He began nodding. Actually…yes.
He’d made a right mess of matters—there was no denying it—but a quick conversation with Imogen would be a pivot in the right direction.
He’d been too unclear—with himself…with Beatrix…with Imogen, too, apparently—which was unlike him.
He was known for clarity of mind and purpose.
For knowing what he wanted and pursuing it—and achieving it.
But somewhere along the way that clarity had become clear as mud.
Everyone, it seemed, thought they knew what he wanted—including himself.
Yet it wasn’t what he wanted, not at all.
And now the time had arrived to clear the waters.
Beginning with Imogen.
He allowed her to lead him down the corridor, up a staircase, and down another corridor, at the end of which they entered a disused room. As she shut the door behind them, it became obvious she’d planned for this littletête-a-tête.
She arranged herself on the room’s chaise longue in a seductive pose and curved her mouth into a practiced smile. Had she always been this transparent? “You’ve made your point, Dev.”
He propped a shoulder against the closed door and crossed his arms over his chest. “What point is that?”
She trilled a light, feminine laugh that sounded rehearsed. “With Lady Beatrix, of course.”
Dev went very still. He didn’t like that laugh. It held an edge of malice—aimed squarely at Beatrix.
Imogen didn’t notice the sudden snap of tension in the air. “As if you would marry her.”
“Wouldn’t I?”
Another laugh—the same malicious note ringing through. “Of course not. Why would you spend the rest of your days with her when…”
Her eyes glittered with expectancy. Impatience struck through Dev. He shouldn’t be here.
Yet another mistake made.
“Whenwhat, Imogen?” He was in no mood for games.
“When you could spend them withme?”
It took the split of a second for his mind to catch up. “Are you saying you would—” The thought was too incredible to finish.
“Run away with you?”
A single wary nod was the only response he was capable of at the moment.
“Yes, I believe I shall.”
Imogen was speaking the words he’d been waiting to hear for years…
And they inspired nothing in him beyond…absolute panic.
Bloody hell.
“I rather fancy being a ruined lady.” Her tone was that of someone describing the weather.
