“Devlin!”
He took a deep breath, expelled it while watching Cassandra exit through the front door, and turned. “Good evening, Mother.” There was nothing like her to put an end to his improper thoughts.
“You cheated.” Her arms were crossed and her brow knit in a disapproving scowl. “When I asked you to dance this evening, I meant with a debutante, not with Lady Cassandra, who’s—”
“What?” Devlin felt the muscles in his back begin to bunch with annoyance. “Think very carefully before you finish that sentence, Mother.”
Her eyes widened with what appeared to be shocked disbelief. And then she took a step closer to him so she could whisper, “Just so you know, I am extremely fond of Cassandra. It would never occur to me to speak of her disparagingly.” She leaned back a little and sighed. “All I meant to say is that you might have tried dancing with a woman who’d be interested in marrying you.”
“First of all,” Devlin said, forcing his temper back under control, “you know perfectly well that I don’t wish to marry. And second of all,” he added before his mother had a chance to argue, “what makes you certain Cassandra wouldn’t be interested?”
“Because,” the dowager duchess explained with the patience of someone addressing an infant, “if she were, I believe you would have married her years ago.”
“What the…” Devlin caught a look of interest from one of the guests and instantly turned his back on the nosy female. He lowered his voice even further and asked, “What on earth do you mean by—”
“Devlin. Mother.” Caleb’s well-rounded tone demanded attention. And so Devlin gave it to him. “You two look like a pair of conspirators, whispering over here in the corner. Care to tell me what’s going on?”
“Not especially,” Devlin grumbled, then added, “I’m sorry I’m late.”
“No matter.” Caleb glanced from one to the other then told the dowager duchess, “I believe your friend, the Duchess of Chitilla, is looking for you.”
“In that case, you must excuse me.” She gave Devlin a hard look. “One more dance, Dev. You owe me.” And then she was off.
Owe her?
For what? Giving him life?
“I gather our dear mama wasn’t pleased with your trying to placate her by dancing with Cass.”
“She insists I give it another go.”
“And will you?”
Devlin looked Caleb straight in the eye. “Of course not.” He’d done as he’d promised, whether his mother agreed or not. Glancing away, he searched the room until he located Monty, then raised his hand to draw his attention. “Wouldn’t mind a drink outside on the terrace though. Care to join me?”
Caleb nodded. “Certainly.”
“Have you met my first mate and longtime friend, Mr. Quinn?” Devlin asked as soon as Monty had reached them.
“We exchanged a few words when he and his wife arrived,” Caleb said.
Monty gave Devlin a nod by way of greeting. “One would think you’d be more punctual when you live at the place where the ball is held.” The edge of his mouth pulled upward. “Was there a great deal of traffic between your bedchamber and the downstairs, Dev?”
“Ho, I like you,” Caleb told Monty while Devlin did his best to maintain a serious expression.
“Mm…” Devlin muttered. “You wouldn’t believe the sort of impassable pile-up that can occur on a landing.” The three men laughed. When their mirth faded, Devlin said, “We were just discussing drinks on the terrace, Monty, and I thought you might like to join us.”
“Sounds like a splendid idea to me,” Monty said. He tugged at his cravat. “The fresh air would do me good.”
“It’s settled then,” Caleb said. “Let’s go.”
They each snatched a glass of champagne from a serving tray as they went, then headed toward a pair of French doors made almost entirely of glass. Once outside, they removed themselves to a private spot a little off to one side where they could talk openly without too much chance of being overheard.
“So,” Monty said in that way he so often did when he was about to broach an uncomfortable topic. “The woman you danced with…”
Devlin clasped his glass a bit harder. “What about her?”
“Is something the matter with her?”
