He was dressed impeccably, with his customary dark cravat tied in a simple knot, the crisp white linen of his shirt setting off his dark hair and hazel eyes to advantage. The ring on his forefinger caught her attention. He wore it always. What did it mean?
“I have duties to attend, Your Grace,” he declined politely, and there it was again, that trace of a foreign accent in his velvet-soft baritone.
“Your duties can go hang for an hour or so,” her brother said easily with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Pamela has ordered a feast prepared to make amends for her disappointment at not being able to plan a tremendous affair as she would have preferred.”
It was true that she had wanted Virtue and Ridgely to have a lovely wedding. A proper wedding. One that was not nearly as hasty and dipped in scandal as that which had just occurred. However, her brother’s will had prevailed, and here they stood.
She caught Theo’s gaze, the same jolt of awareness traveling through her that always did whenever their eyes met. “You must join us at the wedding breakfast, Mr. St. George.”
If her use of his surname affected him, Theo gave no indication. He wore the same impassive expression she had come to expect from him.
“Please do,” Virtue entreated kindly. “It would be a pleasure to have you join us.”
Theo bowed deferentially. “As you wish.”
And still, no change in his countenance. Nothing to suggest that the small suspicions rising within her could possibly be true. Yet, they continued to grow as their unlikely little quartet was seated in the dining room, the sumptuous breakfast she had planned with Mrs. Bell laid before them. Hothouse fruits sent from Ridgely Hall, honey and plum cakes, Bayonne ham, an assortment of jellies, hot chocolate.
She wasn’t hungry for any of it. She was, of course, happy for her brother, who she hoped would find contentment in marriage. Not long ago, she wouldn’t have believed it possible for him to marry anyone, and most certainly not his spirited bluestocking of a ward. He had been adamant that he had no wish to take on such a responsibility.
But she could see the ease between the two. And she saw the way Ridgely looked at Virtue. It was undeniably the way a man gazed upon the woman he loved. And Virtue seemed happy as well, despite her initial anger with Ridgely and refusal to marry him.
Love, Pamela supposed, could work strange magic.
Was it that same magic which had made her fail to see what seemed so apparent to her now, that Theo was not at all who he claimed to be? And if he was indeed a member of the royal family of Boritania, what did that mean? Why was he in London, earning his living as a bodyguard?
“You are quiet, sister,” Ridgely observed. “Are you still mourning the wedding you could have planned?”
He was teasing her, but for a moment, her mind went to a different wedding. One which would likely never occur—between herself and Theo. Had he been keeping the truth of who he was from her despite the intimacy they shared?
She forced a smile. “Of course not. I am merely shocked that you have finally married. I thought you would never settle down with a wife.”
Ridgely grinned in his customary, devil-may-care fashion. “I reckon I was waiting for the only woman who could tame me.”
Virtue’s cheeks flushed with color, but she sent an arch glance in her new husband’s direction. “Have you been tamed? I hardly think it possible.”
“You’ve taught me to believe in the impossible, my dear,” Ridgely said, with eyes only for his new duchess.
Pamela forced down an unwelcome surge of envy.
She was happy for them both. Truly. The jealousy simmering within was for Ridgely and Virtue’s ability to openly acknowledge their relationship, a luxury that she and Theo did not enjoy. That and the permanence of their union. She didn’t know if she would have Theo beyond the next morning’s light.
“And you’ve taught me that I need to take particular care when you’ve decided there is something you want,” Virtue told Ridgely wryly. “Your persistence is unparalleled.”
“Persistence is the only way to woo and win a woman,” her brother quipped, turning his attention to Theo. “Would you not agree, Mr. St. George?”
Theo’s gaze drifted to Pamela just for a moment, and she felt her cheeks go hot. To distract herself, she took a discreet bite of her hothouse pineapple.
“I’m afraid I wouldn’t know, Your Grace,” Theo said politely.
“Ah, is there not a Mrs. St. George, then?” Virtue asked.
“I’m not the sort of man a lady ought to marry,” Theo offered.
Pamela stiffened. It was the first time she had heard him speak of marriage, and his response did not bode well for their future. Of course, it was possible that he intended to remain her lover. They hadn’t spoken of permanency. They simply lived for stolen moments. So much of him still remained shrouded in secrecy.
But not his name.
She thought again of the coincidences.
