From the book...

Herbert appeared from nowhere holding two glasses of champagne.

'A splendid bash.' His words were slurred. Sitting beside Sophie, he put a glass by his chair and downed the other. 'I just wanted to say, if you feel like changing horses I'd be honoured.' His mouth was too near her face and his breath stank of stale vinegar.

'Sorry?'

'A bit of muslin here and there. I'm sure you understand.'

She didn't, but whatever he meant, his tone was creepy. 'I don't think so.'

He took the full glass from the floor, drank it and put it down. 'Oh, come on, we could slip away. No one will notice.'

What a sleazebag. She waved her fan in front of her face like a tiny shield. Stay cool. But Herbert grabbed her wrist, unexpectedly hard, and she dropped the fan.

'No.' She didn't bother lowering her voice.

To her alarm, Herbert stood and pulled her out of her chair. 'I like this game.'

'I'm not playing. Stop.' She scraped at his fingers but couldn't dislodge his hand. The memory of the men in the lane came back, morphed into panic. 'You're a sad fuckwit.'

People were watching, though only Herbert could have caught her words over the quartet. His grip tightened and she winced.

'What did you say?' Herbert swayed and his face turned redder.

'You heard.'

'Slut.'

'And you're a little shit.' She managed to yank her hand back. Act ladylike. 'You're drunk, sir.'

Freddy was beside her. The vicar was hurrying towards them and Hugo wasn't far behind, his dance partner's eyes curious.

Herbert smiled. 'And you're a whore.'

Her reaction was instinctive and instant. She didn't think or consider the consequences. Before she knew it, her gloved fist had connected with his jaw.

Herbert's head jerked and he crumpled.

Someone gasped.

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