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Baccelli’s suggestion was an outrageous one, and most inappropriate to a spinster who lived a sheltered existence in the household of her aging grandfather. He would have been horrified to learn his only granddaughter was in the company of a troupe of dancers whose morals were questionable at best. That Rory was conversing with the notorious mistress of the Duke of Dorset was an encounter she decided to keep to herself.
    She knew she ought to take offence at the dancer’s lewd conversation, excuse herself and return to the small waiting room, but she was not the least offended. And lest she be considered prudish, she summoned her courage, looked into Consulata’s large lovely eyes, and said with a smile she hoped oozed a worldliness she did not in the least possess,
    “The Duke is sure to treasure such a painting. A graceful figure as you possess is to be admired, and deserves to be immortalized.”
    Consulata was pleased with this response and beamed.
    “I think we will be good friends. Very good friends indeed, Signorina Talbot. I will have Dorset invite you to dinner. Then you and me, we can laugh and reminisce together about the little escapade Major Fitzstuart he arranges for his pleasant friend.”
    Rory tried to keep the interest from her voice and the surprise from her features. “Major? Major Fitzstuart?”
    She succeeded in appearing none the wiser as to knowing this officer, because the dancer’s dark eyes crinkled with amused mischief. Before enlightening Rory, she turned on the group of females giggling and jostling each other behind the chaise and slapped her fan down hard across the back of chaise’s gilt frame. The dancers instantly swallowed their mirth and were silent and still long enough to be chastised.
    “Stop this instant or not one of you will dance at the Haymarket again.” She jerked her dark head in direction of the windows. “Keep your eyes on the windows, and when the handsome Major and his friend they appear, you will all do as instructed. Sí ? Bene ,” she added, when the dancers nodded obediently. “Now please to contain your impatience at seeing Major Fitzstuart in all his glory. When he comes through that window, then you have my permission to screech the excitement so loud, his pleasant friend will run into this room and save my life.”
    She turned back to Rory and said merrily, “Soon it will begin, and so you are not alarmed, me I will tell you what is to happen. But first promise me not to tell Signore Romney’s servants. It is most important to keep the surprise so the Major’s pleasant friend, who is naturally infatuated with me, believes I am terrified and he has saved me from a fate worse than death.”
    Rory was so intrigued she could only nod. She shuffled down the chaise longue in anticipation of receiving Consulata’s confidence regarding Major Fitzstuart. But no sooner had she done so than the dancers at her back began jumping up and down and squealing their delight. This had Consulata Baccelli on her feet. At the same time, one of Romney’s assistants threw paints and brushes into the air as if in panic and fled the room, while two of the dancers swept up the trailing folds of their drapery, skipped lightly down the three steps of the stage and ran across the studio towards the three sash windows.
    Such was the instantaneous outburst of excitement from the dancers that Rory instinctively swiveled to look over her shoulder—at them, not out across the studio to see what had caused their agitation. By the time she reoriented herself to look at the windows, an intruder, who had dropped silently into the studio via an open window, was chasing the two dancers across the room.
    Rory was shocked into speechlessness by such outlandish behavior, and while she blinked several times in response, as if convincing herself the scene presented before her was indeed unfolding, she did not sense any immediate danger to her person, or to any of the dancers. This surprised