“I will prepare a pretty speech to make you on bended knee after he has given his consent,” he said. “Ifhe gives his consent. Will he?” He laughed then too, and she loved the happy sound of it.
Ah, she would make him laugh all the time from this day forward. She would make himhappy.Because she herself would be happy.
He kissed her lingeringly again before sighing. “We must be going back soon,” he said. “I am obliged to show myself in the ballroom and dance with other partners.”
“And I have promised the next set to Mr. Greenfield,” she said. “Your uncle.”
Devlin kissed her once more, his hands cupping her shoulders. But he lifted his head sharply after a few moments and held it in a listening attitude. “Dash it,” he muttered. “There are some people coming. Up to the pavilion, I suppose.”
Gwyneth could hear them too—low female laughter and the soft murmur of a man’s voice. It was hardly surprising. The ball was in its final hour and the night was cool and lovely. The temple pavilion was picturesque and private and not very far from the ballroom. It was the perfect setting for a little moonlit romance.
“We had better creep away like thieves in the night,” Devlin whispered in her ear, laughter in his voice. “So that they will not embarrass us and we will not embarrass them. We will go down through the trees to the bottom of the hill and around the side andback up to the house. They will probably be too busy to notice us anyway.”
He moved back from her and took her hand in his. But before they could begin the descent the woman spoke from the pavilion above them. She did not speak loudly enough for her words to be distinguished, but there was something familiar about her voice.
If only, Gwyneth thought much, much later—too late, far too late.If onlyshe had said nothing at that moment, the world might have continued on its course and... Ah, but she did say something, albeit very softly. And so the world changed course and everything changed with it.
Everything.
“That is Mrs. Shaw,” she murmured.
The new resident of Boscombe. The widow who had lost her husband in the Indian wars, poor lady, and come to live here, though she knew no one and no one knew her. That fact had puzzled everyone, for she was young and beautiful and always dressed fashionably, her year of mourning presumably at an end, and one would have expected her to have chosen a more sizable town or a spa such as Bath. Did she have no family to go to? Did her late husband have none? So far she had not seemed particularly interested in making friends here, though admittedly she had not been here longer than a few weeks. She had been at the fete today, however, and had appeared to be enjoying herself whenever Gwyneth set eyes upon her. She had joined in the maypole dancing lesson. And she had come back for the ball tonight.
Devlin had gone very still, his hand tight about hers.
The man laughed. And there was no mistaking that laugh. There was only one like it, and it was very well known. He took laughter and good cheer with him wherever he went. The Earl of Stratton. Devlin’s father.
He had brought Mrs. Shaw here to show her the temple and the view from it at night. The moonlight was probably still shining in a band across the waters of the lake.
Gwyneth’s hand was beginning to hurt.
“We really must be careful, Cal,” Mrs. Shaw said, her voice quite distinct now. “We mustn’t stay up here long. You can come to me later tonight. It will be safer.”
“Half the family is staying at the hall, alas,” the earl said—there was no mistaking the fact now that it was he. “It will be impossible for me to slip away, Liza. And I cannot miss church in the morning.”
She laughed, a throaty, seductive sound. “I suppose I had better not miss it either,” she said. “Village life is very quaint.”
“I told you it would amuse you,” he said. “A quick ten minutes here, then. No one will come. And if anyone does, I am playing friendly neighbor and genial host, showing you the moonlight on the lake.”
They were not speaking loudly, but their voices were disastrously clear. As was their intent—and their familiarity with each other.
Oh dear God.
“Come on,” she whispered to Devlin. “We must get back before this set ends.”
But his hand was like a steel band about hers, and though she was not touching any other part of him, she could sense the rigidness of his body.
He moved then. But not downward with careful stealth, as he had intended. Rather, he strode upward, drawing her along with him. Perhaps he had forgotten she was even there.
“Devlin,”she whispered, desperate to stop him.
He ignored her. It was too late anyway. They were at the top of the rise and moving between two of the pillars of the temple.Gwyneth was aware briefly of the two figures sprawled on one of the love seats, clasped in each other’s arms, of the fact that at least one of Mrs. Shaw’s silk-stockinged legs was exposed to the knee. Then Devlin spoke, and the two of them jumped to their feet, and the earl stepped in front of Mrs. Shaw, shielding her while she shook out her skirts.
“Get her out of here,” Devlin said, his voice tight with fury. “Get her away from here. Right away. Now.”
“Dev.” His father’s voice sounded quite as it normally did, except perhaps for a little breathlessness. “Taking the air too, are you? With Gwyneth, I see. A beautiful evening, is it not? A fitting end to what has been a perfect day. Don’t jump to conclusions now. I have been showing Mrs. Shaw the lake with the moonlight on it. I suppose, though, we ought not to linger here, welcome as the cool air is. We should all be making our way back to the ball.”
“Get her away from here,” Devlin said. “Away from Ravenswood. Away from Boscombe. Get her back to whatever love nest you usually keep her in.”
