He worries that his appearance among her splendid and wonderful friends will only serve to highlight the differences between them. The gulf between them. The uncrossable divide that is made up of their positions in society and her membership in the coven.

For I can no more become a duke than I can become a witch. That is the plain truth of it.

And then he sees her. The sight of her takes the breath from his body. He has never seen her properly out of mourning, and has grown accustomed to the somber clothes she was required to wear. He had always considered they suited her. And yet, now, seeing her wrapped in delicate layers of ivory chiffon, with matching silk gloves which stop at her upper arm to reveal a short, tantalizing glimpse of her winter-pale skin, he decides she has never looked more radiant, more beautiful, and if he is honest with himself, more unattainable. About her neck she wears a diamond necklace of breathtaking splendor. It seems to Bram to symbolize the glamor of her world. A world he has no place in.

It is hopeless. I am a dreamer to believe otherwise.

Once again he feels the urge to turn and flee, but it is too late. Charlotte, standing next to Lilith, has spotted Bram and Mangan, and has taken her friend by the hand to hasten across the ballroom floor in their direction. There is no chance of running now. He watches Lilith closely, scrutinizing her expression as she recognizes his face in the crowd. Even so, he cannot read what he sees, cannot be certain if she is pleased or displeased to find him there. He knows her well enough to know she is expert at guarding her true feelings from any onlooker.

“Oh, Mr. Mangan!” Charlotte fizzes with glee. “How wonderful to see you here. All of you. My parents will want to speak to you. They are so very pleased with the sculpture. It is quite the talking point among visitors to our house, you know. And your painting has been attracting interest, Bram. Is that not so, Lilith?”

Bram looks at her, waiting for her answer. Waiting to hear the tone of her voice so that he might discern her mood, her reaction to his being there.

“I was not aware you were acquainted with the Anstruthers,” she says.

“I was fortunate enough to be included on Mangan’s invitation,” he explains, giving a rather uncomfortable bow, feeling faintly ridiculous that he is having to greet so formally someone he has held in his arms and kissed.

Mangan laughs loudly. “Fortune favors the brave!” he declares, stooping to kiss Lilith’s hand. “My dear Lady Lilith. You look … enchanting,” he tells her.

Bram finds himself bridling a little at the joke between them. The shared secret.