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She said that last word with such nearly intolerable contempt that a flame of anger licked through his uncertainty.

“Isolde. I am sorry...if I have led you to believe my intentions were...that I had intentions to...” He struggled to pull a breath.

“With you, I was caught up, for the first time in my life, and I.

.. I am sorrier than I can say if I caused you confusion and hurt.

But I will never be sorry for kissing you.

I daresay you weren't sorry about that, either.”

“ Such a gentleman. Fanchette is a lucky, lucky woman.” She'd tried for bitterness. But her voice was shattered.

“Do you really think there is no cost to me ?”

His words began a hiss, then rose and rose in volume until they cracked with anguish.

He could sense a number of heads swiveling in his direction.

“Isaiah...” Isolde breathed. She took a step toward him, her hand outstretched.

He knew she meant to comfort him. This was who she was. Even as he broke her heart, she meant to comfort him.

He held up a hand to stop her.

He spun on his heel and left her standing alone.

The shock was a toxin; Isolde was blinded by it. Her skin was ice. Her gorge rose hotly. She didn’t dare move her body; her very organs felt like razor-edged smithereens.

She stood as motionless as one of those statues in the Redmond rose garden, while the orchestra tuned up and her neighbors in Pennyroyal Green laughed and chattered around her. All of the sounds blended into one dissonant buzz.

But some instinct finally made her turn her head.

She was jolted into full awareness when she met Jacob Eversea’s steady blue gaze.

He was leaning against the wall, a good ten feet away. Watching her.

How long had he been there?

She didn’t think he could have heard her conversation with Isaiah. Surely, she would have noticed him? But how much had he witnessed? Or guessed at?

All she knew was that she would never forget his expression for the rest of her life, or the way he slowly pushed himself away from the wall.

And followed Isaiah Redmond into the ballroom.

Isaiah felt removed from his body, like a puppet someone else was piloting. His vision was blurred as if he was walking through a lashing storm. His ears buzzed, but he wasn't certain whether it was from murmurs of the crowd or the blood pounding in his head.

Finally, he stopped short of the refreshment table.

His instinct for self-preservation told him he didn’t dare attempt to talk to another human yet.

He knew how to arrange his features and posture to convey pleasant detachment, the battlement behind which he always took refuge. So that’s what he did.

Behind his features, a shocking snarl of emotion raged.

He located Fanchette. She was standing near her mother and Lady Fennimore across the room. Her alabaster brow was shadowed. Her famous blue eyes aimed a question at him.

He commanded his lips to curve in a reassuring smile, and they must have obeyed him, because she softened and smiled in return. Half the men and women in the room saw their exchange and sighed with envy and admiration.

He became conscious of a movement at the corner of his eye.

He turned his head and discovered Jacob Eversea moving toward him with the slow intention of a stalking animal.

It was like a scene from a nightmare. He hadn’t even known Eversea had returned to Pennyroyal Green.

Instinct urged Isaiah to move away. But he would never give Eversea the satisfaction.

Jacob stopped in front of him. They regarded each other wordlessly.

“How bloody dare you make a fool of her.”

Jacob delivered this flaming gauntlet in a quiet, pleasantly conversational tone.

“I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Eversea,” Isaiah replied stiffly. He offered a small, polite smile for the benefit of anyone watching. His heart was slamming.

Contempt and anger and pain poured from Eversea in such scorching rays Isaiah could feel it on his skin. He was tempted to take a step back.

He would quite frankly rather die than relinquish his ground.

Eversea snorted. “You're not worthy of her, of course.” His expression reflected nothing but bright interest. He, too, apparently knew when to don a social disguise. “But I always suspected you were the rankest of cowards. It's the Redmond way, after all. The snake-in-the-grass way.”

Isaiah’s control was already in shreds. Rage rose in him like the flames licking at the ankles of a heretic tied to a stake. It was going to consume him.

“And yet you’re the one who left her, Eversea,” he drawled. “Aren’t you? What kind of fool does that make you?”

He had the pleasure of seeing Eversea go rigid as the words found their mark.

“I pity you, Redmond,” Eversea finally said quietly. “And do you know why you're pitiable?” Jacob leaned forward and lowered his voice to a near-whisper, and said with a sort of scathing tenderness next to Isaiah’s ear, “Because now you will never have her. And I expect I can.”

Isaiah felt his entire being shudder apart.

He made a feral sound and lunged for Eversea's throat with his hands.

Eversea ducked and came up again with a swing, his fist slamming into Isaiah’s jaw.

Isaiah went down, hard.

And before he could move, Jacob Eversea was on him, teeth bared, face scarlet, his fist pulled back to smash Isaiah Redmond’s face.

Isolde heard the screams. She saw the crowd heave forward as a mass like a wave, then part abruptly.

The last thing she saw before the world went black was Jacob Eversea's face blazing with terrifying intent, four men dragging him by the arms away from Isaiah Redmond's prone body