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certainly would have if not for the presence of her father and Colonel Halfyard. That and the fact she could not afford a scene tonight, of all nights.
    “I do not recall my brother ever mentioning your name, Mr. Montgomery. But then I suppose some lawyers prefer to keep their … um … less palatable clients anonymous. You aren’t, by chance, a murderer or a highwayman?”
    Damien was horrified, but Montgomery only laughed—the same deep, resonating sound she had heard following her out of the forest. “Rest assured, Mistress Ashbrooke, I call upon your brother’s expertise for purely financial matters.”
    “Raefer owns a shipping venture based in London,” Damien explained quickly.
    “Slaves or black market?” she inquired sweetly.
    “At the moment … ladies’ petticoats,” Montgomery replied, not the least perturbed. “The market is extremely lucrative in the present climate for anyone able to carry cargoes of silk, lace, and brocade. With trade to France cut off, goods from the Orient are commanding top prices.”
    “How interesting,” Catherine declared, opening her fan with a bored snap. She turned to William Merriweather and favored him with a devastating smile. “I believe I hear the orchestra tuning for the next set.”
    With an artful sweep of her wide skirts, she accompanied Merriweather to the dance floor, where other partners were forming two long lines. The music was a minuet, elegant and stately, the steps executed with precision and grace. Catherine determinedly avoided looking in Montgomery’s direction, though she was aware ofhis dark gaze following her through the intricate pattern of steps.
    “Such an odious man,” she said conversationally when she and Merriweather closed together to turn a pirouette. “Ladies’ petticoats indeed. I’ll wager he does not waste the sail to bring goods all the way from the Orient. I’ll wager he smuggles them from France despite the embargoes.”
    “Rather too brusque a character for my liking,” Merriweather agreed. “Yet he does have a certain boldness. Not afraid to speak his mind at all; he and the lieutenant were warming to each other just before you arrived.”
    “Really? About what?”
    The lines parted and the dancers traced through several stations of the dance before coming together again.
    “What does anyone argue about these days?” Merriweather sighed. “Politics, of course. I admit to a certain penchant for poking the odd hornet’s nest meself, but our bold Mr. Montgomery came right out and whacked it with a stick.”
    “He advocates war?”
    Merriweather pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Dash me if I know what he advocates. Or for whom.”
    Catherine frowned and stole a peek over her shoulder. Montgomery had detached himself from the group somewhat, though whether it was by his choice or a subtle move by the others to close ranks against him, she could not tell. Either way, he did not seem overly concerned. He had enough to hold his interest, what with every female eye in the room vying to catch his attention.
    Despite her intense dislike for the man, she had to admit he presented a strikingly handsome contrast to the shorter, less muscular guests who were either bewhiskered members of the local gentry or scarlet-coated officers who all tended to blend together in form and features after a while. He stood half a head taller than most of the men in the room—Hamilton being the immediate exception—and she knew for a fact that very little of the shaping beneath the indigo frock coat was due to the skill of a tailor withcutting and padding. Further, there was an indefinable air of self-assurance about him, as if he knew he was the subject of most of the whispered conversations in the ballroom but couldn’t care less. In addition, Hamilton’s back was as stiff as an iron rod, and he was glaring at the merchant as if he would like nothing better than to bare his fists and finish their interrupted conversation.
    Catherine