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understood that's all it was.
    If fairy tales were real, he'd be the living embodiment of the handsome prince. Frederick was still going on inanely about the fashion of men's clothes, oblivious to Stockport's neutral apathy on the subject. Nora took the chance to indulge, covertly studying S tockport.
    Nora had long thought men's evening clothes were the epitome of uniformity. The black trousers and tailed dress coat left little room for individuality. Indeed, the last bastion of uniqueness lay with the waistcoat and cravat.
    Stockport had done well with both ends of the dressing spectrum. His broad shoulders filled out the dark coat appreciably. The snowy fall of his elegantly tied cravat and the pristine linen of his shirt peeking from beneath the cravat's fall, reminded all lookers that only a gentleman could afford to

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    wear immaculate linen on a regular basis. She had yet to see him in anything less.
    His cravat gave way to a waistcoat of tasteful claret brocade, which was neither too garish like the peacock colours worn by the younger men present, nor too plain the ivory or grey
    tones favoured by the older country gentlemen. Tasteful and smart, Nora reflected. He did not flash his town bronze overtly in these people's faces, but chose a rather subtle way to state his rank. An expensive gold chain spanned his waistcoat, boasting a single watch fob, which was also very classic and discreet, not overdone like Frederick's crowded, fussy watch chain.
    His trousers fit over naturally narrow hips and waist that needed no corseting to give the impression of athleticism. Nora forced her eyes to stop there. She could not afford the distraction of contemplating what lay between his strong thighs. The memory of cupping him was still potent, even though two weeks had passed since that night in his bedroom. Two weeks only! She felt she had known Stockport longer than that.
    'What do you think, Miss Cooper?' Frederick asked, breaking into her not-so-pure thoughts about S tockport. She had no idea what they were discus sing specifically.
    Nora raised her pretty fan and flapped it in front of her face and said in her best insipid tone, 'I try not to think too much.
    Mama says it's not attractive.'
    Frederick bought the act. 'Right-o, that's what a pretty girl has a gentleman for.' He patted her hand, commending her comment as if it were the wittiest thing he had heard in a long while.
    Nora hazarded a glance at Stockport. He was not so easily gulled. She offered a simpering smile to reinforce her vacuous image. Damn him, he had caught her looking at him. Her little performance hadn't fooled him in the least. If anything, he was more alert. He studied her hard for a moment and then moved his gaze beyond her shoulder.
    Nora followed his eyes as they lit on four strategic points

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    around the ballroom and the four men in those locations. She took their measure instantly. Ha! Stockport thought to hedge his bets and call for reinforcements. She had to admire the man for his confidence that all would go as planned. But he was dealing with The Cat.
    It wasn't too late to melt back into the crowd and disappear. Although Stockport might have his suspicions aroused, she could still stage a quick getaway by faking a visit to the ladies' retiring room. But Nora didn't seriously consider the option for long. Five against one might be unfair, but it wasn't insurmountable.
    With acuity, she calculated what needed to be done. First, she would confirm her presence to Stockport and then she needed to create a distraction to get them out from under the watchful eyes of Stockport's hired men.
    Nora went into action, flapping her fan again. 'I am hot and need a glass of punch.' Smiling sweetly, she dispatched Frederick to the crowded refreshment room.
    She turned back to Stockport, all traces of the sugar-sweet innocent gone, replaced by the self-assured poise of a temptress confident in her abilities. 'I believe you're