"A toast, between friends," she proposed as she raised her glass. "To your happiness, and lightning bolts." Crystal rang with false gaiety against crystal.
Elyse drained the glass, her eyes widening as Lucy coaxed her to enjoy just one more toast.
"I can't!" she declared. "Champagne affects me strangely."
"Strangely?" Lucy swallowed back her astonishment. "What happens? Do you change into some sort of wicked creature, casting spells on everyone?"
Elyse giggled. "If only that were true. Maybe I could cast a spell on Jerrold."
"And turn him into a frog," Lucy suggested, quickly handing Elyse another glass of champagne before she could protest.
"But then, I suppose you would have to start with a prince first. And my dear," she leaned discreetly forward as if she were sharing a secret.
"Jerrold is no prince."
"No, he's not," Elyse replied.
She knew Jerrold would disapprove of such behavior, and conversation. Ladies simply did not discuss such things even though men surely did.
But why shouldn't she share another glass of champagne with her dearest friend?
Tobias tugged at Zach's sleeve. "We'll never pull it off. It isn't enough that we've lied and bribed our way this far," he muttered, casting a worried glance at the English gentlemen and their ladies who filled the enormous room. "Oh, no. You insist on wearin' that damned eye-patch. Be subtle you said, blend in with the crowd! We stick out like whores at a church social in these fancy clothes. There isn't enough gold in all of New South Wales to buy our way out of this if we're caught."
"Easy, old friend." A smile pulled at Zach's mouth as he separated from Tobias. "And stay away from the attendants tonight. I want you sober."
"Sober?" Tobias whispered in his wake. He made a move to follow, then thought better of it. If one was caught, the other might still get away.
He turned with an appreciative eye toward the elegant, embossed silver serving bowls set upon linen-covered tables along the wall. He frowned. The last thing he wanted was some weak punch. He needed a real drink!
Zach's gaze swept the room, taking in the understated wealth of the immaculately dressed men and their elegant but overstated ladies.
He'd inquired discreetly about Lady Barrington, but had received only vague responses. Now, an uneasy feeling slipped down his spine. Perhaps Tobias was right. Felicia might not be alive after all these years. He hadn't been able to learn anything about her since their arrival.
Contrary to his suggestion to his old friend, Zach took a glass from a tray offered by a passing servant. When he made a remark about something more substantial than champagne, the servant disappeared with a nod to reappear a few minutes later with a bottle discreetly wrapped in fine linen.
The amber-colored liquid splashed reassuringly into a heavy crystal tumbler. As fine French cognac slipped into Zach's stomach, he looked over the rim of the glass, and saw her.
He would have known her anywhere. Now where the devil had that come from, he thought? Still, it was there—some past memory, in the slender arch of her neck, the delicate features of her face as she turned in conversation.
It teased at him, then became something more. Something he couldn't name or fully recall.
Drawing a deep breath, Zach turned away, trying to bring his thoughts back under control. Something white-hot slipped across his senses.
Impossible! He knew none of these people. He didn't knowher.Yet, even as he denied it, he felt himself turn and search for her almost with desperation.
It was insane! He'd known countless women, some as forbidden to him as England. Yet he crossed the room, compelled by something he could neither understand nor escape.
He heard the whispers following him across the room as he threaded his way through the guests, the black worsted wool of his dress coat that had been hastily completed by the tailor brushing against satin and lace.
Several elegantly coiffed heads turned in his direction, and glances, no longer discreet but openly appraising, stared at him, but his gaze was only forher.
Like music reaching through darkness, her voice was low, silky. Her soft laughter slipped inside him. As he reached out, his fingers brushed her arm, and something very like an echo of memory moved like a whisper through him.
The touch was so faint, Elyse might not have felt it. It was like the feather-soft brush of the wind, or the touch of a feather.
"Lady Barrington?" Zach said.
Not yet, she thought as she heard the name and turned. She was about to say just that, in spite of the reason everyone was there, that ripple of irritation at what everyone assumed—that she must be absolutely thrilled. After all, wasn't Jerrold the most sought-after bachelor in London?
