Tracy, looking ravishing in a white lace gown, her hair dressed high and held in place by a diamond tiara, was dancing with her host, Count de Matigny, a widower in his late sixties, small and trim, with pale, delicate features. The benefit ball the count dives each year for the Children's Hospital is a racket. Gunther Hartog had told Tracy. Ten percent of the money goes to the children--- ninety percent goes into his pocket.
"You are a superb dancer, Duchess," the count said.
Tracy smiled. "That's because of my partner."
"How is it that you and I have not met before?"
"I've been living in South America," Tracy explained. "In the jungles, I'm afraid."
"Why on earth!"
"My husband owns a few mines in Brazil."
"Ah. And is your husband here this evening?"
"No. Unfortunately, he had to stay in Brazil and take care of business."
"Unlucky for him. Lucky for me." His arm tightened around her waist. "I look forward to our becoming very good friends."
"And I, too," Tracy murmured.
Over the count's shoulder Tracy suddenly caught sight of Jeff Stevens, looking suntanned and ridiculously fit. He was dancing with a beautiful, willowy brunet in crimson taffeta, who was clinging to him possessively. Jeff saw Tracy at the same moment and smiled.
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