The lower half of the gown was even more extravagant than the top. The full skirts were sewn with hundreds of elaborate flowers, studded with tiny pearls and diamonds, and paired with a cream-colored gold-stitched underlay, visible only at the hem. The design was elegant but bold in both color and style.

A perfect amalgamation of Eastern traditions with Western flair.

And if she wanted to make a statement, which she did, this would be the gown to wear. It was a statement that she would be seen, no matter who wanted to render her invisible. It was a statement that she mattered.

That she was there, not to stay, but there nonetheless.

* * *

God knew why his mother wanted to throw a ball of all things. Rhystan sighed. Half of the ton had accepted the invitation out of morbid curiosity. The other half had been too afraid to decline, given her influence, which apparently had not waned as much.

Rhystan had not seen Sarani since she’d returned to Huntley House. It was to stave off any more salacious gossip, she’d said, especially now that the scandal sheets had painted her as a greedy fortune hunter with the most eligible duke in London in her grasp. Not that they knew that she had more money than most of the ton combined.

He shouldn’t have been surprised that she’d laughed off the awful caricatures.

“If only my eyes were that large,” she’d joked. “Or other parts of me.”

Rhystan had grinned. “Other parts of you are perfect as they are.”

Not that he’d seen any of said parts since the bathing chamber, a cherished memory that had gotten him through a number of lonely nights since. Neither of them had spoken about what would happen next. His ship was leaving in a week or so, and he knew that she was still set on finding a quiet cottage somewhere. Who was he to take away her choices?

The ballroom at Huntley House was enormous and it was already crowded, even though it was early in the hour. The sharks were out for blood, while other smaller fish circled in the hope of scraps. Rhystan couldn’t believe that Sarani had agreed to this, but she understood what the duchess was trying to do. His mother wanted to show the peerage that the Huntleys were a united force. He knew it was her way of making amends.

“Your Grace,” someone said to his right, where he stood in the shadows of a pillar. “Lord Beckforth, at your service.” Rhystan tensed, but the man’s expression was not hostile. “Princess Sarani’s cousin,” he added helpfully when Rhystan kept frowning.

“You know who she is?”