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“What did you expect?”
“I don’t know. I’d hoped for something...out of the ordinary...” She froze. “Uh oh. That’s me.”
Maelin held her breath as Alla walked to DuMèlier and gave him her card.
“Sir Christopher Gable.”
Maelin caught her breath as Alla paled at the sound of that name. A man walked toward them, emerging from the shadows at the rear of the room, quietly and neatly dressed, with sandy blond hair, tousled a little, as if he’d run his hands through it.
He walked toward Alla, who stood immobile, her gaze on his face.
“Good evening, Miss Cordovan.” He bowed. “It seems we are destined to run into each other, aren’t we?”
Mae couldn’t hear Alla’s reply, but she obediently accepted his arm and allowed him to lead her away from the machine.
Itching to find out if her friend was in any kind of difficulty, she nearly cursed aloud when her name was called, the last one of the evening.
Drat her aunt, drat this stupid machine...Alla might be in trouble.
She bit down on her frustration, dredged up what might pass as a smile, and walked to M. DuMèlier. “Right then, let’s get on with it.”
His smile was sweetness wrapped in steel, and a slight chill ran down her spine, as he fed her card into the appropriate slot.
*~~*~~*
Cyrus had found the ball mildly entertaining thus far.
There had been few surprises, the usual mating dance, the lingering glance, a woman taking a chance—he frowned. His thoughts were becoming suspiciously poetic, and that would never do. Perhaps he was just too comfortable in his little niche, ignored by those who didn’t even see him, and getting barely a nod from the few who did.
Which was quite all right by him. Observing was something he felt he excelled at, not to mention the fact that he found it both entertaining and enlightening.
There was always something unique to be noticed. Tonight, he’d seen more female guests behaving in a confident manner, which both surprised and pleased him. He had an innate dislike of men who assumed being male gave them the right to dictate and control women. It was silly, given the world he lived in. Caelemar was all about brave men and the pretty women who worshipped them. A game whose rules were incised into every level of society and followed by most.
There were rebels, of course, and he was always pleased to notice them, especially on occasions like this. More than a few young women displayed a flash of independence now and again, amusing him. The beautiful strawberry blonde, for example. Vibrant, laughing, and definitely in control of herself.
Her friend, the one Cyrus thought might be the young Lady of Theryn, just returned from Tidehold, well...she drew his attention more than once.
It wasn’t just her beauty, which was undeniable. Tall, slender, hair like moonlight and eyes that flashed so silvery-blue, he swore he could see them clearly even from this distance. Her gown was designed to resemble the gentle splash of the ocean against her body, and it accomplished that task extremely well.
Watching her had stirred something inside him that had lain dormant for quite some time, so he dragged his gaze away from her. This wasn’t the time or the place for any physical or emotional reactions, no matter how appealing a woman might appear.
She was probably an elitist snob anyway. He’d met more of those than he’d had Crown Foundry brandies.
Which thought made him thirsty, and he stirred, leaving his comfortable spot behind and heading for the side room where a refreshing beverage might be found. Edging past the outskirts of the crowd, he paused as he heard her name called, and watched her, Maelin, Lady of Theryn, walk to the master of the machine.
Her card went into the slot, and silence fell as the whole room waited to see who would be the perfect match for the star of the evening.
It was pure drama, thought Cyrus. The beautiful young woman, standing in a fabulous gown, wearing pearls that seemed to glow against her skin, listening to music that found its way into one’s heart and touched it gently...
Cyrus rolled his eyes at himself. This was all getting quite out of hand.
He turned to leave.
“Lord Cyrus Drake.”
The loud announcement froze him to the spot. “What?”
His voice attracted attention and heads turned.
