Therese hesitated for only a fraction of a second before allowing her feet to comply with his direction. She needed to learn what Child knew that she didn’t, and she seriously doubted he was in the mood for any illicit dalliance—or that he would target her even if he was.
She believed him when he said that there was something about Devlin that she hadn’t understood—sheknewthat was true—so she followed closely as he led her through the door, into a side corridor that ran beside the ballroom.
The corridor was dimly lit and clearly not intended for the use of guests. Child started trying the doors they came upon. “There’s bound to be a parlor of some sort along here.”
Devlin had spent the duration of the waltz Child and Therese had shared by idly conversing with several gentlemen. Of course, once the music ceased and the dance floor cleared, he’d looked for Therese—and Child—but hadn’t found them.
He had seen the archway leading to the refreshment room at the farther end of the ballroom. After counseling himself that Therese and Child would appear soon enough, he’d waited with what patience he could muster.
When the musicians had summoned the dancers for the next waltz and he’d yet to sight either his wife or Child, inwardly gritting his teeth, Devlin had excused himself to those with whom he’d been chatting and, reining in the urge to stalk down the floor, had strolled as nonchalantly as he could toward the refreshment room, having to pause here and there to avoid whirling couples.
It wasn’t that he imagined anything untoward occurring between Therese and Child. He knew his wife, and she was in love with him, while Child, although Child, was, despite all, a man he inherently trusted, especially when it came to something Child knew was important to him.
No, it was the delicate situation—the critical point he’d reached in his oh-so-important campaign—that had knotted his nerves, leaving him feeling as if he was teetering on a knife edge, with something dark and powerful and not quite controllable prowling beneath his skin.
He reached the refreshment room, almost deserted, and glanced around—in time to see a fragment of deep-purple silk whisk through a narrow, minor door. The door remained ajar. Devlin regarded it for several seconds, then jaw setting, started toward it. Then he halted and scanned the room again. Perhaps Therese was on her way to the ladies’ withdrawing room. But if so, where was Child?
Not in the refreshment room and not in the ballroom, either.
Jaw clenching even tighter, Devlin marched toward the door in the corner, intent on finding his wife.
After turning several corners, Child finally found a small parlor that was helpfully empty and, with some relief, towed Therese inside.
He wasn’t happy about how far they’d had to go to find a spot that would afford them suitable privacy; he’d had no idea so many guests had already availed themselves of the nearer rooms. When he’d glanced in, most hadn’t been talking.
He’d clearly been away from ton society for too long; he’d felt almost scandalized.
Once Therese had entered, he closed the door.
She freed her hand from his light clasp, walked four paces into the room, then swung around and fixed him with a commanding look.
“What,” she demanded, “hasn’t Devlin told me, and what haven’t I seen?”
The moonlight streamed in through two windows to his right and lit her expression well enough for him to note and appreciate the determined set of her features. It really was a pity that Devlin had found her first.
Then again…
He held her gaze, rendered even more silvery by the moonlight, and simply said, “That he’s in love with you.”
Not in her wildest imaginings had Therese expected Child to say that, and the storm of emotions his words unleashed was so powerful, so overwhelming, it literally made her sway.
His eyes flaring in alarm, in two quick strides, Child closed the distance between them, gripped her shoulders, and steadied her. “Good God! Don’t faint on me.”
He truly was rattled.
The sight of his patently genuine concern gave her the strength to raise her chin and stiffen her spine. “I have no intention of fainting.”
But her heart was still somersaulting in a disconcerting way. In near desperation, she reached for her social armor and narrowed her eyes on Child’s face. “I will grant that, in many respects, you might know Devlin better than I do, but regarding his feelings toward me, you’ve misread him.”
She made the statement with steady resolution. She tipped her chin a touch higher. “The basis of our marriage has always been entirely clear between us. He didn’t marry me because he loved me.” Before she could censor her tongue, she rolled on, “We married because I loved him.”
Child’s lips tightened, and adamantly, he shook his head. “I will allow that might have been so when the pair of you married. I don’t know—I wasn’t here then. But whatever was or wasn’t between you when Devlin put his ring on your finger”—he dipped his head so that his eyes bored directly into hers—“trust me when I say that he’s head over heels in love with you now.”
Therese studied Child’s eyes, his expression, and didn’t know what to say or do. She didn’t even know what she felt. If Child was correct, then her most precious dream had come true, but…
She frowned and let her gaze slide from Child’s face, then murmured more to herself than him, “He’s never said…”
Or had he?
