The sounds of swishing silks and satins buzzed in the back of her mind. Tinkling glass and laughter filled the enormous ballroom. The sights and sounds surrounding her were all so familiar. They reminded her of times gone by when hers had been the much-anticipated presence at every social gathering.

The Fergus ballroom was not as ornate as the ones she's seen in the fine London townhouses, but it was all the more welcoming because of its simplicity. Figures in bright ball gowns moved about the room with all the proper grace of the upperclass. The main difference here was the tartan, proudly worn and displayed as though it meant far more than the most costly silks.

Cassandra hadn't yet discovered the reason behind the Scotsmen and their skirts. Brawny men strutted about as though they felt no shame in donning a clothing article so typically seen on women. Even Charlie was wearing one.

Despite the welcoming appearance of the room, Cassandra hesitated at the door. For some reason, the irrational fear, that if she stepped into that room, her old self would resurface, had taken hold of her. Her brain told her that crossed the threshold would send her careening back into her preening, self-centered ways, and there was nothing she dreaded more.

From the dim hallway, where she took shelter, she could see Ethan and Lavinia chatting and socializing like parties of this size were a common occurrence in their everyday lives. They seemed far more at home here than they had in the London ballrooms back home.

She had been passed by a few couples in the hall, and she'd distinctly heard one of them refer to her afterward as that 'stupid, little English mouse'. If only they knew what she'd been before coming here. The comment, however, wasn't enough to stir her from her position.

Chewing on her lip, she wondered if she could manage to find her way to the garden without running into Irene—who would most certainly force her into the social light. Right now, she oddly wanted a moment to mull over what she was feeling. Without the life she'd built for herself over a span of several years, she had no idea what she really was and what she wanted to be. She had a dim idea, but she wasn't sure how to reach her goal while keeping her personality intact.

Gritting her teeth, she determined to try to get out of here. It was no use just standing and watching the party, and it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Turning, she crashed into something solid. Over-correcting in an attempt to get out of the way of the unseen stranger, she lost her balance and felt herself toppling in an ungraceful pile of silk.

A manly hand on her back held her upright, and one of her hands found purchase on the lapels of a dinner jacket.

"It seems every time we meet, you're in need of my assistance." Graham's other hand fit to the curve of her waist, and he easily pulled her upright.

"Perhaps, Mr. McRoberts, that's because you seem to enjoy following me, even when it's evident your presence is unwelcome." She felt a strange tightness in her chest, and he didn't, she noticed, remove his hands from their position.

"Oh, I wasn't complaining." He flashed a smile which she could barely make out in the dimly lit hallway. "I rather enjoy our little encounters, but not, I imagine, as much as you."

"You only imagine that, because you're in the habit of stroking your own ego." She sniffed, pushing out of his grasp. "Now, if you will excuse me, you're blocking my way."

"Not going out there?" He nodded his head in the direction of the ballroom, raising a brow.

"Not directly." For some reason, she didn't want to tell him her true intent. She prayed he would just let her go.

"Ah, planning to make a grand entrance later in the evening?" Perhaps it was the light, but she thought she saw a flicker of unreadable emotion pass through his eyes. "Surely, you're above that, Cassandra." His voice was dry.

She raised a brow. "If you must know, I really don't want to go in there at all. All their self-absorbed preening disgusts me now that I can see it. I doubt there'll be a chance to find any form of intelligent conversation beyond that door, and I shall be bored senseless by the stupidity of rich nobility who imagine themselves so far above the rest of humanity." The words came out in a stream, and she was surprised at her ability to keep a steady tone and volume.

Wait, had he just addressed her by her given name? Since when had he been that familiar? Or was she just imagining things?

Oddly enough, he didn't respond with some witty jibe. A smile touched his lips, and she saw his hand move toward her a fraction before he pulled it back. Drat this man's mystery!

"I intended to escape to a night of quiet reflection in the relative peaceful atmosphere of the garden until you tried to knock me off my feet. So if you would kindly get out of my way. . ." She motioned for him to move, but he didn't take the hint.

"I'm afraid my presence has that affect on women—knocking them off their feet, I mean. I'd say I was sorry, but I'm afraid I can't apologize for being born with superior good looks and charm." He didn't even shift position.

"Natural good looks and charm," her voice was thick with sarcasm. "I've seen more charm on a street urchin. Now, let me go." She spoke sharply. Tonight wasn't the night to mess with her.

"A street urchin? I believe that's the first time anyone's ever compared me to a homeless vagabond." He sounded amused. "No, after that insult, I'm afraid I can't let you just slip out."

"Oh, yes, I'm sorry. Insulting a poor street ruffian was rather cruel of me. I'm sure I'd find them better behaved than you." She spat, secretly proud of herself for thinking of the retort so quickly. "And you really don't have a choice. Move aside." She smiled sweetly.

The danger that lay behind that smile had quelled the most ardent young London gentlemen, but Graham didn't even flinch. Was it her imagination, or did he smile back? It was too dark to tell, and the expression didn't last long enough for her to make it out, anyway.

