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‘They’re not talking to me.’

‘That’s because you’re so snooty,’ he accused her.

She wished she could tell him the truth – she’d happily take the blame that she simply wasn’t very good at being sociable – but Fleur didn’t think Jimmy would understand. ‘No, it’s not that. I just don’t feel—’

‘Why are you always so moody?’ Jimmy snapped, making her flinch with surprise. Now all his friends had turned at his tone, and the women had shifted their attention to them as well.

‘Just leave it, Jimmy.’ She realised he was drunk; he’d downed at least three beers already and who knew if he had been swigging something else from a flask.

‘No!’ he said, full of fresh hostility, suddenly gripping her arm for the second time that evening. Not tightly enough to bruise, but sufficient to make Fleur wince and believe that he might lose control; if he exerted just a fraction more pressure, she might be marked. ‘You’re a stuck-up bitch, you know that?’ he growled. ‘Irma’s right. You need taking down a peg or two and I’ll make sure that begins on our wedding night.’ He pressed harder.

Fleur refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing that it hurt, but she also didn’t want to cause any more embarrassment than they already had, snarling at each other. But Jimmy wanted to hurt her, it seemed, and he clenched his strong fingers, apparently determined to leave the impression of his grip in purple bruises.

It was too much for Fleur to tolerate any longer. ‘Let me go!’ She wrenched her arm away. ‘Don’t you ev—’

‘Care to dance?’ A new voice broke the moment.

Neither Fleur nor Jimmy had seen the man arrive but now all heads turned to the stranger, a tall man about their age with thick blond hair, neatly parted on one side.

Jimmy looked over his shoulder with a slight snarl still on his face. ‘Bugger off.’

‘I wasn’t asking you,’ the man said for all in their group to hear. ‘I was asking you,’ he said, turning a clear, grey-eyed enquiry at Fleur. ‘Would you like to dance?’

She wanted to accept for his welcome interruption alone, though she sensed a collective envy emanating from the girls nearby. He was handsome with that smile in his eyes and his clearly broad frame beneath the suit she sensed he was not comfortable in. Even so, he emanated self-possession; she sensed this was a man who wouldn’t be pushed around by anyone.

‘If she won’t, I will!’ Shirl said, stepping forward.

He didn’t even look at Shirl, much to Shirl’s apparent chagrin. His gaze was firmly on Fleur.

‘Yes, I would,’ she answered. With a smile, she eased past Jimmy and his flaring nostrils. ‘Excuse me.’

‘Hey, she’s my date!’

Fleur looked at the man whose hand she hadn’t realised until this heartbeat she had taken. It felt calloused, presumably from hard work, and despite its strength, it held her smaller hand so gently and without any sense of ownership. His attention remained riveted on her, and she could tell he was waiting for her to respond to Jimmy’s claim.

‘I’m not anyone’s date,’ she told him, loud enough for Jimmy to hear. ‘I accompanied Jimmy, but only out of politeness to our parents.’

‘You bitch!’ His voice was louder than it needed to be and his face was flushed with anger combining with humiliation; she watched the colour climbing from his scrawny neck. His Adam’s apple bobbed in anger as he was forced to swallow his pride.

The girls gasped. Two couldn’t help nervous giggles.

‘Steady on, mate,’ one of the blokes said, reaching for Jimmy, but he shook off his hand.

‘We’re getting engaged,’ Jimmy announced, bringing fresh gasps from the girls. ‘The silly cow needs to understand that.’

‘Well,’ the stranger said into the frigid atmosphere surrounding this group, ‘I think the lady disagrees.’ He finally looked at Jimmy. ‘And you need to watch your mouth around women or someone might shut it for you.’

Fleur turned her gaze back to Jimmy as well. ‘For the last time, Jimmy, we are not getting engaged – not now, not ever. There! Is that clear and public enough?’ She didn’t wait for his answer, although she heard the other couples laughing at Jimmy’s discomfort, and turned back to the man who still had her hand. ‘Shall we?’

They moved into a convenient gap that opened on the dancefloor and joined a slow foxtrot. Fleur felt instant gratitude to be moving away from her party. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘I’m so embarrassed.’

‘Don’t be. He’s an oaf and a fool. He’s the one who is suffering the embarrassment. You handled yourself well.’

‘Is everyone still staring?’

‘No, but we can stay on the other side of the ballroom for a while,’ he said.

‘You’re that good a dancer, are you?’ She grinned at him, surprised to be looking up at a man, given her reasonable height. He had to be six and a half feet tall.