The valet, a young man about her age, relaxed enough to grin. “Like I believe that. Don’t worry, I’ve parked worse.” He jerked his head toward the open glass doors. “The ballroom is on your left. Have a nice evening.”

“I will,” she promised, speaking to both herself and to him.

Squaring her shoulders, she clutched her small, cloth bag in one hand and stepped forward, prepared to meet her destiny.

Jonathan Steele accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray, then took a sip. He eyed the mingling crowd filling the oversize room and knew that it had been a mistake for him to come tonight. He wasn’t in the mood to play the game of gracious host. He hated events like these. Too many business acquaintances presumed on a relationship that didn’t exist. Too many women thought it was well past time he was married. Debutantes and their persistent mothers cornered him at every turn and more married women than he could count thought he would be a fun, if temporary, companion.

But convention demanded that he make an appearance, so he was here. As soon as he was able, he would make his escape and retreat to the solitude that was more comfortable, if not more preferred.

He took a second sip of champagne only to have the fizzy liquid choke him when he spotted a familiar couple across the room. Anger burned through him-a molten rage that made his fingers tighten dangerously on the delicate crystal.

Jonathan set down his glass on a nearby table, then walked through the crowd. His gaze never left the darkly handsome pair talking with friends. The man was tall, nearly his own height. The wife, a too-thin former model in a clinging black gown, had a haughty look about her pinched features.

He stopped beside his half brother and tapped David on the shoulder. “I would like a word with you,” he said.

David turned slowly, his expression unconcerned. “Jonathan, what a pleasure. But then you’re the sponsor of tonight’s ball, so I suppose it isn’t a surprise that you’re here.”