During the two weeks that followed, neither Kay nor Wilson referred to their discussion about the upcoming Mayfair soiree. Wilson seemed to regard the matter as closed, but it did not escape Kay’s notice that her fiancé also began keeping a very watchful eye on her, particularly during those occasions when Devlin was known to be anywhere in the vicinity.
The Royal Academy exhibition was always the launching point of the London season, so of course Devlin was there with Pamela and her parents, but as they strolled about the galleries, if Kay happened to come within ten yards of the other group, Wilson instantly began steering her away in the opposite direction. At the Chelsea Flower Show, Devlin had barely come within noticing distance before Wilson was suggesting that Kay might like some ice cream from the confectioner’s shop six blocks away.
In other circumstances, it might have been amusing to think her fiancé could be jealous of Devlin Sharpe, particularly since Devlin was the last man on earth Kay would have chosen to keep company with. And she ought to have been relieved that her fiancé was there to save her from any contact with a man she couldn’t stand.Many women, she supposed, would adore this sort of protectiveness on the part of a fiancé. But, oddly, Kay felt none of that. Instead, every time Wilson hauled her away, she felt again the same smothering sensation she’d experienced upon learning he’d deliberately followed her all over Yorkshire last autumn. Between him and her mother, Kay spent a great deal of time feeling like a prisoner. It was almost like being in Wales all over again.
Adding to her frustration, this sort of jealousy was clearly a one-way street. At Lord Walston’s ball, when Kay took the floor with their host, Wilson, who hated dancing, didn’t hesitate to claim Lady Pamela for a turn about the floor. In Wilson’s view, it seemed wholly acceptable for a man to be possessive of his woman, but a woman was not allowed that privilege about her man. Kay had never been one to march for the vote or chain herself to a railing, but as the days passed, her fiancé’s obvious double standard began to grate on her already raw nerves.
Still, there was little she could do about it. Devlin was the last man in the world for whom she’d risk Wilson’s ire and endanger her sister’s marital prospects, her mother’s security, or her own still fragile reputation.
When the evening of the Mayfair soiree came, Josephine offered to stay home with her, and Magdelene would have been quite delighted to send a note that all of them were ill, but Kay negated these suggestions.
“Don’t be absurd,” she said for the third time, shooing them both toward the door. “The season has begun, Jo is out, and she needs to meet as many new people as possible. This Mayfair business is a perfect opportunity for that, since Delia’s invited half the ton, including some very eligible young men.”
When the two of them had departed for the West End, Kay ordered a meal brought up from the kitchens, and afterward, with her corset tossed aside for the comfort of a nightgown and peignoir, she curled up in the suite’s most comfortable chair for what she hoped would be an agreeable evening alone with a book.
Reading, however, proved little distraction. She stared at the pages, but her mind insisted on veering off into visions of her future, a future that seemed dishearteningly reminiscent of her past, where a man told her what to do, where to go, and with whom she could associate. Stern reminders that husbands who behaved this way were as common as blades of grass didn’t cheer her much.
She tried to console herself with the knowledge that beggars could not be choosers. Unless she wanted to face her future alone, childless, and living in poverty, unless she wanted her sister to share a similar fate, unless she wanted to spend the next few decades listening to her mother complain incessantly and blame her for the dismal state of their life, Wilson was her best option.
No, she corrected at once, her gaze straying to her desk and the unpaid bills still waiting there for her attention. Wilson was her only option.
She’d known that all along, of course. Wilson’s proposal had been such a relief, it had almost made her weak in the knees. And it wasn’t as if she’d agreed to marry a man she didn’t like. Quite the contrary. From their first meeting last August, she had liked Wilson very much. She had respected his strength, his keen mind, and his business acumen. He seemed fond of her sister, and he was able to tolerate her mother. In addition, she had appreciated his solicitous regard for her. His desire to be near her had been like a balm to her wounded feminine heart. She’d been happy—thrilled, even—toaccept his proposal, for it meant she wouldn’t die a spinster and would perhaps now be able to have children, and her family would never have to worry again about how the bills got paid. So, why now, only four months after agreeing to marry him, were thoughts of her impending wedding making her feel so unutterably depressed?
That question had barely gone through her mind before the image of a pair of turquoise blue eyes gave her a possible answer, and Kay shut her book with an aggravated snap. It was Devlin’s return that was muddling her all up, twisting her into knots, filling her mind with doubts, and turning Wilson into some sort of obsessive, dictatorial limpet. Had Devlin not come back, none of this would be happening.
Or would it?
Fortunately, a knock at the door interrupted that disturbing question, and Kay looked up in surprise. The Savoy’s room service had already brought her meal, and she’d dismissed Foster for the evening.
The only possible conclusion, she thought as she set aside her book and stood up, was that Mama had forgotten her key. That was not an unusual circumstance, but as Kay started across the sitting room to open the door for her parent and sibling, a glance at the clock deepened her surprise. Mama and Jo hadn’t even been gone two hours.
The knock came again, and Kay reached for the door handle. “Back already?” she called, laughing as she slid back the bolt and opened the door. “It must have been a terribly dull par—”
She stopped, staring in astonishment, for instead of her mother with Josephine, it was Devlin standing in the corridor. Still dressed in white tie and tails from the party, with a thunderous scowl on his face, he managed to look both urbanely handsome and savagely primitive at the same time.
“Devlin? What on earth—”
“Are you all right?”
Given her dispirited thoughts this evening, and the fact that because of them, she didn’t feel the least bit all right, his abrupt question startled her. The moment they’d first met, she had felt as if this man could see into her very soul. With his question hanging in the air, she wondered if, even after all this time, he still could.
“I beg your pardon?” she murmured, having no clue what else to say.
“I heard you were ill.”
Before Kay could reply, a door opened farther down the passage, and she grabbed Devlin by the sleeve to haul him inside before anyone could see him hovering in the corridor.
“I’m not ill,” she said, shutting the door behind him.
“Sure?” His eyes raked over her, reminding her that she was wearing nothing more than a thin lawn peignoir and an even thinner nightgown. At once, heat flooded her face, and she instinctively reached up one hand to pull the edges of her peignoir together as she worked to marshal some cool dignity.
“I think I’d know if I were ill or not.”
“I heard your mother tell Simon you were practically knocking at heaven’s gate.”
“That’s not surprising,” she said wryly. “My mother loves drama.”
“I see.” His fierce expression relaxed, and a faint smile curved the edges of his mouth. “So all your shivers and flutters and heart palpitations are fiction?”
