Proserpina

It had been ages since I danced, I thought, smiling up at the young man. The last time was when I went out with my girlfriends.

The sensation of moving to the beat was therapeutic and soon I was enjoying myself, laughing at Harding's remarks.

Harding was a good dancer, and although he tried to pull me close at times, I made it obvious that I did not want to be petted and caressed.

I caught sight of Lucien's face; he seemed livid. But I ignored him. Dancing ...