“No?” He tilted his head, his gaze roaming over her face. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
Her laughter faded away, her throat went dry, and she downed a swallow of champagne, working to don an indifferent air.
“Well, penny or not,” she managed at last, “I’m not sharing my thoughts with you. But thank you for the champagne. That was kind.”
He shrugged. “I was pouring some for myself and noticed you didn’t have any, so I brought you some.”
She held the penny out to him, but he shook his head. “Keep it. That way,” he added as she moved to tuck the coin into the slit side pocket of her teal green evening gown, “I can call in the debt later.”
For no reason she could identify, her fingers fumbled, and the penny slipped free. It dropped to the floor, bouncing off the carpet onto the hardwood floor and rolling away.
“Hmm,” he said as they watched it disappear under a nearby cabinet, “it appears your thoughts are safe.” He looked up, smiling a little. “Much to my regret.”
She froze, her champagne glass halfway to her lips, as a sharp, sweet sensation suddenly pierced her chest, the same sharp, exquisite mix of delight and agony that she’d felt as a girl whenever he’d looked at her with those stunning turquoise eyes.
Feeling again like that shy, tongue-tied wallflower, she stared at him, the heat of a blush washing up into her face, her mind giving her the same frantic, desperate plea of long ago.
Don’t just stand there gawping. Say something, you fool.
Fortunately, a voice intervened before she had to think of something.
“Devlin? Are you playing or not?”
Still looking at her, he didn’t seem to hear, and in the silence thatfollowed, Kay managed to find her voice. “I believe your fiancée is calling for you.”
“Hmm?” He shook his head as if coming out of a daze. “I beg your pardon?”
She gave a nod across the room. “You’re needed to make a fourth for bridge, it seems.”
He turned to where Lady Pamela was seated at one of the card tables, along with Wilson and Delia.
“Of course. If you will forgive me?” He bowed again and moved away, but when Pamela put a proprietary hand on his arm and said something that made him laugh, Kay decided it was much too stuffy in the drawing room. She downed the rest of her champagne, set aside her glass, and went through the French doors to the terrace.
The damp spring air was intoxicatingly crisp and cool, a welcome relief to her flushed skin. It wasn’t raining now and the moon was out, so Kay descended the terrace steps to the garden. She started along one of the flagstone paths, but her steps faltered almost immediately, more memories assaulting her at the sight of the boxwood maze.
Hastily, she changed direction and took a different course along a path flanked by lilac trees, breathing deeply of their heady fragrance, reminding herself that she wasn’t a shy wallflower anymore. She wasn’t, she told herself as she strode through paths of moonlit white roses, an innocent girl enthralled by a pair of turquoise eyes and the promise of escape.
By the time she had circled the entire rose garden and started back along the path of lilacs, she felt as if she’d regained her equilibrium. She was back in the present and ready to embrace thefuture—a future as a bride, a wife, and a mother. Her bout of cold feet, she concluded with relief, was over.
Fate, however, seemed inclined to test her on that point, for as she reached the terrace, she saw Wilson standing there, watching as she approached.
His back was to the lighted house, but the moonlight shining across his face showed that he was not in an agreeable mood, and Kay could only hope that his displeasure was not directed at her. She was in a better mood now than she’d been in all day, and she didn’t want it ruined. The last thing she needed was another sleepless night.
“There you are,” Wilson said as she started up the terrace steps. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
Of course you have, she thought as she ascended the terrace steps, suppressing a sigh. “I needed some air,” she said.
“I daresay.” He moved aside as she stepped onto the terrace. “Anyone would need air at this point. I knew it would happen,” he added before she could ask what he meant by his previous remark. “I knew it was a mistake to let you come to this damned party.”
Kay could have pointed out that he’d had the chance to prevent this circumstance, but she refrained. She also shoved down the hint of irritation that rose in her at how easily he assumed authority over her, reminding herself that she was not in a position to dispute it, as she herself had reminded Devlin not long ago.
“Well, it’s done now,” she said instead. “Nothing to be done now but get through it.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Wilson said grimly, staring out over the darkened garden beyond the terrace. “I’m thinking thebest thing is to send you back to London on the morning train before that scoundrel has the chance to pull any more of his tricks.”
As to the identity of the scoundrel in question, there could be no doubt, but though Wilson’s description of Devlin was identical to what her own opinion had been just seven weeks ago, she just couldn’t view him in that light anymore. It had been easy to blame him for everything before she’d heard his side of it. Now she knew it wasn’t quite as clear-cut as she’d once believed, and he wasn’t the blackguard she’d painted him to be.
She had no intention of telling Wilson any of that, however. “Tricks?” she repeated. “What tricks? I’m not sure what you mean.”
