Of course, the sky opened onto Dev’s head.
The universe did have a way of demonstrating its sense of humor.
Or it was precisely what he needed to cool the foul mood that had beset him.
The day had been ticking along nicely. He’d spent the morning sketching some new plans that had seeded in his brain. When that happened, there was nothing for it but to seat himself at his draftsman’s table, pencil perched between thumb and forefinger. Sometimes, all it took was a few minutes; others, a few hours. On the odd occasion, a few days. For Dev, the world stopped until the idea had flesh on its bones.
Fortunately, today had been an hour spent at the draftsman’s table, then another hour’s worth of business correspondence. Then it was off to Hyde Park, where he would meet up with Gabriel Siren.
He corrected himself.
No longer Gabriel Siren, but Gabriel Calthorp, the newly minted Seventh Duke of Acaster.
Dev hadn’t seen the man since his elevation to the second-highest tier of English society—just a single rung below the king.The duke had been a silent partner in his steam engine business with Shaw these last few years, and Dev wanted to get a feel for Acaster as he was now.
One thing Dev wouldn’t tolerate was interference in his business. Everyone had their place in its success. Acaster invested pounds; Shaw oversaw operations; and Dev was the talent.
It was simply the truth.
Within thirty seconds of conversation, however, Acaster had put Dev’s mind to rest. The man was the same as ever, even if he was now a duke.
It wasn’t the duke who had incited Dev’s present foul mood.
It was what had come after.
Namely, Imogen.
She and Bridgewater had approached him and Acaster on their mounts. Promptly, the earl had offered greetings to the new duke—greetings he wouldn’t have offered weeks ago when the man had been a mere Mr. Gabriel Siren. Bridgewater ignored Dev—as if he hadn’t hosted the man and his wife in Prinny’s Stand at the Oaks three weeks ago.
The message was clear.
When Dev wasn’t of use, he didn’t exist.
In truth, Dev expected as much from Bridgewater. But Imogen…
They’d once been friends.
Once, they’d been even more.
He didn’t believe the act they’d shared made her his.
But…hadn’t it made them each other’s?
And though no promise had been spoken, hadn’t it been made with their bodies and writ upon their hearts?
Then Bridgewater and Imogen had moved on to extend greetings elsewhere.
The black mood that had descended upon Dev was swift and implacable.
He’d tossed Acaster a surly grunt of farewell and urged his hunter in the opposite direction.
It was then the heavens decided to open.
He didn’t immediately rein in his horse or reduce his speed. The punishing ride felt too good—the pounding of hooves rattling and jarring him, freeing his mind of all but the raw elements of gusting wind and frigid rain that met his face like individual cannon blasts. It was exactly what he needed.
What came next wasn’t.
Around a bend in the horse path, a figure appeared out of nowhere, dashing straight for him. He had only the split of a second to turn his mount before inflicting serious injury. Immediately, the figure—a woman—fell to the ground on a sharp cry of pain.
