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