Selene's hazel eyes danced with a quiet, brilliant amusement over the silk lace border of her fan, completely validating the sheer, satisfying weight of the verbal blow I had just landed.
For a girl who had been raised to wear perfection like a heavy set of iron armor, watching someone completely dismantle the ton's premier gossip with nothing more than a razor-sharp tongue would clearly be written as the highlight of this afternoon.
Lady Clara's fingers tightened so hard around the ivory handle of her feather fan that I heard the delicate down groan under the pressure.
Her face shifted through a spectacular shift of expressions. First from a smug smirk to stunned silence, and finally settling into a rigid, wary one.
She cleared her throat with a sharp, dry sound, taking an incredibly small sip of her tea as if she were trying to prove to the entire pavilion that she was, indeed, capable of digesting hot liquids...or my comments safely.
