wide-eyed look of astonishment—from the matron beside her, the smirking woman observed, "But the child would be gorgeous, undoubtedly gorgeous. Lucy visits the oddest places in the course of the day." But no amount of cajoling would wring another word from her.
Unsubstantial as these facts were, the perfume of sin was irresistible and before an hour passed, a current of intrigue had passed like wild fire throughout the room.
Leaving Millicent in a small parlor to sip sherry and gossip with the other wives traveling west with their husbands, Colonel Braddock escorted Blaze into the ballroom to claim her first dance. The music was a gay mazurka, lilting and merry, and those dancing threw themselves into the energetic steps with a high-spirited pleasure. Even in the midst of a room, crowded with guests, Blaze stood apart, her skin glowing warmly, her opulent pearl-studded gown a silken foil to her beauty. She was immediately besieged with suitors and dance partners, drawn to her startling loveliness with a certain predictability. The Colonel graciously gave way to his daughter's cavaliers, and she swung off in the arms of a tall, fair-haired gentleman who'd introduced himself with the soft drawl of a Texan. He danced well, told her she was more beautiful than the bluebells back home, and suggested they get married in the morning with a sincerity she found momentarily disconcerting. She smiled a polite refusal and was saved from further explanation by her next partner importuning for his turn.
She enjoyed herself, for dancing was always a pleasure, the people were open and engaging, and the talk, when she could turn it away from compliments, was often about the mining which so fascinated her. In the normal course of events, it might have been some time before she noticed the tall, dark-haired man in elegant evening dress among the hundreds of animated guests. Tonight, however, the moment he entered the room—cool, slender, expensive, with that swift, easy walk which bespoke ease and self-confidence—all conversation stopped, heads swiveled, and an uneasy silence settled over the large ballroom.
Not privy to the night's succulent item of gossip, Blaze had no idea why everyone was staring at the striking man, other than the fact he was beautiful. Perhaps he never walked into a room without the talk dying around him, she mused. He was distinctly a man of the outdoors, even in diamond studs and evening dress, and a closer look revealed he was undoubtedly an Indian. With a jolt Blaze recognized her Indian. Her heart raced. But palpitations aside, his beauty and heritage aside, why did every guest in the room continue staring at him? Watching from the dance floor, for her partner had abruptly stopped in his tracks, Blaze watched the conspicuously attractive man pause for a moment, taking in the silence, the expectancy, the rising hum of whispered comment.
His extraordinary black eyes swept the room casually, rested on Lucy, then moved with perfect equanimity along the haphazard grouping of officials making up the receiving line. Walking over in a wink of diamond studs, he calmly greeted some minor bureaucrats first. "Good evening. Pleasant weather. Yes, unusually warm for June," he remarked with consummate social ease. The dignitaries, by contrast, seemed edgy. Pretty, dark-haired Lucy Attenborough, next in line, looked up with a flash of a smile, and the elderly man standing beside her, his bald head glistening with sweat, followed her glance with a murderous scowl.
Hazard smiled back, ignoring the scowl, and extended his hand to the Chief Justice's wife, who unexpectedly blushed. With smoothly turned compliments he took her fingers briefly in his, then, passing along, put his hand out to the Chief Justice. "Good evening," said Hazard pleasantly. "I hear the legislative session finally ended. A relief to you, I expect."
"Yes, I'll have more time to spend at home now," the Chief Justice replied
Unsubstantial as these facts were, the perfume of sin was irresistible and before an hour passed, a current of intrigue had passed like wild fire throughout the room.
Leaving Millicent in a small parlor to sip sherry and gossip with the other wives traveling west with their husbands, Colonel Braddock escorted Blaze into the ballroom to claim her first dance. The music was a gay mazurka, lilting and merry, and those dancing threw themselves into the energetic steps with a high-spirited pleasure. Even in the midst of a room, crowded with guests, Blaze stood apart, her skin glowing warmly, her opulent pearl-studded gown a silken foil to her beauty. She was immediately besieged with suitors and dance partners, drawn to her startling loveliness with a certain predictability. The Colonel graciously gave way to his daughter's cavaliers, and she swung off in the arms of a tall, fair-haired gentleman who'd introduced himself with the soft drawl of a Texan. He danced well, told her she was more beautiful than the bluebells back home, and suggested they get married in the morning with a sincerity she found momentarily disconcerting. She smiled a polite refusal and was saved from further explanation by her next partner importuning for his turn.
She enjoyed herself, for dancing was always a pleasure, the people were open and engaging, and the talk, when she could turn it away from compliments, was often about the mining which so fascinated her. In the normal course of events, it might have been some time before she noticed the tall, dark-haired man in elegant evening dress among the hundreds of animated guests. Tonight, however, the moment he entered the room—cool, slender, expensive, with that swift, easy walk which bespoke ease and self-confidence—all conversation stopped, heads swiveled, and an uneasy silence settled over the large ballroom.
Not privy to the night's succulent item of gossip, Blaze had no idea why everyone was staring at the striking man, other than the fact he was beautiful. Perhaps he never walked into a room without the talk dying around him, she mused. He was distinctly a man of the outdoors, even in diamond studs and evening dress, and a closer look revealed he was undoubtedly an Indian. With a jolt Blaze recognized her Indian. Her heart raced. But palpitations aside, his beauty and heritage aside, why did every guest in the room continue staring at him? Watching from the dance floor, for her partner had abruptly stopped in his tracks, Blaze watched the conspicuously attractive man pause for a moment, taking in the silence, the expectancy, the rising hum of whispered comment.
His extraordinary black eyes swept the room casually, rested on Lucy, then moved with perfect equanimity along the haphazard grouping of officials making up the receiving line. Walking over in a wink of diamond studs, he calmly greeted some minor bureaucrats first. "Good evening. Pleasant weather. Yes, unusually warm for June," he remarked with consummate social ease. The dignitaries, by contrast, seemed edgy. Pretty, dark-haired Lucy Attenborough, next in line, looked up with a flash of a smile, and the elderly man standing beside her, his bald head glistening with sweat, followed her glance with a murderous scowl.
Hazard smiled back, ignoring the scowl, and extended his hand to the Chief Justice's wife, who unexpectedly blushed. With smoothly turned compliments he took her fingers briefly in his, then, passing along, put his hand out to the Chief Justice. "Good evening," said Hazard pleasantly. "I hear the legislative session finally ended. A relief to you, I expect."
"Yes, I'll have more time to spend at home now," the Chief Justice replied
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