“You are being overhasty and a bit offensive, Dev,” his father told him.
“Yes,” Devlin said. “A dull dog. Get her away.”
“Cal.” Mrs. Shaw took a step forward and set a hand on the earl’s arm. “I will walk home. It is not far, and it is not a dark night. I do apologize, Lord Mountford. Your father kindly offered to show me the lake from up here, and the promise of some fresh air tempted me and made me forget that our coming here together might be misconstrued.”
“I have not misconstrued your use of the nameCal, ma’am,” Devlin said, his voice cold with stiff contempt as he turned briefly toward her. “Or the proprietary hand you have placed on my father’s arm. I have not misconstrued the compromising position inwhich I found you.” His attention snapped back to his father. “Get her out of here.”
“It is time you calmed down, Dev,” his father said, “and remembered who you are and where you are. And whom you are with. I apologize for my son, Gwyneth. Sometimes he can be a bit hotheaded. Stay out here for a few minutes longer, the two of you, while I escort Mrs. Shaw back to the ballroom in time for us both to join our next partners. You and I can talk tomorrow, Dev, if you deem it necessary.”
He drew Mrs. Shaw’s arm beneath his and walked briskly away with her down the slope in the direction of the ballroom. The music was ending.
“It is time Iremembered who I am?” Devlin said to his father’s retreating back. His voice was raised now to be heard from a distance. “I am Devlin Ware, Viscount Mountford, heir to the earldom of Stratton.Sir.Andwhere I amis Ravenswood Hall, ancestral seat of the Wares, home of my mother, the Countess of Stratton, and of my sisters and brothers. I amwithGwyneth Rhys, daughter of Sir Ifor and Lady Rhys, our neighbors. I willnothave this home sullied with the presence ofyour whore. Sir.”
He was striding down the slope in pursuit of his father, Gwyneth’s hand still clasped tightly in his.
“Devlin,” she said, laying her free hand on his sleeve, desperate for him to halt and to be quiet. Though it was too late for that, of course.
There was a small group of dancers out on the terrace. They were no longer dancing, though. There was no music to dance to. And they had become aware of raised voices coming from the direction of the hill. A hush had fallen on them, and they had turned to find out what was happening. A few people inside the ballroom had moved closer to the doors too.
“Devlin,” Gwyneth said again. “Don’t make a scene. Talk to your father tomorrow.”
She was aware of feeling slightly sick, as though she might disgrace herself any moment and vomit. She was aware that the opportunity to avoid a scene was narrowing but that Devlin appeared not to have seen the disaster that was looming. Or perhaps he was seeing a greater disaster and was unable to think rationally about the immediate crisis that was upon them.
The earl had reached the terrace. He spoke, and included everyone in his geniality, as he always did.
“The moonlight on the lake looks quite magnificent from the temple up there,” he said. “It is well worth the walk and the bit of a climb. I thought Mrs. Shaw might appreciate it as a newcomer here, but alas we interrupted my son and Gwyneth Rhys up there admiring the view before us, and I do believe they did not appreciate our company. My son was quite upset by it, in fact.”
There was laughter, as there so often was when the earl spoke. Laughter at least partly at her expense, Gwyneth thought. But maybe it was not too late... She turned to smile at Devlin and inform him that she must go in so that his uncle, her next partner, would be able to find her.
Please do not say anything else. Not here. Not now.
He did not even give her a chance to get a word out or to pull her hand free.
“That woman is not going inside the ballroom,” he said in a disastrously loud and clear—and clearly furious—voice. “She is leaving here. Is it not enough that you keep her in London—I assume youdokeep her in some cozy love nest there? Did you have to bring her to Boscombe too for your entertainment through the summer? And to Ravenswood itself today? Have you no sense of decency whatsoever? She is not going inside to be in a room withmy mother and my sister. And my grandmothers. Howdareyou, sir? Get her away from herenow.”
“Dear God,” Gwyneth murmured, and closed her eyes. But there was nothing God could do about the disaster that no longer loomed but was fully upon them. And closing her eyes would not make the whole scene disappear. She drew a shaky breath. And at last Devlin released his hold on her hand.
When she opened her eyes a mere second or two after closing them, it was to see that the attention of surely everyone inside the ballroom had been drawn to the scene out here on the terrace. The doorways were crowded with people, some of them demanding to know what was happening, others shushing them so they would miss nothing.
She had never seen the earl nonplussed. She had never seen him without his affable smile and genial manner. But in the light of the colored lanterns his face looked ghastly, and his smile looked painted on. It was a smile without any light behind it.
“I am afraid my son must have caught a touch of sun during the day,” he said. “He has forgotten his manners. He will no doubt apologize tomorrow—to his mother for disrupting the ball over which she has worked so hard, to Mrs. Shaw for—”
“You willnotmention my mother andyour whorein the same breath,” Devlin said through bared teeth as he took a menacing step toward his father. “How dare you! Get her out of here.”
“Cal,” Mrs. Shaw said, and laid a hand on his sleeve as she had done up at the temple.
“Andget your hand off my father,” Devlin said.
Gwyneth wondered if he even realized how many people were looking on and listening. But dear God, how were they all going to extricate themselves from this mess? Mr. Greenfield was squeezing his way past the dense crowd in the nearest doorway, she saw, andstepping out onto the terrace. For a foolish moment she thought he must be coming to claim his dance with her. But he was looking grim and tight-jawed.
“Dev,” he said, putting one hand on his nephew’s shoulder and speaking softly, though no doubt everyone could hear. “Leave this to me. Caleb, go in and get the next set of dances going. Mrs. Shaw, ma’am, allow me to walk you home. If any of your belongings are inside, I will see that they are brought to you later.”
Even then Gwyneth entertained the hope that all would be well. Mrs. Shaw smiled graciously at Mr. Greenfield, murmured thanks, slid a hand through the arm he offered, and allowed herself to be marched off at a brisk pace toward the front of the house.
It was not a hope that lasted, however, for Mr. Greenfield senior, the countess’s father, had followed his son onto the terrace. A dignified, silver-haired gentleman of trim build and proud bearing, he spoke first to his grandson.
“Go somewhere private, Devlin, to your room, perhaps, and compose yourself,” he said quietly. “Come to the drawing room in half an hour. Caleb, this ball is over. Go inside and make the announcement. I will see you in the drawing room in half an hour.”
