Roderick leaned on the railing of the balcony and sipped his sixth glass of wine as he stared wistfully the noisy party further down the harbour. Ugh. Poor people. But at least stuff was happening there and the attractive ones were not as stuck up if you tossed some money at them. He turned around and stared into the ballroom through the open doors.

Darm, even Roderick was talking to a girl. He had been about to ask his brother to go slumming with him. Fuck this.

Instead, he downed the wine, dropped the glass over the railing, and made his way inside.

There was a redhead by herself. She would do. If she was unchaperoned, as she seemed to be, she wouldn't think it indecent if he spoke to her without introductions. And so he tossed himself in her way. "What stunning red hair. You look as though you've come walking straight out of a Waterhouse painting. Care to dance?" He held out his arm, feeling himself the grandmaster of charm. Two of the front buttons of his trousers had been left undone.