“And somehow guessing the gel’s future character so correctly,” Celia Cynster put in. She eyed the couple in question, who, apparently, were merely exchanging idle observations, yet there was something in the pair’s stances vis-à-vis each other that screamed of a closeness that went well beyond that generally seen in a couple of the haut ton. “Do you think he knows?”
Horatia Cynster, the “gel” in question’s grandmother, twisted in her chair to observe the pair. “With Devlin, who can tell? But to my mind, the more interesting question is whether Therese has realized.”
“Hmm,” Lady Osbaldestone said. “I take your point. From my own past, I can testify that, while seeing the connections between others might come easily, sometimes, what is under one’s own nose can pass largely unremarked.”
“That is very true.” Helena nodded regally. “However, in this instance, I believe the veneer is wearing thin and, very soon, we shall see fully revealed just what lies underneath.”
All four ladies spent another minute studying the intriguing pair, then studiously transferred their gazes elsewhere.
Across the ballroom, Lord Devlin Cader, Earl of Alverton, breathed a trifle easier. These days, in Cynster family settings such as this—impossible as they were to avoid—he constantly felt as if he was walking on eggshells. There were far too many perspicacious females among the company for his peace of mind.
Beside him, his wife, Therese, continued her observations—pointed and, for Devlin’s money, entirely on the mark—regarding her eldest brother’s inevitable tumble into matrimony’s snare.
Devlin knew perfectly well that remaining beside Therese for too long was inviting exposure, yet still he lingered. If I keep weakening like this, I’ll be doomed.
Therese glanced up at him, her fine silver-blue eyes filled with the pleasure of a lady thoroughly vindicated in her predictions. “I am so utterly in charity with dear Christopher. I’d virtually given up all hope that he would ever be sensible enough to choose a lady like Ellen as his bride—that he would recognize the possibilities, the prospects, even were she to appear before him, pressed upon his notice, as, indeed, I gather occurred.”
She returned her gaze to her eldest brother and sighed happily.
Later, he was to wonder if it was a touch of irrational jealousy provoked by the quality of that sigh that had him suggesting, “Perhaps your dear Christopher finally opened his eyes and took his cue from me.”
He heard the words fall from his lips and very nearly closed his eyes and groaned.
Of course, it was too much to hope that Therese hadn’t heard him clearly, much less that she would lightly dismiss his words.
His wife rarely glossed over anything to do with him.
Now, after a fractional hesitation during which, no doubt, she replayed his words, analyzed his inflection, and tried to make sense of her conclusions, she turned a faintly frowning gaze on him. “What on earth do you mean?” The frown grew more definite. “If you recall, you didn’t choose me. Quite the opposite! I chose you, as all the ton and his dog are well aware!” She warmed to her thesis, and a hint of misusage crept into her tone. “If you will cast your mind back five years, my lord, you will remember that I had to badger and hound you into marrying me!”
He told himself the course of wisdom was clear; he should meekly agree and airily claim a faulty memory regarding the steps that had led to their union.
Only his memory of those days and nights was crystal clear, etched in his mind like a picture carved in stone. Then he met her eyes, saw the faint hurt she tried to hide behind the nearly reflective pale blue, and impulse took over; he grinned devilishly at her—allowing his true self to show—and as her eyes widened, softly said, “Oops.”
Her eyes flared, her jaw dropped, and he couldn’t help himself.
He laughed, low and irredeemably seductively, then swooped, lightly bussed her lips, and smoothly moved off into the shifting crowd, leaving Therese, stunned more comprehensively than he’d ever seen her, staring after him.