Kat paused at the door, suddenly wanting desperately to turn and run. It was ludicrous to make an appearance in such a lovely ball gown; she wasn’t sure now why it had mattered. From the cold glances she was already receiving, she was a pariah no matter how she dressed.

As soon as she was identified, the rumors would begin yet again, and there would be more stares, more whispers, more innuendoes—the vicious circle never stopped. Her spirit quavered at the thought.

This was not the way she’d envisioned the night. She’d thought to make an impressive entrance of some sort. To be accepted where she never had been.

She wasn’t sure now why she’d thought that…perhaps because by falling in love with Devon, she felt new. Fresh. And even lovely.

But now, facing the harsh stare of society, she had to wonder…was that an illusion too?

Heart heavy, she decided to make a hasty retreat, but before she could move, Malcolm suddenly materialized.

He didn’t give her time to argue, but led her back inside, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm so she couldn’t escape. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home,” she said flatly.

“But you look beautiful.” He eyed her up and down, growing appreciation in his gaze. “Where did you get this gown? It’s perfect for you.”

“Annie made it.”

“She’s a wonder. One day I shall steal her from you and I will never eat poorly prepared food again.”

“She’s a miracle,” Kat agreed. She knew what he was doing—making casual talk so she could regain her composure. She loved him for it, even though she wished he would just let her go.

“I didn’t even know Annie could wield a needle. Yet another reason to prize her over all other women.”

“Except one,” Kat said softly.

Malcolm’s gaze grew shadowed. He led her across the room, nodding at this acquaintance and then that. “Except one. At least have a bit of punch.”

“But I—”

“It has ice in it that cost me a bloody fortune. The least you can do is drink some of it and pretend it tastes as good as it looks.”

Kat had to smile. “Is Fiona driving you to ruin?”

“Oh no. I can stand the nonsense. I just wish—” He broke off, something crossing his face and then disappearing behind a bland smile. “At least let me complain. All good hosts do, you know. It’s their way of casually dropping their costs into the conversation.”

“Is that why they do it?”

“Lud, yes. See those large pots of violets by the door? Fiona ordered three hundred of them and they cost me five pounds each. What’s horrid is that the flowers will be dead by morning and we don’t even get to keep the bloody pots.”