He shook his head. "Sorry, sweetheart, I just can't do it. I promised Irene that I'd find you and bring you to her. She was most adamant that she be allowed to introduce you to a friend of Charlie's, and you know me, I can't stand to leave a lady unhappy."

Cassandra suddenly felt like a prisoner. It was an irrational feeling to say the least. Irene had been nothing but kind to her; it was only that tonight, of all nights, she felt out of place.

"So your questions about going out there were for nothing? I'm to be forced to do so anyway." She spoke more bitterly than she'd intended.

"It's high society, sweetheart; you've seen it all. Tonight is no different." He held out his arm. If she hadn't known him better, it might have seemed like he was trying to comfort her. If only what he'd said was true, but the difference was all in her. She'd changed since society had called her its pet.

"Don't call me that." She snapped, scorning his offer. Maybe she could get away from him. . .

"That English girl won't last another month here." A feminine voice cut through her plotting thoughts. "Soon enough, she'll realize she doesn't belong here, and Charles will be well rid of her. The little fright means to take his hand—and with it, his fortune—if I'm not mistaken, and I never am."

"The little mouse?" Another voice tittered. "I believe she won't last another day. Honestly, you have only to look at the girl to realize she knows she's far away from home and is reaching beyond her station by being here."

"The wonder of it all, Edwina, is that I'm not sure which of the sisters you're referring to." A chorus of laughter followed this statement, and the women continued in their malicious gossip, their insults growing more colorful by the minute.

Cassandra's brain simply stopped registering the words. Rage flooded her veins. Who did they think they were? How dare they insult Lavinia in such a manner? In all likelihood, they were beneath her in station—it was obvious their characters couldn't be compared to hers.

She tried to tell herself to ignore them; it was simply their jealousy showing through, but she couldn't. There call for any of their insults. Lavinia had been nothing but her own gentle, good self in their presence. In fact, she was worth more than every single stuck up floozy in that ballroom.

Instinctively, her shoulders went back, and her back went ramrod straight. She was no longer the unsure, insecure girl she'd been a moment ago. She was a woman, and she felt herself physically transform into her old, confident self. Nothing had been more welcome. Tossing her head, she crossed the space between her and the door and stepped into the bright, golden light.

The light spilled over her, and she blinked a few times to adjust her eyes to the bright atmosphere. A soft gasp met her ears, and she turned her imperious gaze on the apparent gossips. Their mouths dropped open as they looked at her. She raised a single brow at them with all the regality and poise of a monarch before turning away as if they weren't worth her time.

"Wait, is that—" She heard one of them hiss as she walked away.

"Her dress. . ." Another breathed.

A smile crossed her features as she moved among the guests. Apparently, those young women hadn't been alone in their thoughts of the English girls. Her presence warranted not a few gaping stares and gasps, and when she passed by, conversations grew hushed for a few moments before continuing in a buzz once she'd passed.

"Do you intend to win every man's heart before the night has ended?" For a moment, she had forgotten Graham, but his voice recalled him to her mind. She turned and looked at him. Did he think of her and Lavinia in the same way the others did?

"I doubt I have that ability, being a simple 'English mouse'." She growled. Since when had she allowed her emotions to take such a hold of her? Hadn't she learned long ago to hide beneath a facade of complete poise?

"Sweetheart, you and I both know how little truth there is in that statement." He said dryly. "And you're far too aware of yourself to believe those lies."

She opened her mouth to respond, confused, but a voice cut her off. "Cassandra!" Irene moved gracefully through the crowd. "I've been looking for you all evening!" A smile spread across her friend's face. "I wanted to introduce you to a friend." Cassandra noticed the man standing at Irene's side for the first time. "This is Jack."

"Lady Antrucha," Jack took her hand and bowed over it politely. He was incredibly handsome. Sparkling blue eyes sat above prominent cheekbones and dimpled cheeks. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I have been hearing about you all evening." His eyes darted to Irene fondly.

"The pleasure is all mind, I'm sure, Lord—" She looked at him expectantly. He threw back his head and laughed merrily, causing several people to turn their heads and stare.

"I can see I've started us off on the wrong foot." He grinned. "Look, I'll forget your title if you'll forget mine." He raised a brow that suggested something more than innocence. Jack what's-his-name was a flirt.

Stepping slightly to the side, Cassandra pulled Irene close to whisper in her ear. "He's not. . ." She looked at her friend meaningfully.

"Not what?" Irene was clueless.

"You know, not your. . .the one?" Cassandra raised a slightly concerned brow. If this was the man Irene loved, then he was entirely undeserving of her affection. A flirt, likely a rake of some sort, he looked like the sort of man one couldn't help but like.

"Oh!" Realization dawned in Irene's eyes. "No, of course not!" She laughed. "Jack is one of Charles's friends. They grew up together. Lord Harpingdon," she paused for a moment. "He's not around anymore, and Jack is lord of his own estate. They don't often get to see one another these days, but Jack wouldn't miss the Fergus Dinner Party for all the world." She laughed again. "He's like an older brother to me."

"Your brother has a strange group of friends, I must say." Cassandra raised a brow, her gaze turning to Jack and Graham who were conversing easily.

