“Or a dare. Your choice.” He lifted, set her from him, and traipsed toward the door. “Your choice. I’ll walk home. Good night, Lillian.”
She walked toward him, unaware of how she moved her limbs. “Good night, Devon.”
In the open doorframe, he smiled at her, a closed-lip affair. She barely saw the curve in the shadows, and she prayed for the pink of sunrise to douse the room suddenly in liquid light, so she could see him more clearly.
Then he left, and she stood alone in the dark early morning.
Daylight would never come, would it? Not while her body still thrilled from Devon’s touch, her mind pushed back at pleasure. Pleasure made wanting Devon seem easy, natural, wonderful. But wanting Devon was not those things. Wanting Devon, having him, meant she might not succeed with the wallflowers. He promised to kiss her at any moment and tease her into dares. She’d given those up.
Well, she’d given Devon up, too, and here she was, married to the man in a month. Married to a future coffeehouse owner who barged into brawls, gambled, and had a reputation, falsely earned though it may be, as a reputation ruiner. Her own hard-won status would never survive.
Bollocks.
She pulled her weary legs into the hall and up the stairs. When she finally hit her bed, eyes closed, it was to see a vision of Lord Devon smirking down at her. Oh, he would indeed invade her dream space tonight. And she would, indeed, as she usually did dammit all, enjoy it.
There, then, was a merit to this marriage. The kissing, at least—and what it led up to—would make up for everything else.
She hoped.
CHAPTER14
Devon just about skipped from his brother’s townhouse to Brooks. The sun was shining, and the birds were singing, and even the horses moved their arses out of Devon’s way to shit. The entire world glowed for him, and why? Because she said shechose him. Lillian Clarke, destroyer of egos and writer of lethal letters, chosehim, a man who’d never been chosen for his own faults and talents before in his life. He was not Lillian’s second choice, not her just-in-case fall back. He was her first choice. She’d said that, yes, though he was not quite sure he fully believed her. He believed her enough. The world believed her enough to bow to him and shit in the other direction.
Arthur, however, had not gotten the memo. Instead of being where Devon had wanted him to be, in his home, he was at his club. So, Devon found himself invading Brooks instead. Thankfully, Arthur was a creature of habit, and Devon knew precisely which corner, near which window, and with which friend to find his brother ensconced. At least that much had not changed since the man’s marriage.
Devon plopped into the third of three chairs circled around a small table, and Arthur and the Earl of Abbington looked up at him, slightly startled.
“Ho there, King Art,” Devon said. “Well met, Georgie.” He nodded at the earl.
The earl scowled. “Georgie?”
“Oh yes, you used to be a feared creature, but you’ve softened with your marriage, and now you must have a nickname like my brother’s. To, of course, show you how much I respect you. Speaking of marriages, is this the newly married men’s club? Will I have to join in a month’s time?”
Arthur, being Arthur, sat precisely straight in his chair. “A month? So soon?”
Devon nodded.
George seemed amused, looking at Devon over steepled fingers. “Your brother was telling me about your sudden nuptials. I am glad. I had hoped the rumors about you and Jane would end once she and I married, but it seems they’re still flying about. Good thing it does not seem to have impacted your future.”
Devon snorted. “Naïve man.” Those rumors impacted everything. But today, today he was not deterred. Because Miss Lillian Clarke had only ever kissed him, and he wasn’t about to disappoint her. She needed a respectable sort of husband, and he’d do his best to be that for her, despite the damning rumors.
“I’ve come to gather wisdom from the ancients,” Devon said.
George and Arthur blinked at him, their faces blank.
Then George said slowly, “Does he meanus?”
“Undoubtedly,” Arthur answered.
“Investments,” Devon said. “I need to know about investments.”
“A rather broad topic,” George said.
“What kind?” Arthur asked.
Devon waved his hand in the air as if rolling over the topic. “Legitimate ones.”
Arthur’s spine melted, and he sank against the back of the chair. “Are you interested in making them?”
