

Oxford’s eyes narrowed on her in a manner she could only assume was meant to appear concerned, and he said, “Of course.”

“Oh, thank you, my lord,” she said, attempting coquettishness.

She watched as he turned and disappeared into the crowd, the throngs of people swallowing him up as she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. This entire afternoon had been a mistake.

“I see you have Oxford eating from the palm of your hand.” The dry words startled her, so close to her ear, and she stiffened in immediate recognition.

Willing herself to remain calm, she turned to face the speaker. “Lord Ralston. What a surprise,” she said, her tone in direct opposition to her words. She was, all of a sudden, very tired. Tired of sparring with Ralston, tired of outsmarting Oxford, tired of being there amidst London’s most beautiful people. She wanted to go home.

“Lady Calpurnia,” Ralston executed a short bow, “I had hoped that you would be here.”

The words, and the implication that he’d sought her out, would have elated her months ago. Today, however, she wanted nothing more than to turn on her heel and run from him. Meeting his blue eyes served only to remind her of the embarrassment and pain that he had delivered her at their last meeting. Her heart constricted at the thought of having another conversation with him, knowing that she was little more than a pawn in some game she did not understand.

She could not summon graciousness. “While I’m certain that’s not entirely true, you knew I would be here. You were there when Oxford extended the invitation.”

“So I was.” He inclined his head as if to give her a point in their verbal game. “Nevertheless, I had hoped to see you this afternoon. Although I confess I was rather disheartened to see you smiling up at Oxford as though he were the only man in attendance.”

She refused to give him the pleasure of knowing the truth. “The baron has been most accommodating.”

“Accommodating,” Ralston tested the word. “Makes him sound rather like furniture, doesn’t it?”