Lillian beamed. “Your daughter has every reason to be confident.”
Devon knocked a shoulder against hers and leaned down to whisper in her ear as the rest of their guests bustled into coaches and drove off into the night. “Love it when you glow like that,” he said.
Lillian laughed, the sound carrying up into the dark night. “I might not ever recover from that. I’ll have to tell Jane to make sure they’re in motion before—”
“Putting themselves in motion?”
“Ha! Something of the sort, yes.” She yawned, exhaustion rolling through her.
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her into the townhouse, then drew her into a warm hug. They stood in the foyer, arms tangled, bodies pressed together, heads resting near one another, just breathing in the silence of their home. Their home. They’d fought over what art to hang on the walls and what rugs to lay on the floor. Devon had cared most about having a proper coffee service, and Lillian had wanted an office with a great big desk. The townhouse was small, but useful, and theirs. Paid for with a bit of her dowry and a little of his inheritance and more compromise, frankly, than pounds and shillings.
She nuzzled his neck and breathed deep. The scent of him made her wake up, made her crave. “At least it wasn’t us in that coach. I’m a bit shocked Lisabeth’s mother took it so well.”
“I’m not. I don’t want to ignite your jealous nature, Lil Bean, but oh, the lascivious glances and winks that woman has given me.”
“Oh, has she?” Lillian looked up at her husband. “Should I be worried?”
Devon traced his fingertips up and down her bare arms until she shivered. Then he skipped up over her sleeve, along the slope of her neck, and then his lips found her pulse and pushed, pressed, licked.
Her shivers turned into an aching need. She backed him up until his back hit a wall and dragged his lips onto hers. Their tongues tangled, and then his body turned to stone.
“Wait, Lil,” he said, “I hear something.”
“Just the beating of my heart,” she said. “My panting breaths.”
He looked down at her with heated eyes. “Save words like that for the bedroom, please. Andlisten.”
She did. She heard it, too. “It’s coming from behind you.”
He turned to find he was pressed not against a wall but a door. A hidden closet door. His muscles turned rigid, ready to fight, to protect. “Stand back.” He turned the handle and swept the door open.
Tabitha and Arthur blinked up at them, eyes wide, clothing askew, hair undone. They leaned against the back wall; Arthur’s hand placed just over—
“Bloody hell!” Devon yelped spinning around and covering his face. “Get out! Cover up!”
Lillian averted her eyes until they were both properly dressed, or as close to it as possible.
Tabitha and Arthur exited the closet and stood sheepishly in the hallway. Tabitha’s cheeks turned pink in the candlelight, and she studied the ceiling. Arthur had gone all proper—his spine military straight and his features ice—but no matter how many times he pushed his fingers through his hair to tame it, he still looked wild; he still looked a bit more like Devon.
“I…” Tabitha said, “I was just looking for my cloak. Arthur was helping me. Didn’t find it, though. If you do find it… let me know?” She hiked her skirts up and ran.
Arthur put a hand over his mouth, trying to hide a guffaw, but the crinkles at his eyes gave him away. He ran after his wife, and as the front door closed behind them both, Lillian heard their laughter lift up to the heavens. The stars were serenaded with joy this evening.
Devon quietly clicked the door of the closet closed, shaking his head. “Can no one behave themselves, Lillian?”
“It seems not. Perhaps we should join them in their misbehavior.” She reached for his hands. Her own felt so lonely if not entwined with his.
“Excellent idea. First… this came for you today.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to her between two fingers.
She took it and moved closer to the candlelight above them. “No address. No postage.”
He shrugged and sauntered toward the stairs. “Odd.”
She hurried after him, unfolding the paper. She held it close to her face, better to see it in the dimly illuminated hall. “Is this…? Yes, it is! It’s written on your stationary!”
“Impossible.”
“It’s in your handwriting.”
