The Forbidden Spark

The Grand Ballroom of the Royal Conservatory was a glittering sea of spun gold, whispering silk, and shimmering glass chandeliers. To the rest of the ton, Lady Seraphine Duvalle appeared every bit the picture of composed grace in her sapphire silk gown, its delicate lace trim concealing the quiet wear of a garment reworked for three successive seasons. Across the terrace gallery, she could feel the watchful, desperate gaze of her father, Lord Duvalle, his weathered face drawn tight above his faded doublet. Her family’s solvency rested on her ability to secure a modest, respectable match before the season expired. Then Jareth Talbin, the Earl Annor, offered his gloved hand. He had bypassed three debutantes backed by formidable fortunes to approach her, his sharp hazel eyes intently focused beneath wavy dark brown hair and the faint silver scar at his left temple. Seraphine placed her fingers in his, intending only to endure the requisite courtesy of an opening set. But the moment his bare palm touched hers through the thin fabric, a jolt swept through her—not of nervous excitement, but an unmistakable, prickling rush of latent warmth that set every nerve along her collarbone alive.…