He winked at her. “Just get dressed.”
With a perplexed look on her face, he walked out of her chamber and shut the door behind him.
When he arrived downstairs, Luke was standing in the doorway of the parlor, leaning against the frame. Devin rubbed his hands together in excitement. “Is everything ready?”
“Aye.” The older man rubbed the side of his beard. “Th’ servants ’ave rearranged th’ library t’ yer specifications.”
“And the entertainment?”
Luke nodded with a roll of his eyes. “Aye. Tha’ too.”
Relief flooded through Devin. In all of his life he hadn’t wanted anything more than to keep that smile on Constance’s face. He could tell that the recent interaction with Granelli had disturbed her more than she wanted to admit. It was his intention to push all of that ugliness aside, if only just for one day.
“Ye really do care about ’er.”
Devin turned to his long-time friend. “Haven’t I been telling you that all this time?” His mouth kicked up at the corner. “Surely this isn’t Luke House admitting that he was wrong?”
“Bah!” He waved a hand. “Don’t be gettin’ used t’ it.”
Devin laughed as Luke walked off in a huff.
It wasn’t until he heard a noise behind him that he turned around.
The moment Devin spied the vision of loveliness gliding down the stairs, he sobered instantly, his lungs ceasing to draw a proper breath. Constance had always had a timeless beauty that had captivating him from the very first moment he’d laid eyes on her, but as she drew closer to him, wearing the gown that he’d specifically designed for her—there were no words to describe the sensation that was growing and expanding throughout his chest. It was warm and exotic and completely… wonderful.
He watched her until she paused directly before him. She raised her arms and did a little pirouette. “Very nicely done, Mr. Blackmore. It fits like a glove.” She bestowed a brilliant smile on him.
Devin held out his arm to her, pride filling every part of him to have such a beautiful woman next to him. “Shall we?”
She accepted his offering warily. “That depends on where we’re going.”
His gaze captured hers. “Don’t worry. It’s not far.”
Curiosity was burning through Constance as she laid her hand upon his strong arm. She slid a sideways glance at Devin, and considering the sharp way he was dressed, if he were to mingle with the upper ten thousand, they would have no idea that he wasn’t born with blue blood. With his broad shoulders, tall stance, and confident air, he commanded the very atmosphere around him.
As he led her toward the rear of the townhouse, she couldn’t imagine why he was going through so much trouble for her on that particular day, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t appreciate the gesture. Excitement was rushing through her veins and she realized it had been years since she’d had such a girlish thrill.
They paused before the library door where he gave a light knock. Immediately, the sound of solemn music came through the oak. But Constance didn’t have time to question it before Devin gave her a wink and the inside of the room was revealed.
Constance gasped, as candles had been lit and strategically placed along the bookshelves. The furniture and rugs had been removed, leaving behind a shiny, bare wooden floor that had been strewn with velvety, red rose petals. The music was coming from one of the footmen, who stood in a corner playing a violin.
She blinked, more than a little overwhelmed. “What is all this for?” she breathed.
He held out a hand to her, his expression intense. “It’s your birthday, Constance. You take such good care of those in need, I thought it was time for you to enjoy a bit of indulgence.”
Her jaw went slack for a moment, as it hadn’t even occurred to her until then that she had actually forgotten about her own birthday. But then, was it any wonder? She’d been so tied up with the planning for the metamorphosis ball, trying to fight her attraction to Devin, and the threat of Granelli striking when they least expected it that everything else had quite slipped her mind.
And yet…
“How did you find out?”
“I have my ways,” he returned smoothly. “Now are you going to take my hand or not?”
Constance obediently slipped her hand into his and he pulled her into the elegant formation of a waltz. When he began to lead her in a perfect set, twirling her about the room, she found that she was once again, impressed by his prowess.
“Who taught you to dance?” When his face shuttered slightly, she instantly regretted the query. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have pried—”
“Her name was Annalise Coventry, the Countess of Tyne,” he interrupted softly. “She was my former mistress.”
