Vivian’s breath caught in her throat, and she barely stopped herself from complying immediately.

He was smiling gently, an all-knowing expression: he was expecting things to go his way.

Vivian let a small gust of air escape her lips as she gave her reluctant, but correct answer.

“I’m afraid not, Sir Isaac. The night is getting late and Judith must be waiting for me.”

For a moment, Vivian thought she saw those kind eyes flash a raw, wrathful scarlet, but the haunting apparition had vanished as soon as it had come.

Sir Isaac (or, as he was fondly known in his friends’ circles: Ike), gave her another soft smile, although this one seemed full of reproach.

It made her heart flutter unnervingly, and Vivian clutched at her purse within the folds of her voluminous dress.

“As you wish, Lady Vivian. Would you like me to escort you to your hansom?”

She did not know what quality gave his voice this smooth, rich suppleness, but its polite venom was not welcome.

“Thank you for the offer; I think I shall be fine.”