“My Lady,” bowed Alastair.
She calmly made her way off the dais, and moved casually through the crowd, exchanging smiles and pleasantries as she progressed across the room.
To the farthest side of the room. As far away from Lucas Ashcombe as she could get without calling her aethercoach.
Only then did her heart slow down to something approaching normal, and she could collect her breath. Of all the people she’d expected to see tonight, the man who had haunted her dreams wasn’t among them.
Damn him.
Chapter Four
Lucas tried very hard to pay attention to whatever it was that Julian was burbling on about.
He failed, since at least ninety-eight percent of his thoughts revolved around the slender woman in the elegant grey gown.
He wasn’t sure why, since his memories of her had been nothing more than pity mixed with disinterest. The poor child—for that’s what she had been at that time—had been trussed up into garments completely unsuitable for her age, thrust into a ballroom filled with partygoers from all walks of life, and apparently instructed to attract his attention, with the aim of luring him into a proposal of marriage.
She couldn’t have been more than seventeen or eighteen, if that.
But that was Arcvale society. At its most unpleasant.
He’d remembered her eyes. An unusual grey, they’d reminded him of soft fog on a moonlit night, and had—to his surprise—haunted him more than he’d expected. Fanciful thoughts that had made him feel a bit foolish at the time. So he’d put it aside, only to find it part and parcel of the decisions he was on the edge of making. Andanythought of marriage was so far from the top of his list as to be barely even visible.
“Hey, are you listening?” Julian frowned.
“No, of course not. Have I ever?” Lucas grinned. “But I must say that it’s good to see you. I wish you’d come to Sectorvale more often.”
“My life is seldom my own at the moment,” sighed Julian, flicking a finger at the medals on his uniform. “As you well know.”
“Indeed.” With a tilt of his head, he headed for a quieter corner, set off from the dancing and somewhat noisy merriment that always accompanied a successful evening, taking dreadful advantage of the servant who happened to pass the two of them with a decanter and glasses on a tray.
“Sir...” sputtered the lad.
Coins changed hands, producing smiles and bows, and promises to return if necessary.
“That poor lad is going to hear about this, you know,” grinned Julian, pouring brandy into the glasses and pushing one across the small table they’d claimed.
“He’ll be able to take his sweetheart out for a meal tomorrow night,” chuckled Lucas. “His prestige amongst his peers will soar to new heights.”
Julian sighed, sipped, and then looked Lucas straight in the eyes. “Why are you here, Lucas?”
He thought for a moment. “I need to talk to your father.” That was only the beginning, but it was enough for now.
“Should I be concerned?”
“I don’t think so. I need advice, Julian, so please rid your mind of the notion that I’m here to coerce Alastair into some risky financial scheme.” He sipped his brandy. “Besides, he’d see right through such a thing before I’d finished the first sentence.”
Julian nodded. “He would, at that.”
“I cannot think of anyone else, anywhere, whose advice I trust more, than your father. You’re blessed in that regard, you know.”
“A fine compliment indeed, and he’d squirm like an eel if you said those words aloud in his hearing.”
Both men shared a companionable laugh at that all-too-accurate statement, and then turned their gazes to the dance floor.
“It looks as if the donations this evening will be...healthy?” Lucas nodded at the exquisite baskets beginning to fill with promissory notes.
“I hope so, for Verity’s sake.” Julian’s eyes roamed the room. “That woman is a whirlwind, I have to say. If I had ten men with her determination and energy as my unit? Well, let’s just say I’d have an impressive reputation.”
