“I look like an actor.” Ashe grinned from his seat and took a sip of brandy from his glass. Michael had not invited his friend, but Ashe Blackwell had never needed a formal summons to call on the Grove. After all when had any of the Jaded ever waited for written words of welcome before dropping in on each other? “You look very elegant for a mountain troll.” “If you meant to either calm me or provide a rousing speech to inspire, I have to say you’re failing miserably.” “Nonsense! I’m providing a distraction. Besides, the way you’re fussing about over that one would think you had more at stake than a social outing to make mincemeat of a mortal enemy. Can it be that our Michael Rutherford is torturing his cravat because he is concerned about his appearance to the ladies in attendance?” Michael turned away from the mirror and gifted Ashe with a look of deadly assessment. “Don’t push me. Vanity is your cross to bear, not mine, and I’m in no mood to play. I hate social gatherings and this one has all the appeal of a flogging.”