"He does, surprisingly. You see, it's very hard for him to find people that he really likes. It's difficult for him to form friendships. I think we can agree, though, that there is something similar in them." Irene nodded her head toward the two men.

"Oh? Is Jack an egotistical nob, too?" Cassandra raised her brows.

"No," Irene whacked her. "There both charismatic. Everyone likes them. Everyone knows them. They have magnetic personalities and a crazy ability to put anyone at their ease."

"Are you sure we're talking about the same person?" Cassandra said half jokingly. "Have you actually observed Graham at all?"

Irene smiled. "I see a lot of things, Cassandra, things people don't give me credit for. There's more to him than meets the eye, and you know it."

Cassandra opened her mouth to deny the statement but found she couldn't. It was true. Graham was a riddle she hadn't been able to solve. She had always prided herself on being able to know people, but Graham was something else entirely.

That was part of what made him so infuriating. He seemed to know everything about her while she couldn't get anywhere with him. He was a joke, a tease, but sometimes, there was so much more to him.

"Perhaps, you see it more than anyone else." Irene's voice echoed in the back of her mind, and Cassandra mentally cursed herself for allowing her mind to wander away from the present.

"I don't know what you mean." She flashed a smile at Irene.

"Oh, I think you do." A sparkle flared in Irene's eyes.

Cassandra narrowed her eyes, about to ask what exactly Irene was talking about, but movement in her peripheral vision drew her attention to the gentlemen. Jack had moved closer and was regarding them with a smile on his face.

"Forgive my intrusion, Irene, but I fear I must beg your companion to dance with me." He kept his eyes on Cassandra as he spoke, and a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I have it on good authority that I won't find a better partner this side of London, and I'm desperate to find out the truth of the statement for myself."

"You've been talking to the wrong people," Cassandra snorted softly. "And their misleading may cause you some great disappointment, but as you see determined, I'll grant your request."

"Really?" Jack seemed almost surprised at how nicely the conversation had gone. "Well then," he held out an arm, flashing a white-teethed smile.

She took his arm with a smile of her own. The truth was that her feet were itching to do something other than stand. She felt herself almost ecstatic at the idea of dancing as he led her out to join the other couples—not for the dancing itself, but rather for the opportunity to move and do something.

Apparently, this 'Jack' was something of a heartthrob. She found herself the recipient of gaping mouthed, jealous stares from every woman she happened to see. Perhaps this would show them she was more than they had assumed, and she would no longer be called a mouse.

No, that name would be far too kind after tonight. Minx and trollop would be the tamer words used in reference to her. The attention on her, however, would take their eyes off Lavinia, and their petty name-calling didn't bother Cassandra in the least. People would talk whether she like them to or not, and as long as she knew the truth, whatever they could say wouldn't harm her.

Jack was himself an excellent partner. He spun her and led her expertly through the dance, keeping his attention on her as though she were the only girl in the room. It was no small wonder that high society ladies grew weak when he was near.

As the dance continued, she happened to see a tall gentleman with sandy hair approach Irene. The sight of the man set Cassandra's teeth on edge. She had come to know his kind all too well. He belonged in the same category of the Robert Smithers of the world.

Cassandra found herself going through the steps of the dance mechanically, no longer paying any attention to her partner. Her eyes remained fixed on the two of them as they exchanged a few words. Charles was busy with the other guests, Ethan was with Lavinia, and she was dancing it's Jack. There was no one to help her friend.

Hot color flared in Irene's cheeks, and she moved as though to retreat, but the man, whoever he was, reached out and stopped her. Someone needed to do something! Cassandra ground her teeth together, almost pulling away from Jack and running to Irene's aid.

Then, Graham was there. A smile on his face, he put himself between the finely-clothed man and Irene. Cassandra thought she caught a glimpse of fire in his steely eyes as he regarded the gentleman. For a brief moment, she thought there might be an old-fashioned brawl right in the midst of the party, but then, Graham took Irene's arm and sauntered off without a backwards glance.

Turning back to Jack, Cassandra smiled brightly. Her mind was reeling. Irene had been right. There was something about Graham that made everyone respect him in some way or other. He didn't dither around, but he was also kind and understanding. 'But not to you.' A voice inside her said. 'He never shows that side of himself to you.'

A strange sensation welled up within her, and she found herself immediately shoving the feeling away with disgust. Since when had she been like such a little schoolgirl? She wasn't jealous, she told herself, but lying couldn't make the odd stabbing within her go away.

Pushing her emotions aside, she preened in Jack's arms for the last set of the dance. Graham McRoberts had nothing to do with her.

Jealousy, however, is a cruel master, and once in its clutches, there is no freedom.

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There you have it! Hope y'all enjoyed this chapter!! Poor Cassandra's not really sure what to think or feel. What do you say we confuse her some more?? :P

What would y'all think of a chapter from Graham's point of view? I'm working on the next chapter, and it just seemed appropriate to give you a glimpse into his world. . .

Hmm. Have any thoughts on Jack? A shameless flirt. I like him ;D.

Comment with what you might like to see next/in the near future! I'll 'see' you guys in the next chapter!