She snapped open the locket and extended it, looking from Lady Kendra to Lord Greystone. “It’s—” Her voice failed her. Papa nudged her, frowning. “Amy?” “It-it’s quite feminine,” she stammered out, telling herself Lord Greystone couldn’t be the man she remembered. But then his emerald green eyes locked on hers—as they’d done five years earlier. He was the man she remembered, the man she’d been unable to forget… The nobleman from the coronation procession. Her heart seemed to pause in her chest, and for a second she thought she would drown in those eyes; then she looked away, with an effort,
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