No, that was not the right word. He’d felt frightened that she would insert such a word into their situation.
But then she’d expanded on it. She’d gone on to explain that it was not in asilly, whimsical feminine way, but because he would save her. And not because of how he made her feel,but for the goodness within him. “Your heart, it speaks to me.” She’d said. “You give me a foolish hope.”
And suddenly, it had not been enough.
It was insane. He barely knew her, and yet…
Something shifted inside of him.
He wanted her love in every way possible, including that silly, whimsical, and feminine way.
But he must wait. He’d not spoken the sentiment to her, not verbally, anyhow. And, then later, almost like a lovesick schoolboy, he wondered if she had been offended at this.
He’d been forced to watch Harold squire her about for over three weeks now. Of course, he was not jealous! How could one ever be jealous of Harold?
But as time passed, she’d softened toward his family. He’d seen it in her eyes.
Had her feelings for him been a temporary infatuation? He’d swooped into her life, literally, and saved her from a lion. At which thought he scoffed at himself. Anybody could have done it. Most likely, she’d been in no danger at all.
He’d kissed her with passion and yearning. God knew, she’d not shared anything like it with Harold.
And then, when she’d discovered some duplicity within her family, and on his family’s part, he’d supported her opinion that it had been manipulative, devious even. He’d promised to rescue her.
She’d told him once that they did not really know one another. Had she merely been swept away by the unique moments they’d experienced together? Those brief interludes had been filled with romance, passion, and an abundance of sentimentality.
On a few occasions, when he’d caught her watching him from a distance, he’d done his best to send her some sort of reassuring signal, a nod, a wink — hell, he’d even sent her a smoldering glance or two.
He was to dance the waltz with her tonight.
She looked, to all the world, like a beautiful young lady, caught up in a fairy-tale, marrying into a prosperous, dynastic family. But Dev saw her differently. And the troubled look behind her gaze persisted.
Dressed in something flimsy and floaty, she was separate. The underskirt of her gown was an icy blue with a lacey, gauzy confection floating over it. It was cut just low enough as to give a hint at her feminine curves, but not so low as to be common or gauche. And those curls, those delightful golden curls, somehow were less bouncy, the style, subdued.
He also noted that she wore one of her grace’s necklaces, a sapphire pendant on a white gold chain.
She was never alone.
And so, when at last their dance was next, Dev strode toward her with resolve.
In that moment, he was eager to breech the distance that had grown between them. He wanted another chance to address the troubled look in her eyes.
Eyes cast downward, she dropped into a curtsey when he stood before her. He bowed and then plucked her away from the various protective family members and chaperones she’d had in her midst all evening. And once they reached the middle of the room, he pulled her into his arms.
This waltz had originally been claimed by another, but Devlin would settle for no less. He’d erased the name and written in his own.
He needed to touch her. To hold her.
As did she, he thought.
He hoped?
“Where’s Peaches tonight?” he whispered above her ear.
And then the music began. She raised her eyes, and he led them into the dance. As they moved, her perfume teased his senses.
“Silly man,” she admonished.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” he spoke softly as he steered them through the crowded floor. She was too quiet, too withdrawn.
