Beatrix supposed that was as close to a confession as she was ever likely to get. “Why did you bring him here?”
“He expressed an interest in attending, and, well…” He shrugged, as if the remainder of the sentence didn’t need to be spoken.
Beatrix was in no mood to humor her father. “And you’re in no position to refuse him.”
She would’ve thought such words would elicit a sniff or even a glower. Instead, he smiled—brightly. “If it isn’t the man himself,” he said, as if the sun to his moon approached.
And Beatrix knew before a sure, masculine hand lightly closed around her arm and a low, rumbly voice sounded in her ear. “Going somewhere, my love?”
Deverill.
She froze.
My love.
Of course, the endearment was for the benefit of others. After all, they were on display.
She turned sharply, and her mouth found itself disconcertingly close to his. Her gaze lifted and met his within that intimate space.
Until this very moment, everything about their arrangement had felt mostly theoretical.
Now, here it was being put into practice.
Was she up to the task?
Doubt pulsed through her.
In the wild instant that followed hismy love, she’d believed it.
Or had wanted to believe it.
And she wasn’t sure which was worse.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Beatrix didn’t want to respond.
She wanted to run.
Dev understood that.
Well, too bad.
She’d made an arrangement with him.
He could release her from it, of course.
A gentleman might.
But he was no gentleman.
“Ah, the beauteous nature of young love.” Thumbs tucked into waistcoat pockets, Lydon rocked on his heels, smug smile in place. “I’ll leave you lot to it.”
The old wastrel likely didn’t think Dev caught the wink directed at his daughter.
She groaned.
“They’re all watching,” said Dev through his smile.
