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Her eyebrows rising, Lady Olivia laughed. Her kind eyes searched Lenora’s face. “You are well? I never know how much of the drawing room tattle is accurate. Some are declaring that you throttled two knife-wielding, bear-sized men bare-handed.”

Lenora winced inwardly at the image that the description conjured.

“I am fine, Lady Olivia. I suffered a small cut upon my scalp when I fell but was otherwise unhurt.”

“I am relieved to hear it.” Olivia smiled again. “You look lovely. That mazarine-blue does amazing things to your hair.”

“Thank you,” Lenora said.

Olivia leaned nearer. “Everyone is always trying to drape us redheads in greens and yellows. I quite like a deep burgundy myself.” She smoothed a hand over the front of her rich claret-colored and cream-striped confection.

“And I adore purple and pink.” Lenora chuckled. “Mama says peach is acceptable or pale pink, but anything brighter would be gauche with my coloring.”

Lady Olivia wrinkled her nose. “A former modiste once insisted I should wear tangerine-orange.” She shook her head, her ruby and pearl earrings swinging with the motion. “I detest orange. I refuse to gad about looking like a giant citrus fruit.”

Glancing beyond Lady Olivia, Lenora curved her mouth in delight as Merilee Larkins and Lady Diana Marlow, the newest arrivals, made a zigzagging beeline toward her around the other guests. They were a perfumed tempest and a storm in silk and satin. Since their first Seasons out together, they’d become her closest friends.

Turning her attention back to Lady Olivia, Lenora said, “I picked up my ball gown for the Wimpletons’ Christmas ball that day of the incident.” She gave a wry twist of her mouth. “I confess, it is green and gold.”

The gown was a masterful work of art. Ivory satin with shimmering overlays in gold and jade green, the garment was fairy-like. Silver and gold beads, along with hundreds of tiny pearls, gave the material an effervescent glow when the light hit it just so. Her gold silk slippers, also covered in shiny beads and pearls, were nothing short of magical.

“I’m so glad you are attending.” Lady Olivia beamed. “My in-laws love nothing better than to host a ball, and I adore dancing. Allen vows I quite wear him out and that he’ll have to limit our dances.”

The Viscount and Viscountess Wimpleton were famous for their opulent balls and galas, and Lenora doubted Allen Wimpleton would ever deny his lady anything. They were obviously very much in love.

“I cannot wait to see your gown, Lenora. Is it one of Mademoiselle De la Cour’s?” Lady Olivia asked. “She’s creating quite a reputation for herself. I commissioned three gowns from her just last week.” She winked conspiratorially. “Not a one in any shade of orange.”

“It is indeed, though I’m fairly certain Mademoiselle De la Cour is no more French than that covered vase just there.” Lenora wiggled her fingers toward a side table where a striking royal blue and gilt ironstone vase overflowed with pink and white roses reposed.

“Lenora.” Wearing a cat-in-the-cream grin, Merilee expertly dodged Viscount Corkran’s less than subtle attempt to waylay her. The poor man was hopelessly besotted, but as he was a good five inches shorter than Merilee’s five feet ten inches, she had deemed him unsuitable.

Lenora felt rather sorry for him. However, the single time Merilee had agreed to a dance, they’d been the object of more than one unkind joke.

The four pretty young ladies hovering around the handsome viscount glowered at Merilee but pasted brilliant smiles upon their faces when the disappointed lord returned his attention to them. Lord Corkran might be short in stature, but his amiable nature, romantic prose, and flair for flattery made him popular with the debutantes. Not to mention his substantial fortune.

Merilee and Diana fashioned polite smiles for Lady Olivia, even though Lenora could see the impatience in their eyes. They were dying to know every last detail of the blundered burglary.

Lenora felt an odd reluctance to share anything about Captain Steele, which was most irregular. She wasn’t the possessive sort, especially regarding a man who was scarcely more than a stranger.

Lady Olivia patted Lenora’s arm. “My husband is requesting my presence. Please excuse me.”

“Thank you, Lady Olivia,” Lenora said with heartfelt appreciation.

“We women must stick together.” She gave Lenora a brilliant smile and a little wave of her fingers before gliding away.

“Lenora, I tell you, it was all I could do not to storm your bedchamber when I heard of your daring,” Merilee gushed as she bussed Lenora’s cheek and hugged her. “Was it terribly exciting?”

After doing the same, Diana arched a wry blonde eyebrow. “She thought nothing of invading my bedchamber at the ungodly hour of nine the morning after,” she said drolly. Her bluebell eyes grew shadowed. “You must’ve been so frightened, Lenora.”

There hadn’t been time to be frightened.

Lenora shook her head. “I—”

“She was a veritable Zenobia,” a man interjected. “An unflinching, courageous warrior.”

Captain Jason Steele.

He’s here. He’s here, Lenora’s heart chanted.