Anne Blackburn looked in the direction of her friend’s extended fan and spied the target. Her heart leapt and her body flooded with a rousing, tingling heat, for across the dance floor, surrounded by a group of excited, giggling debutantes, was a veritable Adonis. “Oh…” She licked her lips and flicked out her fan, then hovered it over her ample chest as if to counter the fire that now coursed through her veins. “Oh?” Lady Jane Faulkner leaned toward her. “I point out the most delightful looking gentleman in the whole of Almack’s on a Wednesday evening and that is all you can say, my dear?” Anne tore her eyes away from the golden-haired vision and met Jane’s curious gaze. Her cheeks burned as she struggled to find words to articulate her thoughts. “He is…most…comely. But who is he?” Jane threw back her head and laughed, then placed a gloved hand upon Anne’s arm. “Oh, dearest Anne, that is Mr. Guy Harper, a most talented artist, and he is delightful, is he not?
