She’d never thought to ask before, but she should have; it was highly likely that Devlin’s parents’ marriage had informed his views of that state.
Child studied her for several seconds, then without any hint of being surprised by the question, replied, “I can’t actually say from my own experience—I only saw them occasionally, and often it was one or the other, not both together.” He faintly grimaced. “And by the time I reached the age of possessing some degree of discernment, Devlin’s father had died.” Child’s eyes remained steady on hers. “You know that happened as Devlin was finishing at Oxford?”
She nodded. “And his mother died the year after.”
Child tipped his head in agreement. “So I had little opportunity to view their marriage first-hand.” Over the rim of his glass, he held her gaze. “However, I do know how Devlin saw their marriage.”
Which was precisely what she wanted to know. “Oh? How?” She ensured that her expression and her tone reflected nothing more than mild interest.
“As a love-match, of course.” Child looked at her rather strangely, then added, “That was, I believe, the general consensus as well.”
Therese frowned. That wasn’t what she’d been expecting to hear. She’d assumed that Devlin, with his rigid adherence to the construct of conventional marriage—one founded on respect, affection, and perhaps fondness, but not love—had been following in his parents’ footsteps, along a path they had forged of which he approved and with which he felt comfortable.
But if that wasn’t so… Her frown deepened. What had caused Devlin to turn aside from seeking a love-match himself?
Had it been her?
The thought left her mentally floundering.
Child had been studying her. Now, with his gaze still locked on her face, in a tone she could only interpret as amazed resignation, he bluntly stated, “He hasn’t told you yet—and you haven’t seen it, either.”
His delivery suggested he could barely believe that, yet was absolutely certain it was so.
She directed her frown at him. “Told me what?” He was as bad as Devlin in not communicating clearly. Her lips thinning, she flatly demanded, “And what haven’t I seen?”
Still searching her expression, he shook his head in patent wonderment. “For two people who are normally so observant and so much in charge of everything about you…” He broke off, then continued, “You do realize you and he are strikingly similar in that respect, don’t you?”
She knew that. “Get to the point,” she all but growled.
He started to open his mouth, then shut his lips and looked around, his gaze raking the room in which they stood. “I will, but not here.”
He reached out and plucked the half-empty glass from her fingers, then crossed to set it and his glass on a corner of the long table. Then he quickly returned to her and glanced around again; in the ballroom, another waltz was in progress, and the refreshment room had more or less emptied of guests.
Child caught her hand. “Come with me. We need somewhere more private for this.” He drew her toward a minor door set into the wall near the room’s corner.
Therese hesitated for only a fraction of a second before allowing her feet to comply with his direction. She needed to learn what Child knew that she didn’t, and she seriously doubted he was in the mood for any illicit dalliance—or that he would target her even if he was.
She believed him when he said that there was something about Devlin that she hadn’t understood—she knew that was true—so she followed closely as he led her through the door, into a side corridor that ran beside the ballroom.
The corridor was dimly lit and clearly not intended for the use of guests. Child started trying the doors they came upon. “There’s bound to be a parlor of some sort along here.”
Devlin had spent the duration of the waltz Child and Therese had shared by idly conversing with several gentlemen. Of course, once the music ceased and the dance floor cleared, he’d looked for Therese—and Child—but hadn’t found them.
He had seen the archway leading to the refreshment room at the farther end of the ballroom. After counseling himself that Therese and Child would appear soon enough, he’d waited with what patience he could muster.
When the musicians had summoned the dancers for the next waltz and he’d yet to sight either his wife or Child, inwardly gritting his teeth, Devlin had excused himself to those with whom he’d been chatting and, reining in the urge to stalk down the floor, had strolled as nonchalantly as he could toward the refreshment room, having to pause here and there to avoid whirling couples.
It wasn’t that he imagined anything untoward occurring between Therese and Child. He knew his wife, and she was in love with him, while Child, although Child, was, despite all, a man he inherently trusted, especially when it came to something Child knew was important to him.
No, it was the delicate situation—the critical point he’d reached in his oh-so-important campaign—that had knotted his nerves, leaving him feeling as if he was teetering on a knife edge, with something dark and powerful and not quite controllable prowling beneath his skin.
He reached the refreshment room, almost deserted, and glanced around—in time to see a fragment of deep-purple silk whisk through a narrow, minor door. The door remained ajar. Devlin regarded it for several seconds, then jaw setting, started toward it. Then he halted and scanned the room again. Perhaps Therese was on her way to the ladies’ withdrawing room. But if so, where was Child?
Not in the refreshment room and not in the ballroom, either.
Jaw clenching even tighter, Devlin marched toward the door in the corner, intent on finding his wife.
After turning several corners, Child finally found a small parlor that was helpfully empty and, with some relief, towed Therese inside.
He wasn’t happy about how far they’d had to go to find a spot that would afford them suitable privacy; he’d had no idea so many guests had already availed themselves of the nearer rooms. When he’d glanced in, most hadn’t been talking.
He’d clearly been away from ton society for too long; he’d felt almost scandalized.
Once Therese had entered, he closed the door.
She freed her hand from his light clasp, walked four paces into the room, then swung around and fixed him with a commanding look.
“What,” she demanded, “hasn’t Devlin told me, and what haven’t I seen?”
The moonlight streamed in through two windows to his right and lit her expression well enough for him to note and appreciate the determined set of her features. It really was a pity that Devlin had found her first.
Then again…
He held her gaze, rendered even more silvery by the moonlight, and simply said, “That he’s in love with you.”
Not in her wildest imaginings had Therese expected Child to say that, and the storm of emotions his words unleashed was so powerful, so overwhelming, it literally made her sway.
His eyes flaring in alarm, in two quick strides, Child closed the distance between them, gripped her shoulders, and steadied her. “Good God! Don’t faint on me.”
He truly was rattled.
The sight of his patently genuine concern gave her the strength to raise her chin and stiffen her spine. “I have no intention of fainting.”