She was curtsied to. Her hand was kissed. The conversations, thankfully, were brief and general before each person passed on to Reeve and her brothers.

She’d seen to the details, Brie reminded herself. Successfully. She’d succeed here, as well. She smiled at the man in the black silk jacket with the mane of white hair, recognizing him as one of the great actors of the century, one the British Queen had seen fit to knight. He took her hand, but kissed her cheek. Brie had been told he’d bounced her on his knee when she was a baby.

She was terrified, Reeve thought. And so beautiful. There was nothing he could do but be there. Protect, support—no matter how much she’d resent both. Had anyone told her she’d already pulled off a minor miracle? he wondered. She’d regained her strength, held on to her hope and given herself to her obligations. Princess or not, she was a hell of a woman. For now, she was his.

She looked like a fairy tale tonight. Like the fairy tale he remembered from years before. There were diamonds in her hair, winking fire against fire. She wore them at her ears, subtle and effective, and at her throat in three dripping tiers. And on her hand, he reminded himself, as a symbol.

But while the fire danced around her, she’d chosen ice for her dress. A contrast in fashion? he wondered, or a statement that she had both?

White—stunning, cool, untouchable white—draped her. Slashing low at her throat to frame the fire there, rippling down her arms to meet the light and power on her fingers. Yards and yards of rich, smooth silk flowed down her until it nearly brushed the floor. Aloof, regal? So she was and so she looked. But the fire breathed around her passionately.

Once a man had had such a woman, would he ever, could he ever, turn to another?

“Did you see her?” Bennett mumbled so only Reeve could hear.

He’d only seen one woman, but he knew Bennett. “Who?”

“Eve Hamilton.” Bennett gave a low sound of approval. “Just fantastic.”

Beside him Alexander scanned the crowd and found her, but there wasn’t any approval. She wore a ripe red dress that was cut beautifully, even conservatively. The color said one thing, the style another. “She’s a child,” he muttered. And he’d found her too precocious and too intelligent a child.

“You need glasses,” Bennett told him, then smiled and kissed the hand of a dowager. “Or vitamins.”

The line of guests seemed endless. Brie stood it by reminding herself just what the ball would mean to her charity. But when the last black tie and shimmering dress passed her, she almost sighed with relief.

It wasn’t over, but with music there was some escape.

The orchestra knew its business. It took only a nod from her for the first waltz to begin. She held out her hand to Reeve. He’d open the ball with her this first and this last time. She let his arms and the music carry her. Sooner or later, midnight would strike, and the dream would be over.