‘Perhaps that glass of whiskey wasn’t smart before a ball. These young ladies all smell like flowers,’ The Viscount sighed, rubbing his temple as he leaned against the wall of a flower-decorated ballroom. He couldn’t remember which family was hosting. He’d picked up a random invitation. Had he danced yet? No. Every lady smelled of roses, lilacs, or lavender, making his head pulse. Lord Feder, a Baron, greeted him loudly, inviting him to his estate for brandy. Dorian excused himself, overwhelmed by the noise and the crowd. He moved through the guests, muttering apologies, until he collided with a lady. He apologized, captivated by her beauty and the fact that she didn’t smell of flowers.