CHAPTER SIXTY TWO – MAINTAINING COMPOSURE

Placing a hand on Henry's proffered forearm, she allowed him to guide her away from the balcony's edge and the lingering eddies of madness that seemed to beckon from beyond. If he noticed the faint tremor still thrumming through her limbs, he gave no outward sign. As they moved back towards the muffled thrum of music and laughter spilling from the ballroom doors, Scarlett shot Henry a sidelong glance from beneath her lashes. He looked...well, every inch the unruffled professional she had come to know so well over the years. Not a single hair out of place, not a bead of exertion marring that carved-from-granite visage. It should have been reassuring, a balm against her fracturing sense of reality. And yet some deeper, more primal part of Scarlett recoiled at the impassive stillness, hungering for even the barest flicker of the raw intensity she had witnessed mere minutes ago... Get a grip! she forcefully reminded herself, anger lapping at her consciousness in equal measure. Squaring