Reeling from his smile and that look meant just for her, Nicola now had to contend with another sort of mesmerisation altogether.

Lady Blackwood had outdone herself.

The gardens in front of the manor house spanned over three terraces at different levels. Each level had been decorated with not a thought left to spare over how to transform the setting into a mythical landscape of magical wonderment. The terrace that leads out from the ballroom was edged with an abundance of lavender coloured English roses; lanterns interspersed evenly between them to be lit up later once the party continued on into the evening. Here, a harpist was plucking out a melodious tune that spoke of a beautiful eeriness and harmony. Across from them, the stone steps that lead down to the next level, were covered by a majestic, white-washed arch. Ivy leaves entwined around columns on either side and the top, while wisteria hung and swayed their periwinkle blooms with an enticing dance from the top of the arch itself.

Down the steps, the grass spanned the width of the manor house and blankets, shawls, carpets, and cushions of a variety of colours and designs were sprawled on the ground for guests to sit and mingle. There were more lanterns along the edge of the grass, that dropped off to the next level, also covered with an array of blankets and cushions. The third terrace levelled out towards the small lake at the centre of the gardens, in the middle a statue tribute to an ancestor of the family who was mounted upon a magnificent stallion, marble legs reared up and frozen mid-thrash while the imposing figure atop the steed raised a sword in his left hand.

Kathleen's attentions hadn't stopped on the three terraces leading down to the lake, oh no. Nicola, mouth agape, spied lines of ribbon and brightly coloured bunting draped from tree to tree, interspersed with little nautical jars that contained a candle within. Even the edges of the lake had been decorated accordingly, a pergola set up on the lawns below, also draped with ivy and more wisteria. The forest itself, which ran along the perimeters from left to right, appeared to be twined with ribbons and lanterns.

Guests were milling on the lawns and excitement was evident by the lively chatter, the awed glances as they, too, struggled to take it all in. An array of costumed ladies assaulted Nicola's senses with yet more wings, colours, flora. She spied one woman who had styled her head in a fashion that decidedly resembled antlers and another who had entwined vines of ivy around her arms and waist. The gentlemen were more subdued with their attire, but few made the effort to dress with colours of gaiety.

However, Kathleen had contrived such an event, Nicola would never know.

"This is... amazing," she said, directing her compliment at Lady Blackwood still at her son's side. Kathleen smiled at her warmly and deftly snatched a flute of champagne from a passing footman.

"You've outdone yourself, mother," Diana said, gesturing to the opulence around them. "Truly, I thought last year was ostentatious. You'll be the talk of the town for months for this."

Jason disengaged from his sister and Lady Blackwood, procuring for himself a flute of champagne as well, wings twitching with each movement. "My attire hardly warrants a second glance amidst this," he remarked, gesturing vaguely at the spectacular garden.

Although Nicola couldn't help agree, she doubted very much that Jason wouldn't warrant a second glance from any person present. He simply was quite magnificent, hooded silver eyes surveying the scene before him while a good-natured smile upturned the corners of his lips. Lady Blackwood made off with Diana and Grace to mingle with her guests, ever the conscientious hostess, and, as if taking a silent cue, Blanche began to move towards the steps, tugging Nicola along excitedly. "Look, Nicki, I do believe I see Abigail and Jane over there," she gushed happily, "we must say hello!"

"Slow down," Nicola laughed, desperately trying to righten her skirts. The length of the train made it almost impossible to walk without it snagging on something on the ground. Pulled along suddenly by her friend, the delicately fine fabric caught on a jagged piece of tiling and Nicola despaired at the thought of ripping the expensive material. "Wait, Blanche- my dress-" but her friend had disengaged and was already flouncing down the steps to where their two other companions grouped on some cushions. Sighing, Nicola turned to unsnag the train of her gown and caught Jason's indulgent grin.

"Allow me," he said meaningfully, swooping down and lifting the fabric, loosening it and then his gaze lingered on the hem of her skirts before swinging up and meeting hers with a wickedly knowing leer.

"You're terrible," she hissed, but there was a smile she couldn't help twitching her lips as she shifted away from him.

"And you like that I am," he teased, stopping her by touching her elbow and offering her his arm. "Let me escort you down, Nicki."

She allowed herself to accept the gesture, settling her hand in the crook of his arm. There was firm muscle beneath her touch and even through her gloves she could feel his heat, feel his skin shift and flex with the contact of her hand against him. They began to walk slowly down the steps.

"Later," he said suddenly, his eyes focused ahead so that she was awarded his sharp profile to scrutinise, "I'll seek an audience with you, to better go over the details of our arrangement."

