“Well, we are discussing absurdity.” She shook her head with disdain, warming to her subject and oblivious to their now avid audience in the ballroom, straining to hear their low but impassioned conversation. “The complexity of the human brain cannot possibly be determined by sex. My brain is no less effective than yours, and my parents proved that beyond the shade of a doubt with my unconventional education. Give us women a few decades, and chaos will be the least of what we can accomplish.”

“I don’t doubt that in the slightest, my lady.”

Sarani searched his quiet reply for sarcasm, but there was none. She tapped her fan with a small grin. “We did invent an entire language around fans, after all.”

A new voice cut between them.

“Tell me, my lady, regarding the language of fans, which I find mildly fascinating, what is the movement to say that one is engaged?”

Sarani turned, despite Rhystan’s immediate glower and the impropriety of a strange gentleman interrupting their conversation, and felt the blood drain from her limbs. This particular gentleman did not require an introduction, because she knew him well, even with a half mask. She would never forget how her skin crawled whenever he looked at her, the way it did now.

An icy-cold sweat formed between her shoulder blades, dark spots threatening her vision as her legs shook beneath her dress. No, no, no… This could not be happening. But her memory was not playing tricks on her. The regent of Joor stood in this very ballroom, his familiar watery blue eyes swimming with anger and lust.

“Lord Talbot?” she whispered.

He bowed. “In the flesh. I’ve only recently discovered that my fiancée, whom I thought dead, is alive and has betrothed herself to another.”

The weight of a thousand knives crashed down upon her. The depth of her predicament suddenly became clear. It wasn’t Lord Talbot’s return that struck fear into her heart. It was the fact that he knew who she was and who she was pretending to be.

He was judge, jury, and executioner.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“What I’ve been promised.” His leer made her blood chill. “My bride.”

* * *

Rhystan had not immediately recognized the masked man. Until Sarani had whispered his name, he’d been at a loss. He fought the urge to slam his fist into the earl’s face. The fury coursing through him was impossible to control, the man’s lecherous stare and the idea that he had any prior claim on her making him see red. Around them, people had stopped dancing and were colliding with one another in an effort to eavesdrop.

“The lady is spoken for,” he gritted out.

“Why, Commander Huntley, no longer a boy, eh?” Talbot sneered. “And still chasing after these skirts, I see.”