lutes and forced smiles. A string quartet played Vivaldi in a corner, t
ony, a ghost at her own family's feast. Her simple bla
ide him, her fingers fluttering nervously at her diamond necklace. Even her half-brother, Caleb, usually the picture of
guest, this man who could turn the notoriousl
aightened his posture, speaking urgently into his wrist. A moment later, her father, Gilb
onversation stopped, every head turne
ht-iron railing, her own h
two footmen. A gust of cool nigh
ybachs rolled to a silent stop at the end of the re
st, fanning out to create a perimeter. They
by a driver. A single, handmade Italia
he man
espoke suit. Even from her vantage point, Alya could feel the powe
orward, his face stretched into
ll, and the bright chandel
ething about him-the sharp line of his jaw, the way he held his head-was so intensely
ce. He was no one's dream. He was a king, and this was his court. His
ce unctuous. "Mr. Knox Carter, a plea
st the worn linen of her handkerchief. The silver embroidered 'L' was a mystery she had never solved. The boy in
nod, his expres
s a gentle memory, a flicker of kindness in the dark. This man was a force of nature, a titan of finance her father was
second-floor balcony. His eyes seemed to pass right over her
her heart a frantic d
. It was about him. And that, she realized with a
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