Child continued to study her face. She was blissfully certain he would be able to see the verification of her answer in her expression…
On a flash of insight, she realized that, while her and Devlin’s complementary admissions had freed Devlin to more openly show his love for her, the new reality those admissions had created had also freed her.
Now he and she had owned to love, she could let her love for him show—openly, without restraint.
She glanced at Child, met his eyes, and simply said, “I’m happier than I ever thought to be.”
Child’s aristocratic features softened, and he faced forward. “I’m glad.”
Given his and Devlin’s supposed rivalry, she felt she ought to be surprised, yet she honestly wasn’t. She pondered the fact, then accepting that, quite aside from being a neighbor in the country, Child would likely continue to feature in her and Devlin’s life, she asked, “You seem to derive almost as much joy from Devlin’s success as he does.”
Child’s lips quirked; he met her gaze and raised one hand in a fencer’s gesture, acknowledging a hit. “You’ve seen through my mask. The truth is that I wish him nothing but the best, and beneath our incessant banter—”
“Your bickering?”
He tipped his head. “However you wish to describe our habitual sparring, I know that he wishes the same for me.”
Therese recalled their earlier exchange. “You truly are like brothers.”
Child lightly shrugged. “I’m closer to him than to my brother, and he’s closer to me than to his. It’s our similar ages and, I suspect, similar characters and dispositions, and naturally, that combination also engenders a certain competitiveness. And of course, if I see an opportunity to tweak his tail, I will.” He grinned. “Truth be told, as between us, he’s usually the leader, the latter is rarely difficult.”
Trying to mute her smile, she humphed in mock disapproval, and he laughed.
They were approaching the corner, and Therese waved down the minor street. “My carriage is waiting along there.”
As she looked back at Child, she noticed a gentleman descending from a hackney on the opposite side of the Strand. She halted, and her beaming smile rebloomed. “Look! It’s Devlin.”
Child obediently stopped and looked. “So it is.”
There was too much traffic streaming along the Strand to hail Devlin, and indeed, he’d already turned away and started walking up Southampton Street, toward Covent Garden and the flower market.
Buoyed on her newfound feelings, heightened by sighting the object of her love, impulsively, Therese drew her arm from Child’s. “I’m going to go after him.” The notion of stealing an unexpected hour or two with Devlin—or learning more about his business interests—was a potent temptation, one she saw no reason to resist. Out of habit, by way of excuse, she offered, “The house could do with some fresh flowers.”
The look Child threw her stated he wasn’t fooled by her sudden interest in blooms, but he closed his hand around her wrist and drawled, “I suppose I’d better come with you. Allow me to escort you across.”
Therese suspected that, quite aside from his innate chivalry, Child had an interest in seeing if the situation gave him an opportunity to, as he’d put it, tweak Devlin’s tail.
She didn’t care; Devlin was more than a match for Child and his machinations, and she was sincerely grateful for Child’s assistance in crossing the bustling thoroughfare.
By the time they’d gained the opposite pavement and started up Southampton Street, Devlin was some way ahead.
“Come on!” Once more on Child’s arm, Therese stepped out briskly. Without argument, Child kept pace.
Ahead, Devlin reached the end of Southampton Street. The market with its long rows of stalls and barrows lay directly in front of him and stretched away to his right.
Without pause, Devlin turned left. Away from the market.
Beside Therese, Child slowed.
Curiosity stirring, Therese drew her hand from Child’s arm and forged on. “I wonder where he’s going?”
Child drew level but, with his gaze fixed on the end of the street, insisted on walking more slowly. “He must be off to some business meeting. I suspect we shouldn’t interrupt.”
Considering that, Therese slowed for a moment, then frowned. “It’s an odd place for a business meeting.” She glanced back toward the Strand. “But he dismissed the hackney, so presumably he intends to call at some address around here.” She faced forward and walked on.
They’d nearly reached the end of the street. She glanced at Child, but his expression had blanked.
Abruptly, he halted. Reaching out, he caught her arm. “Therese, I really think we should leave Devlin to…whatever business he’s engaged in. He won’t expect to see us, and in business, one can never tell how such an unexpected surprise will play out.”
Gently but insistently, he tugged to draw her back.
Therese sighed and rotated her arm, deftly breaking his hold. “Very well—we won’t go any farther than the corner. But I would like to see where he goes.” Rapidly, she took three quick steps and halted in the shadow cast by the building to her left and looked down the street in the direction Devlin had gone.
The famous Inigo Jones Church of St. Paul lay across the street, facing the market stalls. Unsurprisingly, Devlin hadn’t stopped there. He’d walked farther along the street and had crossed to the north side, where, beyond the rear of the church, a long row of old town houses stood.
As Therese watched, Devlin paused outside one such house, then trod up the three steps to the narrow porch and, raising his cane, beat a tattoo on the door.
He stepped back, straightened his coat, and waited.
Child plucked at her sleeve. “Therese—”
“In a minute. I want to see—”
The door opened. A beautiful black-haired woman appeared, her face lighting in welcome.
Even from that distance, Therese could see the charming, almost joyous smile her husband bestowed on the lady. They exchanged a few words, then the lady, all delighted solicitousness, stepped forward, linked her arm with Devlin’s, and led him inside.
He went without the slightest hesitation.
The door closed behind him.
Therese hadn’t thought that hearts could actually break, but in that instant, hers did. A huge gaping wound appeared, and ice poured in, glacier cold, until she—every last emotion she possessed—was frozen over.
She couldn’t feel anything—not her hands, not her feet, nothing of her body or even her mind. Her thoughts had shut down. She couldn’t think.
Beside her, Child softly swore. Her hearing, then, was still functioning.
Warily, fearing she might fall if she moved too quickly, she slowly turned and, with carefully measured tread, started to walk down Southampton Street.
Child walked beside her. She felt his gaze searching her face. They neared the Strand, and he hesitated as if about to speak, but instead, from the corner of her eye, she saw his lips set grimly, and as they halted on the edge of the pavement, he shook his head.
Without a word, he offered his arm. When she stared at it, without inflection, he said, “At least let me see you across the street and to your carriage.”