His head tilted, hearing something she did not. “Emotions? Nonsense. Congratulations, Miss Clarke. I know many debutantes and young misses desire a love match, and you have one. I wish you great felicity.”
“I cannot apologize enough, my lord.”
His eyes softened. “Do not worry. I had a moment’s heartache, but it’s gone. I wish you well, truly.”
“Only a moment?”
He tilted his head an inch more. “A moment is the appropriate amount of time to waste on such matters.”
“Waste?”
His head tilted even farther. Lillian feared it would fall off, and if it did, she’d kick it like a child’s ball across the room.
“You mean it, don’t you?” she asked. “You wish me well.”
“Naturally.”
“You were not at all emotionally attached?”
“Why would I be? You’re pleasing to look at, to be sure, and not a hell to talk to, but there are many others, just like you. It is no loss. I’ll merely find another.”
No different from all the rest? The entire point of being an incomparable was that no one compared! Was Lillian, then, a colossal failure?
Lillian blinked and took a deep breath, searching for the right words. “Yes, well, I wish you luck on finding another, no, a better woman than I, Lord Littleton.”
“I thank you for your well wishes.”
A body connected with Lillian’s from behind. She jumped, and an arm wrapped around her waist, steadying her. She turned in the arm’s embrace and looked straight up into the underside of Devon’s chin.
Devon stared at Littleton. “There is no better, Lord Littleton. None compare to Miss Lillian Clarke. My apologies for stealing her away from you.”
She wanted to look at his handsome face forever, memorize his words, drink in every delectable inch of him. Instead, she stepped out of his hold and wrapped her arms around her torso, putting a barrier between them.
“Lord Devon!” she exclaimed with false levity. “I’m terribly glad to see you this evening. I did not expect you to attend.”
Devon continued staring at Littleton, his languid pose curiously sharp. The pose of a man waiting to pounce. “I could not stay away from you.” He inclined his head an inch. “Littleton.”
“It seems,” Lord Littleton said, “that you have won the fair lady. I congratulate you.”
“Oh no,” Lillian said without thinking, “I chose him long ago. I just did not think I could have him.”
Devon stiffened. His face turned marble, unreadable. “You chose me? Long ago, eh? Ha.” His chuckle deepened, relaxing his muscles. “I don’t believe that a bit.”
She opened her mouth to assure him, to tell him a little, if not all, of her old longing. The truth was out. What use hiding it? He’d said yesterday that they must learn to find happiness in their unavoidable union, and he was right. She could rekindle some affection for him as long as she did not give her whole heart.
“Dance with me?” he asked, taking her hand.
Littleton stepped forward. “I should like a final dance, Miss Clarke. A fitting end to our association. My name, I believe, marks this particular dance on your fan as mine.”
She stood between the two men, feeling a bit like the baby Solomon threatened to be torn in two.
“One must never argue with a fan,” Devon said, turning.
Lillian’s stomach lurched, and she felt like she might empty the contents of her stomach if Devon walked away. “You had already signed my fan for this dance, Lord Littleton, but if you do not mind, I would like to dance with my fiancé.”
Lord Littleton bowed. “Well then, this is the end of our association. Have a good evening, Miss Clarke.” He might as well have said have a good life. He turned from them and joined a nearby conversation between two painfully dressed Corinthians about horseflesh, as if he’d never considered marriage to Lillian at all.
She turned back to Devon with a half-hearted sigh. “Pursued one day and forgotten the next. The life of a lady.”