"Is that wise?"

"Your presence will hardly go unnoticed," Jason said, raising his eyebrows subtly at the revelry transforming the gardens before them, "and I won't keep you long. I trust you have a list?"

She snorted, smarting at that. "Yes, I do."

At the bottom of the first flight of steps, he turned to her, those eyes moving over her face with curious intensity. She felt a blush scrape over her cheeks and down her neck, but she forced herself to remain still under his lazy perusal. "You look," he said slowly, "different, Nicki. Magic suits you."

"Thank you, I think." Her brows came together in a perplexed frown, unsure how to take the words that seemed uttered with serious contemplation on the matter.

"It's a good thing," he clarified, grinning. "I meant it as such... you're far to extraordinary for the ordinary."

"Jason, you are too much." The word was out before she could stop it and her hand slapped to her mouth as if she could push it back inside her lips and lock it away. He caught it instantaneously and it was too late- the damage had been done.

A stupidly triumphant and boyish look crossed his face and his eyes positively glowed with mirth.

"I mean, my lord!" Nicola amended hastily, cheeks so hot she feared her skin would burst aflame.

"Don't," he teased mercilessly, "you dare take it back now. It's out, you have to address me as such henceforth."

"I said no such thing, you have misheard." A blatant lie.

"A terrible lie, if there ever was one." He arched a brow sardonically.

Thankfully, she was saved from indulging him further when her father- bless him- approached them from below. "Nicola," Ewan said, smiling fondly at his daughter before bowing to the man at her side, "and Jason. Both of you are looking..." He eyed the pair of wings each of them carried wryly. "Bewitching."

"Lady Blackwood insisted," Nicola laughed, embracing her father warmly.

"She insisted Jason wear them as well?" Ewan asked sceptically.

"He insisted for himself." It earned a laugh.

"I wonder if I may have a word with you in private, Mr Eversley," Jason said, quite suddenly, and Nicola glanced at him with a question displayed openly on her face. "I have a few questions about investments and would like your expert advice on the subject," he added for her benefit and she felt like a right snoop. Ewan had been close to the Blackwood family for many years, often providing business counsel when needed to Thomas. It was only natural that Jason was want to do the same.

The two men wandered off, allowing Nicola to join her friends nearby. Blanche had commandeered a plate of towering pastries and cakes, of course, and sat between Abigail Venables, a comely young woman with dark brown hair and obsidian dark eyes, and Jane Lambert, who was decidedly fetching with her own dark hair, sharpish features and blue eyes. They had all become acquainted during their first season together and grew to be fast friends. Although close to the girls, Nicola felt the relationship with them tenuous at best, not as strong as the friendship she harboured with Blanche.

"And who've you set your sights on this season, Blanche?" Abigail was saying as Nicola sat down beside her, tucking her skirts neatly around her legs to minimise creasing as much as possible.

Blanche snorted. "You should know me better by now, Abby."

"Blanche doesn't fancy anyone," Nicola provided. "I suppose whoever finally wins her heart would have to have the best pastry chef in all of England in their employment."

Blanche popped a tartlet into her mouth in agreement. "That is irrefutable."

Abigail turned those impenetrably dark eyes on Nicola then. "And what about yourself, Nicola?" she enquired. A friendly and teasing grin swept up her face then. "I heard that Mr Percy Butler showed an interest with you at the Crosthwaite ball." Out of the four of them Abigail could be the biggest gossip. She meant well, however, and if there was something unkind that met her ears, she hardly ever repeated it.

Nicola waved her hand dismissively. "As with Blanche," she said, "you should know me better. There is not a gentleman in London I'd set my cap for."

"The both of you can't mean to remain unmarried forever, surely," Jane commented idly. "It was the same last year, and the year before that. My mother would never allow it."

"Does that mean you are holding out hopes for someone, Jane?" Blanche asked archly, toying the crust on the edge of a pastry she cradled in her hand.

The woman in question blushed prettily. "In fact, I do." She tilted her chin in one direction and, in unison, they all snapped their heads in the direction the other woman was indicating. "Oh, you are wretched girls! Do not look all at once, they will surely notice your doe eyes ogling them from all this way!"

Guiltily, four sets of eyes found the edges of the picnic blanket to be of the utmost fascination. However, Nicola's heart sank when she noted the direction the other woman had pointed and that the only gentleman in question had been Jason.

"You can not surely mean my brother," Blanche muttered, astounded.

"Assuredly not," Jane said stiffly. "But if you look closer, dear Blanche, your brother does have two friends who are decidedly available."

