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“If Sam has inserted himself into your life, however that maybe—andI would dearly love toknow—youmust understand who he is,” Benedict said. He looked away, gaze passing over my shoulder. “And what he has done. Though it pains me to be the one to tell you.”

“I’m sorry too.” My hands, one fit into his, the other resting on his bicep, softened. His fingers responded, large and warm, wrapping a little more around me. And even though Samuel was the topic of our discussion, my thoughts dwelled more and more on Benedict. “It must have been difficult, seeing your brother fall.”

Another web of emotions spun across Benedict’s features and resolved into a regretful smile. “It was. But enough of me. Might I have the pleasure of knowing your name, Ms.?”

“Mary,” I said, unable to resist smiling back.“Mary…Grey.”My father’s name, not my mother’s.

Benedict’s eyes traveled over my clothing with a hint of curiosity, as if trying to match my garb to my name and accent. There was a good deal of appreciation there too, though, and I was fully aware of the places his gaze lingered. “Grey. I am unfamiliar with your family. Your accent is atouch…midland?”

“Yes,” I replied. I was enjoying his attention, but the way he’d marked my family’s lack of notoriety gave me pause. There were a good deal of privileged men in the world who considered lowborn women easy prey. One dressed up in a fine gown and out of her element? Perhaps even more so.

That knowledge, however, was a shallow thing. My mind refused to linger on it, disappearing into Benedict’s warm eyes.

“Will you walk with me? I hear Lady Phira keeps a wonderful winter garden,” he said, the sound of his voice dashing aside the last of my worry. “I would like to hear about your experiences with my brother, if you are willing to share. He hasn’t returned my letters in years.”

“That’s terrible.” Perhaps I was reading too much into this man, forgetting that I’d just reminded him of what must be a difficult and painful past. “Of course.”

We left the dance floor, he hooking my fingers through his own as he led the way out of the ballroom. I stared at those fingers as we walked, mystified by them. I was letting this encounter become far too familiar, far too fast. Why, then, couldn’t I act against it?

“Good man!” Benedict addressed a servant posted beside a doorway. “Where might I find the Winter Garden?”

The servant glanced at me, then our hooked fingers. With Benedict’s focus on the other man, I finally found the will to release his hand and pressed my knuckles into my stays, half listening as the servant gave Benedict directions.

Glancing through the doors, I saw a group of men and women gathered around a table. Cards were dealt and I spied Grant with a stack of coins and three empty glasses in front of him. He looked unsettled, speaking quickly to a woman in a simple frock coat and trousers. She didn’t precisely look like a guest. A servant, perhaps?

Before I could catch Grant’s eye or speculate on what he was saying, Benedict started off with a prompting, backwards look. I trailed after him, though I didn’t remember deciding to do so.

Cool air wafted out into the hall as we entered a conservatory. The glass walls and ceiling rose around us, reflecting the light of a hundred free-flying dragonflies and highlighting the snow that lined each cloudy pane.

Beneath the glass, the world was green. The garden smelled of earth and growth, of forest and meadows, and my soul ached with the familiarity of it. Full-size trees reached towards the glass and myriad flowers bloomed in huge stone beds, ornate pots and hanging baskets. A fountain burbled in the center of the room and numerous other couples sat on benches around it, murmuring and holding hands. Other presences moved off through the shadows, more secretive, more intimate, and even the dragonflies avoided them.

I stifled a startled, embarrassed laugh behind one hand. I’d just walked into a trysting garden with a man I barely knew.

“We should go back to the ballroom,” I said, shaking my head. Then I blinked, realizing my lips were still closed. I hadn’t spoken at all, and Benedict had drawn me into a slow circuit of the outer wall.

“When was the last time you saw my brother?” he asked. We didn’t touch one another now and as I passed the cool glass, my skin prickled with cold and unease. Unfortunately, it did little to clear my head.

“Tithe,” I said. This time my tongue worked, but when I tried to turn it to talk of leaving, I found I’d forgotten my concerns.“I…Myvessel had stopped there, on the journey here.”

Benedict looked at me quizzically. “And why were you coming here?”

“I’m seeking patronage,” I lied. My tongue did not want to do that, either, but I managed it. “Or employment, as a musician. Phira was kind enough to allow me to come tonight, to make connections.”

“Ah, yes, connections.” Benedict’s eyes lit and a new smile crested his lips. “I hadn’t realized you are a musician. How fine. So you met my brother in Titheand…?”

“We were staying at the same inn and took dinner together,” I replied. “It was pleasant enough.”

“But you mentioned your connection was ‘unfortunate?’”

I winced and scrambled to rephrase myself. “He took an interest in me. Followed me, once.”

“That must have been frightening.” Benedict’s voice lowered. “I apologize.”

Memories of that night trickled back. Samuel putting another slice of bread on my plate. The way he’d looked at me before he vanished off with the inn wife and I’d robbed him. He was presumptuous and stiff, but he’d also appeared so relieved, and seemed so kind.

But Benedict had told me of another Samuel, a side of him I had never seen. A side he must have learned to hide well to have fooled me so thoroughly.

All at once, I was glad I’d robbed him. I hadn’t let him completely pull me in.