The afternoon light filtered soft and gold through the tall windows of the Fitzgeralt drawing room, turning everything it touched into something warmer, softer, and almost unreal. The fire had been lit early as winter started to frost the garden, and the faint scent of citrus polish and tea leaves lingered in the air.
Lucas had dressed simply, for once. A cream cashmere sweater with sleeves pushed to his elbows, slate-gray slacks, and no jewelry save for the slim platinum band on his left hand. Comfort over ceremony. The only concession to formality was the way his hair had been brushed back neatly, betraying that he was, in fact, expecting company.
He was seated on the sofa when the door opened, and Windstone's calm voice announced, "Lady Mia Black, Lord Benjamin LaVierre, and Lord Alistair Fitzgeralt… An uninvited guest."
"Gods, help me," Lucas murmured under his breath just as the first wave of energy hit the room.
