“It wasn’t your responsibility to save Theo from himself. When he decided to act like a hotheaded fool, no one could have stopped him.”
“But you see, it wasn’t a decision. Theo couldn’t help it that I set off his temper.”
Devon’s mouth twisted as if she had said something ridiculous. “Of course he could.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’m a Ravenel. I have the same damned evil temper. Whenever I yield to it, I’m perfectly aware of what I’m doing.”
She shook her head, unwilling to be pacified. “You didn’t hear the way I spoke to him. I was very sarcastic and unkind… Oh, you should have seen his face…”
“Yes, I’m sure you were a perfect little hornet. However, a few sharp words weren’t sufficient reason for Theo to dash off in a suicidal tantrum.”
As Kathleen considered that, she realized with a start that her fingers had slid into the thick, closely shorn locks of hair at his nape. Her arms were around his neck. When had that happened? Blushing furiously, she jerked her hands from him.
“You have no sympathy for Theo because you didn’t like him,” she said awkwardly, “but —”
“I haven’t yet decided whether I like you either. That doesn’t change my opinion of the situation.”
Kathleen stared at him with wide eyes. Somehow his cool, unsentimental assessment was more comforting than sympathy.
“They ran to fetch me, after it happened,” she found herself telling him. “Theo was lying on the ground. His neck was broken, and no one wanted to move him until the doctor arrived. I leaned over him and said his name, and when he heard my voice, he opened his eyes. I could see that he was dying. I put my hand on his cheek and told him that I loved him, and Theo said, ‘You’re not my wife.’ Those were the last words he ever spoke. He was unconscious by the time the doctor arrived…” More tears sprang from her eyes. She didn’t realize she was twisting the polishing cloth in her fists until one of his hands settled over both of hers, calming the agitated movement.
“I wouldn’t dwell on Theo’s last words,” Devon said. “One could hardly expect him to be sensible. For God’s sake, his neck was broken.” His palm passed over her knuckles in a repeated caress. “Listen, my little watering pot, it was in my cousin’s nature to do something rash at any given moment. It always would have been. The reckless streak in the Ravenel family has persevered for centuries. Theo could have married a saint, and he would have lost his temper regardless.”
“I’m certainly not a saint,” she said woefully, ducking her head.
Amusement rustled through his voice. “I knew that within the first minute of meeting you.”
Keeping her head down, Kathleen stared at the hand over hers, elegant but brutally strong, with a faint scattering of hair on the back of it. “I wish I had it to do over again,” she whispered.
“No one could blame you for what happened.”
“I blame myself.”
“‘Let her cover the mark as she will,’” he quoted sardonically, “‘the pang of it will always be in her heart.’”
Recognizing the words from The Scarlet Letter, Kathleen glanced up at him miserably. “You liken me to Hester Prynne?”
“Only in your aspirations to martyrdom. Although even Hester had a bit of fun before her comeuppance, whereas you’ve apparently had little.”
“Fun?” Despair gave way to bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”
His gaze was intent on her face. “I would think that even a proper lady might find some pleasure in the conjugal embrace.”
She gasped in befuddled outrage. “I – you – that you would dare bring up such a subject —” He had been so gentle and comforting, and now he had changed back into the insufferable cad of before. “As if I would ever discuss that with anyone, least of all you!” As she writhed and began to crawl from his lap, he held her in place easily.
“Before you charge away in righteous indignation,” he said, “you might want to refasten your bodice.”
“My —” Glancing down at her front, Kathleen saw to her horror that the first few buttons of her dress and the top two hooks of her corset had been undone. She went scarlet. “Oh, how could you?”
A flare of amusement lit his eyes. “You weren’t breathing well. I thought you needed oxygen more than modesty.” After watching her frantic efforts to rehook the corset, he asked politely, “May I help?”
“No. Although I’m certain you’re quite accomplished at ‘helping’ ladies with their undergarments.”
“They’re hardly ever ladies.” He laughed quietly as she worked at the placket of the corset with increasing panic.
The strain of the afternoon had left her so enervated that even the simplest task was difficult. She huffed and wriggled to pull the edges of the corset together.
After watching her for a moment, Devon said brusquely, “Allow me.” He brushed her hands away and began to hook the corset efficiently. She gasped as she felt the backs of his knuckles brush the skin of her upper chest. Finishing the hooks, he started on the row of buttons at her bodice. “Relax. I’m not going to ravish you; I’m not quite as depraved as my reputation might indicate. Besides, a bosom of such modest proportions – albeit charming – isn’t enough to send me into a frenzy of lust.”
Kathleen glowered and held still, secretly relieved that he’d given her a reason to hate him again. Nimbly his long fingers worked at the buttons until each one was neatly secured in its small silk loop. His lashes cast brindled shadows down his cheeks as he glanced along her front.
“There,” he murmured.
She clambered out of his lap with the haste of a scalded cat.
“Careful.” Devon flinched at the heedless placement of her knee. “I have yet to produce an heir, which makes certain parts of my anatomy more valuable to the estate than the actual family jewels.”
“They’re not valuable to me,” she said, staggering to her feet.
“Still, I’m quite fond of them.” He grinned and rose in an easy movement, reaching out to steady her.
Dismayed by the deplorably rumpled and muddy condition of her skirts, Kathleen whacked at the bits of hay and horsehair that clung to the black crepe fabric.
“Shall I accompany you into the house?” Devon asked.
“I prefer to go separately,” she said.
“As you wish.”