The last place Aidan wishes to be today is rehearsals. As if he does not know the steps back to front nor could recite them in his sleep. But, regardless of his prowess, the French accept nothing less than perfection. So, here he is, flinging his body about the stage in an artful manner to the onlooking of his company and the insipid Maître Renaud.

The day Aures had suggested had been one of the loveliest in recent memory. The starvation of them had not weakened his feelings ...