She couldn't mean... Nicola glanced in the direction of Jason again who was no longer conversing with her father, but with that of two other gentlemen who she knew from previous acquaintance and rumour. Lord Oliver Hollingsworth, who had met his improper end courtesy of Jason tossing him into the lake last year, and Mr Nathaniel Southill. She laughed incredulously at that, sure that Jane must be somewhat deluded to even consider those two vagabonds as possibilities for her hand. "You are surely joking, Jane," she said.

"Why?" the other girl protested. "Both men are appropriate. I mean, look at them." It can be said that a unified sigh of feminine delight escaped all of them as they chanced another peek at the trio on the terrace below them. Having been introduced to them before, Nicola knew them to be of similar age to Jason, almost as devastatingly handsome at the Marquis of Northwick himself, and... vastly immature. The three of them together were known to run rampant through ballrooms and soirees respectively, last year's lake tossing just one such example of scandalous impropriety that trailed in their wake. Though Jason had largely toned down such reckless behaviour in the last few months, his notoriety to run amok with his best friends was known far and wide.

But Jane wasn't speaking of Jason, thankfully. She was referring to Lord Hollingsworth and Mr Southill. The former was the tallest of the three, with a head of thick red-brown hair and eyes that positively glowed with green intent. There was a wayward devilish look about him that seemed to promise misadventure and delight at every opportunity. Mr Southill was cut of a different cloth altogether and he simply did not seem to fit with the term gentleman, not at all. His hair was shaggy, kept unfashionably long and uncouth, and his skin had a swarthy tan to it. His shoulders were brawny muscle and power, and he almost looked uncomfortable in his formal attire, as if his body were straining to come out of it altogether. He looked, Nicola thought, like he belonged in the Scottish Highlands and not in an English ballroom.

"Looking is one thing," Nicola began slowly, reluctantly tearing her gaze from the handsome trio, "but one of those gentlemen are sure to ruin you."

"I can only imagine in a good way," Blanche said, then snickered, while her eyes still devoured the shaggy, burly form of Nathaniel Southill.

"Blanche!" Abigail gasped, laughing.

"Well, it's true," she argued. "Mr Southill looks the sort to toss you over his shoulder if you open your mouth the wrong way."

"I'll wager you'll be the first one to earn such a privilege," Nicola teased.

"I'll take that bet," Jane said.

"Perhaps we should send Blanche over to determine just what she needs to utter in order to provoke him to do so," Abigail suggested.

"I'll do no such thing," Blanch argued, nose in the air yet there was a curious light in her eyes as she studied the man in question, "my mother would disown me."

"Or insist he marry you for such a scandalous thing," Jane muttered, and they giggled at the picture of Blanche hauled over one large shoulder, her derriere in the air. "Oh!"

Nicola turned, wondering at the cause of Jane's sudden outburst, and her eyes clashed with Jason's, who was grinning up at them, along with Lord Hollingsworth and Mr Southill. If they all didn't look like the cats that ate the canary...

She gave him a glare for his impertinence despite the guilty blush she felt blooming against her skin, then turned to her other companions. "Now look what you have all done," she admonished, but the absurdity of it caused a giggle to swell in her throat.

"Their egos will be well pleased," Blanche agreed, laughing in earnest now. A breath of girlish laughter erupted from all of them now.

It was good to have friends like these, Nicola realised, as the afternoon passed on waves of giggles and light banter until the sun began to dip below the trees at the edge of the Northwick Estate and she excused herself in search of refreshment.

It was while she was procuring herself a glass of lemonade that he approached. She sensed him first, the hairs on the back of her neck pricking with awareness as that ever-intense gaze settled on her. The air was swirling with the merry chatter of the various guests milling together on the lawn and the artful sounds of the harp music, yet as soon as Jason approached her senses drowned everything out but him, so attuned was she to the man. When she turned, he was there, so very close if she reached out, she would have touched him. He merely stared down at her, his expression unreadable and calm.

"In ten minutes, you should follow me," he explained. "Excuse yourself from you friends first."

"And say what, exactly?" A stupid question, but her mind wasn't functioning with his close proximity, with the insinuation of the implied rendezvous, alone with him to wherever he wanted to lead her. What she should have said, instead, was no...

He looked at her as if she were a bit daft. "Say something that won't look suspect when you're gone for thirty minutes, Nicki."

He left her then and she stood staring after his back, wings moving as he walked, a bit dumbstruck. Jason made sure to glance back at her, frowning when he noted that she hadn't yet moved before jerking his chin to the side- in the direction he was heading- and then he disappeared down the slope, heading for the path on the left of the estate... the path that wound through the forest.