To her surprise, he’d nodded after a beat of scrutiny. “Very well. I will retire elsewhere tonight. Once I meet with my mother and introduce you, perhaps you can stay at Huntley House. My sister should also be in town for the season. She’s a few years younger than you, just now eighteen.”

“What’s she like?”

A fond smile had curved his lips, making her heart hitch an unexpected beat. Seeing any kind of emotion on his face that wasn’t lust, loathing, or some combination thereof was a bit of a shock. “Demure, sweet, dutiful.”

The opposite of her, clearly.

He didn’t have to say it, but the implication had been more than obvious.

They’d passed the rest of the journey in silence. And then, as they’d driven through the bustling streets of Mayfair, not even Rhystan’s sourness could detract from her fascination with the clean lines of the architecture, carriages pulled by matching teams of plumed horses, and the neat groups of sedately dressed lords and ladies. It was the antithesis of Joor, lacking the joyful chaos, intricate architectural styles, and broad palette of bright color she was used to. It was all so very…structured.

She’d smoothed nervously at her skirts, drawing Rhystan’s stare as they’d pulled up in front of a gorgeous town house.

“What’s the matter?”

She’d swallowed, not sure why she suddenly felt panicked. “I didn’t expect it to be so pristine. Even the cobblestones are freshly scrubbed.”

“Don’t let the exterior fool you,” he’d murmured. “Beauty is only skin deep. After all, the loveliest of smiles can mask the cruelest of intentions, can’t it?”

Her eyes had flashed to his, drawn by the harsh, bitter note in his voice, but he’d already returned his attention to the signet ring on his finger.

Now, Sarani’s nerves returned in full force while Asha combed and styled her hair into a low chignon with looped ringlets over her ears. She gave herself a critical look in the mirror when Asha was finished. The remaining weeks of travel after St. Helena that she’d spent cooped-up belowdecks had been effective in making her look like an English corpse bride. She pinched the apples of her cheeks, making them flush with a dusky hue. There, that was marginally better.

Now she didn’t look quite so sallow. Sarani glanced at Asha in the mirror whose brown skin practically glowed next to hers. Unlike her, Asha had been parasol-free and soaking up the sun for days. Sarani swallowed her envy and grimaced at her reflection. She wished she could line her eyelids with liberal amounts of kohl—it always made her eyes pop like jewels—but that would set her apart even more, and the goal was to fit in…not stand out.

She was beginning to feel an acute sense of pressure.

“Do you require face powder, Princess?” Asha asked.