“More or less inseparable again?”
His smile was almost fond as he nodded. “We enjoyed ourselves more than either of us expected, and on top of that, we spent most of our holidays running wild together as well.” He went on to describe some of their exploits, confirming Therese’s sense of the one-upmanship that seemed to have survived to this day. When she put that to him, Child admitted it. “We might have been—might still be—close friends, but we always had an underlying sense of rivalry, too.”
He met her gaze openly. “That said, we would never, ever, do anything that would…hurt the other. Our rivalry has always been of the sort that grows out of a deep and abiding understanding of each other—of what drives each other. We challenge each other, but only in the sense of making each other reach farther, do better.”
She considered him for a moment, then ventured, “My brothers are a little like that—competitive in a sense—but they would always, unquestionably, have each other’s back in a fight.”
Child nodded. “Then you understand. Devlin and I aren’t brothers by blood, but we are very definitely brothers in experience.” He glanced around as he steered her through the more rapid turn at the end of the long room, then refocused on her face. “That being so, I will admit to being insatiably curious over how you and Devlin met.” He arched his brows. “Was it in the ton, at a ball such as this?”
She admitted it was, and he asked how long it had been before Devlin proposed. Having more or less done the proposing herself, she skated around that point and asked if his interest was due to him assessing the possibility of marriage for himself, and while rather coyly avoiding a direct answer, he allowed her supposition to stand.
The rhythm of the music slowed, then the waltz ended. Child released her and bowed, and Therese curtsied.
As she straightened, Child nodded toward the archway leading to the refreshment room, then glanced up the now-crowded room to where they’d left Devlin, closer to the other end. “Shall we see what’s available to slake our thirsts before we undertake the trek back?”
As she hadn’t yet broached the question she most wanted to ask him, she inclined her head. “By all means—I’m quite parched.”
He gave her his arm, and they strolled into a decent-sized anteroom. A long table was manned by Lady Cassington’s staff, all busily pouring libations for thirsty guests.
Child drew her to the side of the room. “Champagne?”
“Please.” She waited while he went to the table and, in short order, returned with two slim flutes. She accepted the glass he offered her. “Thank you.” She took a sip, then another; she truly was parched. Then she lowered the glass and fixed her gaze on Child’s face. “What can you tell me about Devlin’s parents’ marriage?”
She’d never thought to ask before, but she should have; it was highly likely that Devlin’s parents’ marriage had informed his views of that state.
Child studied her for several seconds, then without any hint of being surprised by the question, replied, “I can’t actually say from my own experience—I only saw them occasionally, and often it was one or the other, not both together.” He faintly grimaced. “And by the time I reached the age of possessing some degree of discernment, Devlin’s father had died.” Child’s eyes remained steady on hers. “You know that happened as Devlin was finishing at Oxford?”
She nodded. “And his mother died the year after.”
Child tipped his head in agreement. “So I had little opportunity to view their marriage first-hand.” Over the rim of his glass, he held her gaze. “However, I do know how Devlin saw their marriage.”
Which was precisely what she wanted to know. “Oh? How?” She ensured that her expression and her tone reflected nothing more than mild interest.
“As a love-match, of course.” Child looked at her rather strangely, then added, “That was, I believe, the general consensus as well.”
Therese frowned. That wasn’t what she’d been expecting to hear. She’d assumed that Devlin, with his rigid adherence to the construct of conventional marriage—one founded on respect, affection, and perhaps fondness, but not love—had been following in his parents’ footsteps, along a path they had forged of which he approved and with which he felt comfortable.
But if that wasn’t so… Her frown deepened. What had caused Devlin to turn aside from seeking a love-match himself?
Had it been her?
The thought left her mentally floundering.
Child had been studying her. Now, with his gaze still locked on her face, in a tone she could only interpret as amazed resignation, he bluntly stated, “He hasn’t told you yet—and you haven’t seen it, either.”
His delivery suggested he could barely believe that, yet was absolutely certain it was so.
She directed her frown at him. “Told me what?” He was as bad as Devlin in not communicating clearly. Her lips thinning, she flatly demanded, “And what haven’t I seen?”
Still searching her expression, he shook his head in patent wonderment. “For two people who are normally so observant and so much in charge of everything about you…” He broke off, then continued, “You do realize you and he are strikingly similar in that respect, don’t you?”
She knew that. “Get to the point,” she all but growled.
He started to open his mouth, then shut his lips and looked around, his gaze raking the room in which they stood. “I will, but not here.”
He reached out and plucked the half-empty glass from her fingers, then crossed to set it and his glass on a corner of the long table. Then he quickly returned to her and glanced around again; in the ballroom, another waltz was in progress, and the refreshment room had more or less emptied of guests.
Child caught her hand. “Come with me. We need somewhere more private for this.” He drew her toward a minor door set into the wall near the room’s corner.
