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“They’re technically Lord Thornton’s hunters,” Wesley said.

“Valemount’s hunt is in Dartmoor, while this ball is for the Beckley Hunt here in Hampshire.

But Thornton also belongs to our London shooting club and extended the invitation to all members.

Not that I expect you to give a solitary fuck about that distinction,” he added, his tone more sincere than snippy.

“I’m sure you feel a fox should be left alone, whatever the county. ”

That was Sebastian’s feeling on the matter. “So Lord Thornton is hosting, and Lord Valemount is attending. Anyone else I should watch for?”

“Depends on whether you’re itching to meet my scant family members,” said Wesley dryly. “My second cousin, Geoffrey, will be there. He’s part of the London club and also Valemount’s hunt.”

“Ace and I oughta get at least a look at Valemount,” Rory said. “Is there somewhere you can bring him where we can spy?”

“Assuming nothing has changed at Beckley Park since the last time I attended one of the marquess’s events, there’s a billiard room on the opposite end of the house from the ballroom, on the ground floor in the east wing,” Wesley said.

“If you two sneak onto the grounds and find the room, I should be able to convince Valemount to join me for a game.”

“Make sure you open the curtains,” Arthur said.

“Well, I didn’t think you or Brodigan could see through walls,” Wesley said testily.

“One of my cousins can do that,” Sebastian said absently.

“I have a strong feeling our family gatherings are very different,” Wesley muttered.

Not long later, Arthur was pulling the car up in front of a four-story country mansion of red brick with white trim, with rows of tall windows and graceful stairs up to open front doors. A doorman got the backseat door for them and they stepped out of the car to join the milling crowd.

“The Viscount Fine and guest,” Wesley said to a man with a list.

“Of course, my lord.” The man swept his arm toward the stairs. “Right this way.”

“For the record,” Wesley murmured as they climbed, so quiet Sebastian had to strain to hear him, “I don’t want to go to a stupid fucking hunt ball, I want to whisk you somewhere private where I can hoard the sight of you in a tailcoat all to myself.”

Sebastian matched his quiet volume. “If it was only the two of us, I would have already taken it off.”

“ Not helping .”

They stepped through the open doors and into an entrance hall decorated for Christmas, with a giant fir tree draped in ornaments and garlands adorning the tables.

The staff took their top hats and overcoats, and then they were shown down a corridor to their left, past what looked like a library and into a large ballroom with chandeliers hanging from the lofty two-story ceiling and walls adorned with carved moldings and painted murals.

A man of about fifty in a scarlet jacket and stark white trousers was at the entrance, shaking the hands of every guest. Hunting coats. Great.

“That’s Lord Thornton, the marquess.” Wesley straightened up and said, more loudly, “Thornton, how are you?”

As Wesley made his greetings, Sebastian’s gaze stole to the ballroom beyond. There were several men in matching outfits, the scarlet coats paired with white trousers and tall black boots. These must be the members of Thornton’s hunt—

“Hello,” said a deep, booming voice. “I don’t think we’ve met.”

Sebastian’s line of sight was suddenly taken up by a broad-shouldered white man almost as big as Arthur, though his hair was chestnut brown instead of Arthur’s striking raven-black. The man was dressed not in red, but in a black tailcoat and white tie, like Wesley and Sebastian himself.

“We have.” Next to the man was a familiar young woman in a blue-and-gold sheath dress with a matching gold headpiece over her bob.

“Aboard the Gaston ,” Lady Nora added, her expression unreadable as her gaze lingered on Sebastian.

She extended her hand, her long gloves coming up over her elbows.

“Don Sebastian. I’m sure my uncle here will also be pleased to meet you. ”

“Lady Nora.” Sebastian took her hand. They weighed each other for a moment, gazes locked.

The large man next to her had her same brown hair and blue eyes—her uncle, she’d said, the new Duke of Valemount.

The one who had asked her to travel with a doctor—though Lady Nora’s companion Dr. Wright was nowhere to be seen.

Had her uncle sent Dr. Wright with her as a spy—or worse, to murder poor Alasdair Findlay?

Or could Nora herself have been in New York to work with Alasdair and the others, using a visit to her sister as cover?

Even if she wasn’t part of the scheme, she was descended from both a paranormal duke who’d made the medallion relic with its hunting magic and Sebastian’s own distant aunt, who’d made another relic. Did Nora know anything about that heritage? Or anything else she could tell them?

“I’m enchanted to see you again,” Sebastian said, instead of voicing his tumultuous thoughts. “It’s nice to be on land, but it was a lovely ship. I love to travel by sea—it is like stepping away into a private world for a bit, no?”

Lady Nora gave him a searching look. “It is,” she finally said, as their hands released each other. “That’s a lovely way to put it.”

Valemount was looking curiously between them. Sebastian cleared his throat. “Sebastian, at your service, Lord Valemount. Just a friend of Lord Fine’s.”

“He’s so bloody bashful, isn’t he?” Wesley’s voice broke in.

“Fine, old boy!” Valemount said heartily. “I thought you were in America?”

“Made it back just in time,” Wesley said, shaking Valemount’s hand. “Good to see you, Your Grace, and you again as well, Lady Nora.”

“You’re not half as reticent as my niece here, Fine,” Valemount said. “So perhaps you’ll indulge everyone and share more clues about your bashful friend here.”

Nearby guests were surreptitiously leaning in, waiting for the answer. “Oh,” said Sebastian self-consciously. He hadn’t meant to attract attention. “I’m just—”

“Sebastian Miguel del Castillo.” Wesley had given Sebastian’s fake name in a loud whisper, as if he were imparting a secret that was sure to reach every eavesdropper. “His father is the nineteenth Count of Animales, a very old Spanish family.”

Sebastian tried to smile. Well, with any luck, that had quashed the interest from the onlookers, and they’d go back to ignoring him—

“I’m sorry,” said a new woman, stepping closer, “but did you say a count’s son?”

“ Eldest son, by any chance?” a second woman asked.

A third woman leaned in. “And how long will you be in England?”

As more questions rolled in, Nora tilted her head. “Well, look at that,” she said to Sebastian, with the tiniest smile. “I knew you’d make the party more interesting.”