Dev.
The countess would also know him by Dev.
Beatrix was certain of that, too.
Now that her mind had cracked open the door she’d held firmly shut these last two weeks since she’d last laid eyes on the man—him lying in bed…only a sheet covering the lower half of his body—memory took permission to relive their first kiss.
And the second.
And most definitely the third.
But mostly that night.
A night that lived with a bit too much familiarity in her mind—and in her body.
She’d held very few expectations regarding the act of coitus. The whisperings amongst ladies had deemed it an act to be endured. But if she’d had any preconceived ideas, their first coupling would have satisfied them.Nay.It had far surpassed mere endurance, for she’d wanted Mr. Blake Deverill with every cell of her being.
Yet, it hadn’t been transformative.
After, she’d still felt very much herself.
Then…they’d done it again.
And, oh, how she’d been transformed.
How the second time haunted her every waking—and sleeping—moment.
Which was why she’d avoided him these last two weeks.
Today, upon her arrival and the ensuing madness of ensuring all was running smoothly for the party—guests’ myriad needs met, wants accommodated, and desires indulged; the supply of champagne bottomless—she’d somehow managed to speak to Dev only in public view.
She didn’t trust herself with him in private.
She didn’t trust herself not to beg him for a third time.
And a fourth…
Oh, there would never be enough times.
That was the truth.
Avoidance was simpler.
And necessary.
After all, this entire elaborate ruse had a single goal—for him to woo another.
Lest she forget.
In the distance, a pair of gentlemanly figures appeared. For a panicked second, she was sure one of them was Dev.
Neither was.
The one man was tall, but older and carried a hearty paunch about his middle. The other man was tall, too, but rangy…a confident swagger to his step…a flash of sparkle in his left ear.
Her heart kicked into a gallop, and she sat up ramrod straight.No, no, no.If she wasn’t mistaken—and she wasn’t—the pair of figures were none other than…
“Lady Beatrix, is that Lydon?” asked Lady Farthington.
