She had no standard against which to judge the depth of his devotion to her pleasure, no experience to open her eyes to the fact that his sexual worship of her wasn’t something that occurred between every man and woman. Yet from their wedding night, she’d welcomed him with open arms and an innocent eagerness that had ripped his breath from his lungs, and he hadn’t been able to hold himself back from seizing what she so freely offered and, in return, giving her all that he was, all he was capable of lavishing on her.
Including his love. It had always been there, a potent and powerful element in their lovemaking.
And that, he admitted as sleep drew inexorably nearer, was something he would fight to keep exactly as it was.
His lids grew heavy, and he closed his eyes. In this arena at least, he’d always been transparent. In rescripting their marriage, nothing in this sphere would have to change.
Devlin’s limbs felt like lead when, an hour or so before dawn, he forced them out of Therese’s warm bed. He sat on the edge and, turning his head, studied her, taking in the spill of her silken hair, the delicate, evocative curve of her spine partly revealed by the disarranged covers.
He looked, then forced himself to his feet. He leaned over and rearranged the covers so she wouldn’t feel the cold.
He wanted to stay. After the past hours, the visceral tug had only grown stronger, but when it came to it, he didn’t dare.
Not yet.
Stifling a sigh, he swiped up his discarded clothes and headed for the door to his apartments.
Before he could stay and enjoy a dawn beside her, he needed to convince her that he loved her—and he still had a long way to go.
Chapter 3
With his greatcoat sheathing his shoulders, his hat on his head, and his cane in one hand, Devlin strolled, apparently idly, across the lawns of Hyde Park. With the glass-and-steel edifice of the Crystal Palace at his back, he angled across the expanse as if heading for his house on Park Lane.
James and Cedric paced alongside him, discussing an agricultural treatment, touted by one of the exhibitors, that James was considering with an eye to improving his acres. Devlin ceased listening in favor of dwelling on the unexpected opportunity that had fallen into his lap as he’d ambled down the central row in the main exhibition hall. He’d been on his way to discuss a deal with a Swedish engineering firm on behalf of the board of one of the companies he was currently involved with when he’d noticed that a figurine Therese had admired on the exhibition’s opening day was still for sale.
Hardly surprising given the price the Russian jeweler was asking for the eight-inch-tall, solid-gold statue of a rearing dragon, gorgeously enameled and jewel-encrusted though it was. But he knew without asking that Therese had truly craved the little dragon; he’d seen it in her face and in the way she’d handled the delicate figurine. Given the figurine had been so prominently displayed and knowing the exhibition was ending soon, he’d assumed the jeweler was keen to sell; on impulse, he’d halted and put in a bid for the dragon, offering a little over half the price asked.
The head of the firm hadn’t been on site, and Devlin had left his card and walked on, praying that the jeweler would accept the offer and he would have the figurine for Therese’s birthday later in the month.
Buoyed by the prospect of what he hoped would be an unexpected stroke of luck, he swung his cane and looked ahead, scanning the carriages lining the avenue that led into the park from the Grosvenor Gate. As one of the more highly regarded, fashionable matrons in the ton, at this hour, Therese could usually be found in the Alverton barouche somewhere along that graveled path, participating in the ritual of the afternoon promenade with her peers and the rest of the haut ton thus inclined.
After his appearance at Lady Walton’s the previous evening and his demonstrated preference for his wife’s company, Devlin accepted that he would need to exercise greater caution—greater invention—in approaching Therese in public and spending time beside her while under the gossipmongers’ eyes.
Luckily, he’d had a perfectly legitimate reason for visiting the exhibition that afternoon and, therefore, subsequently crossing the park. Cedric and James had elected to accompany him, and he’d readily agreed, reasoning that their presence would afford him additional cover.
He spotted the Alverton barouche with Therese and two other ladies seated inside about a hundred yards ahead, more or less in a direct line south of his current position.
Returning his attention to Cedric and James’s conversation, he realized James had moved on to his recurring plaint about Veronica.
“It’s utterly ridiculous, the way she badgers me to attend this dinner or that.” James’s lips were set in a thin line. “I swear, she’s pushing me into becoming one of those old duffers who haunts his club day and night!”
Devlin bit his tongue against the urge to suggest James should try just that, if nothing else to see if Veronica muted her shrewish tendencies, but it was an old argument, and given James had married Veronica over six years ago, if he hadn’t acted yet, Devlin doubted he ever would.
Cedric, as usual, murmured soothing platitudes.
Devlin returned a vague response—given his quest, marital discord was the last subject he wished to think about—and unobtrusively steered their steps away from his supposed destination and toward his wife’s barouche.
To distract his friends from their wayward direction, he asked James, “Has Veronica ever said why she wishes you to attend these events? At this point, it seems unlikely that she feels any need of your social support.”
His gaze on the ground before his feet, James grumpily huffed. After several seconds, he admitted, “She says I ought to pay more attention politically. I might not sit in the Lords yet, but ultimately, I will, and she’s determined I should be ready to make my mark.”
Devlin swallowed the observation that, all in all, that wasn’t such a silly idea; James’s father was no spring chicken.
Predictably, Cedric, who would never shoulder the responsibility of governing, made noises supporting James’s resistance.
Looking ahead, Devlin inwardly smiled as they reached the edge of the avenue.
He halted, and James and Cedric halted beside him. Both looked around in mild surprise, and Devlin pretended to do the same.
“Huh—it appears we’ve gone astray.” Cedric stepped back onto the verge and waved toward the Grosvenor Gate, now some distance away. “Shall we?”
Along with James, Devlin nodded, and the three of them set off.
Then James tugged his sleeve. When Devlin glanced his way, James nodded to the carriage just ahead. “That’s your carriage, along with your wife.”
Devlin looked and endeavored to keep his expression unrevealing. “So it is.” He paused, then lowered his voice. “Impossible to simply walk by—we’ll have to stop.”
Therese had been conversing with Georgiana Sheldrake and Emily Pritchard, both of whom had been walking the lawns and had joined her in her carriage, when Devlin, James, and Cedric strolled up.
Smiling, the three halted, doffed their hats, and half bowed. As all of them were acquainted, no introductions were required, and hands were promptly offered and fingers pressed.
After acknowledging the other ladies, Devlin met Therese’s eyes. “I needed to confer with one of the exhibitors and was on my way home.” Still smiling, he shifted his gaze to Georgiana and Emily. “Have you ladies had a pleasant afternoon?”