Why he hadn’t had the sense to bite his tongue, he didn’t know. It was the second time he’d spoken impulsively, without due thought; he knew the fault lay with him. Within him, truth be told; from the first moment he’d met Therese, he’d recognized that the best way of managing her was to hint at facts and allow her to “discover” them for herself. That had been his habitual way of dealing with her, and no matter that after his first unhelpful attempt, he’d accepted that, in this situation, such an approach wouldn’t work, his escalating impatience to seize what he wanted had tripped him into reverting to his previous ways.
He was just a touch confounded that, after all his careful planning, his impulsive self could still take charge and have him tossing out sentences like that. He’d never encountered such a problem in business or in politics; even when he’d acted impulsively in those spheres, when he spoke, he was always considered, clear, and concise.
Only with Therese had he ever lost his head and had his tongue run away with him.
He glanced at her again, but could glean nothing of what she might actually be thinking from her expression; she was as polished a social performer as he. No one observing her would imagine she had any concern beyond enjoying the ball.
Cedric Marshall arrived and joined their group, as did two other couples who were acquainted with the Hemmingses as well as with Devlin and Therese. From beside Therese, Devlin conversed and exchanged anecdotes with his customary unrufflable ease, but he continued to watch her closely and, eventually, concluded that, behind the reflective mirror of her eyes, she’d grown pensive.
She was still mulling over his words; any hope that she would shrug them aside died.
Everything had been going well; they’d both been in good spirits when they’d arrived. Now…no matter how she appeared to others, he knew she was focused inward and was no longer deriving any enjoyment from the ball.
Anger at himself for having once again destroyed her peace of mind welled.
Enough. He’d allowed the words to leave his tongue—he would view that as him having taken his first, irrevocable step toward telling her, clearly and unambiguously, that he loved her. He would master his impulse to dance around the truth and simply tell her. Tonight.
He was not going to allow a situation that was causing her any kind of distress to continue.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t speak with her there, and it was still too early for them to leave.
Two minutes later, the musicians arrived and started to set up in a nearby corner. Cedric whispered something to Therese, then she turned and put a hand on Devlin’s arm. “I’m going to have a word with Lady Poulson.”
Meaning that Cedric wanted Therese to facilitate a meeting with her ladyship’s protégée, Miss Nagley.
Devlin nodded, caught Therese’s hand, and smoothly wound her arm with his. With his usual flair, he excused them to the other couples, leaving Cedric to follow suit. Devlin cast an inquiring glance at Therese. “Which way?”
She regarded him with faint suspicion, but tipped her head toward the ballroom door. “Farther along the wall.”
Smiling urbanely, he steered her in that direction, with Cedric keeping pace.
Devlin breathed deeply and felt assurance and certainty well and anchor him. Tonight, he would bare his soul to his wife, and after that, all truly would be well.
Half an hour later, with the ball in full swing, Grayson Child stood by one side of the room and watched Devlin circle the dance floor with his wife in his arms.
In returning to London and, inevitably, to the haut ton, Gray had foreseen that one of the major dangers he would face was that of matrimonial snares. Until arriving in town, he hadn’t spent much time thinking of marriage, but from experience, he’d learned to evaluate any significant threat that might arise, and stumbling unawares into an unintended marriage ranked high on his scale of potential disasters.
Given that, beneath their competitive banter, he and Devlin were alike in many, many ways, from the instant Gray had learned that his childhood friend was securely married and had been for five years, he’d taken to watching Devlin—and Therese, but mostly Devlin; who better from whom to learn of the benefits and drawbacks of the married state?
At first, it had seemed that Devlin’s marriage was the epitome of the tried-and-true marriages most popular among the ton, one based on mutual respect and, if the couple was lucky, affection similar to what existed between close friends.
But the more Gray had watched, the less he’d believed, until eventually, he’d come to the startling conclusion that Devlin’s marriage wasn’t a conventional one at all.
Even with his deep knowledge of Devlin, it had taken Gray quite some time to convince himself of the reality of what he was seeing and what that must therefore mean.
He knew women—in his estimation, rather well—and had satisfied himself of Therese’s state first. That she loved Devlin wasn’t any longer a question in Gray’s mind, even though, when in society, she rarely if ever allowed any sign of the depth of her devotion to show.
That, of course, hadn’t told him anything about Devlin’s emotions but—at least to Gray, who knew Devlin so well—had given rise to an eye-opening possibility.
Then Gray had been present and, with his own eyes, had seen Devlin’s face, his expression, when he’d stalked into the manager’s office at Gentleman Jim’s. In that instant, no matter how shocking Gray found it, the truth had been revealed.
Nothing he’d seen or heard subsequently, as they’d left the hell or in what he’d extracted from Therese’s younger brother, had done anything other than confirm Gray’s assessment of Devlin’s state.
Subsequently, putting that together with all he’d observed over the past weeks had left Gray facing another, even more astonishing question. Devlin was in love with his wife, but did Therese know that?
The more he’d examined and analyzed all he’d seen of the pair, the more convinced he grew that the answer was no.
Given his purpose in studying Devlin’s marriage was to learn how Devlin managed the relationship, that realization had only fixed Gray’s interest even more avidly.
The waltz ended, and Gray watched as Devlin raised Therese from her curtsy and, with an elegant solicitousness that didn’t entirely conceal his possessiveness, looped her arm with his and, after consulting her as to her wishes, escorted her to engage with a circle of other couples.
Inwardly, Gray frowned. He’d already been in the ballroom when Devlin and Therese had arrived, but he’d hung back, playing least in sight to further observe what he mentally termed the “state of play” between the pair.
At first, he’d felt certain that Devlin must have said something to open Therese’s eyes; there’d been a glow in her face and a depth of female confidence in her expression that Gray hadn’t seen before.
He’d started to approach, intending to tease Devlin in his customary fashion and, perhaps, learn more. Despite the season, the ball was well attended, and Gray had taken his time wending his way through the crowd.
He’d been within a few yards of his quarry when he’d seen Therese look up and say something to Devlin, and her love for the blighter had never been more clearly on show. Assuming that meant that Devlin had finally confessed to his feelings, Gray had smiled in genuine delight and not a little anticipation of all the minutes he could look forward to, ribbing Devlin about his fall…but then Devlin had said something in reply, and Therese’s glow had faded, then died.