Across the room,her father congratulated her uncle on his daughter’s marriage. LordStephen Farlisle was tall and lean against her uncle’s bulkierframe, but neither he nor Uncle Oliver were as large as theiryounger brother. Uncle Maxim was a mountain of a man, tall andbroad and when she was little, he could hold her, his daughterCharlotte and her cousin Holly aloft in his arms, giggling as hewhirled them about with little effort.
The threebrothers stood together, conversing amongst themselves. Hollyclaimed at one point her father and Davina’s had been estranged,and only Uncle Maxim’s dramatic return from the dead had broughtthem to closeness once more. She loved to tease Davina with storiesof how her father had wept and wept, but Davina knew better. Herfather would never weep where others could see. She knew this to betrue, becauseshewould never weep where others could see.She felt too much. She knew this. She was her father’s daughter,through and through.
Her gaze trippedidly over the guests, noting her mother spoke with her friend LadyElizabeth, even as she shot heated glances at Davina’s father,which he more than returned. Davina quickly averted her gaze. Shehad no desire to know her parents still lusted after oneother.
From the otherside of the room, a gentleman stared at her openly.
Brows drawing,she stared back, thoughsheat least knew how to disguiseher regard. When one tucked themselves away against walls andpillars, one learnt quickly to observe unseen.
She knew, ofcourse, who the gentleman was. Everyone did. Lord Devlin, youngerbrother of the Marquess of Postleshire. A few years her elder, hewas part of a wild set, one that indulged in reckless carriageraces and illegal duels over disreputable ladies. Her own brotherhad spoken longingly of Lord Devlin’s exploits, though their fatherwas always quick to remind them such activities were not all funand games and he had the scars and aches to prove it. When he was ayoung man, her father had succumbed to wildness in his first fewseasons, though it was impossible to imagine her staid, steadfastfather as wild as Lord Devlin.
She turned herhead. She had no notion why he stared at her so. He was, for wantof a better word, beautiful. Chestnut hair perfectly styled, evenfeatures, a lush mouth. His shoulders were broad, his hips narrow,his legs long and perfectly framed by his well-tailored trousers.He could have any woman, have her blushing and simpering inmoments, and in his arms in minutes.
Davina was notbeautiful. She could be termed attractive, she supposed, but onlyif her maid spent hours styling her hair, even longer applyingcosmetics to make it seem as if she wore none, and if she woregarments she found uncomfortable. She much preferred not to bother,and it was probably why she wore the unfashionable gown she nowdid.
For a while,when she was younger, she’d spent the time on her appearance buthonestly, she would much rather the time spent onsomething—anything—other than that.
“Lady Davina.” Somehow he had crossed the room without hernotice and stood before her now, a charming smile spread across hishandsome features. “May I sit with you?”
She could thinkof no reason to refuse. “I cannot stop you.”
He seemedunaffected by her unenthusiastic response, gracefully arranginghimself on the chair beside her. They sat in silence. She wasintensely aware of him sitting next to her: the length of his legs,his large hands casually clasping his knees, the smirk twisting hisfull lips.
“Whyare you sad?”
She started andthen blushed.Don’t be ridiculous, Davina.There was no wayhe knew she had been ogling him. “I beg your pardon?”
“There is a sadness to your smile. Are you sad your cousin iswed?”
Her back snappedstraight. “I beg your pardon?” she repeated sharply.
He smirked. “Noneed to beg.”
Jerking her headaround, she stared straight ahead and resolved to ignorehim.
“I've been watching you.”
Still she saidnothing.
“Youare a very interesting woman to observe.”
She snapped hergaze back to him. “Do you find this works?”
He blinked. “Ibeg your pardon?”
“Noneed to beg,” she countered, and pretended not to notice the quicksmile on his pretty mouth. “The mysterious stranger who behavesinappropriately? Do you find ladies swoon at such a manner? Didthey put themselves under your spell?”
He regarded her.She refused to quake, meeting his dark gaze with her chin raised.“Usually,” he finally said.
Abruptly, shegrew tired of his game. “I know of your wager,” she saidbluntly.
He blinked, andthe faintest of frowns touched his brows. “Now I must beg yourpardon.”
She smiledthinly. “You have wagered with Lord Ingram that you will make mefall in love with you by season’s end. It is loathsome, sir, thatyou would toy with a person’s emotions for something as trivial asmoney.”
He was silent amoment, and then, “It is not only money.”
“Oh?What, pray tell, is so desirable that you must toy with people’semotions as if you are entitled to do so?”
