The world tilted. A powerful force wrenched her wrist, pulling her backward, away from the leering face and grasping hands of Mr. Hanuel. The next second, she was enveloped in a hard, unyielding embrace. The air around her shifted, filling with the crisp, expensive scent of his cologne, undercut by the faint, sharp notes of low-alcohol whiskey and fine tobacco. Linsy’s breath hitched in her throat.

"Hanuel," a voice, colder than polished steel, cut through the gala's hum. "I am not yet in my ...