Page 24 of Bad Luck Bride

Didn’t she?

At that traitorous question and the sudden pang of doubt that accompanied it, Kay slid her gaze sideways to the object of her thoughts. The light was dim here in the Royal Opera House, butshe could see him clearly enough—his thinning silver hair, the creased lines of his profile, attractive in a ruthless kind of way. Her gaze moved farther down, over his sloping shoulders and down his barrel chest to his stomach, resting on the ever-so-slight paunch of middle age that his elegant clothes couldn’t quite hide.

She looked away, impatient with herself. For heaven’s sake, nearly three months had passed since they’d become engaged, and not once had she felt a speck of doubt about her decision to accept him. So why was she having doubts now?

As if in answer, an image of Devlin earlier that day came into her mind, his naked chest and muscled abdomen, his dark lashes lowered over vivid blue eyes, his insolent smile.

Hating him, exasperated with herself, she squeezed her eyes shut to blot him out, but that didn’t work. Opening her eyes again, she leaned forward in her seat, forcing her attention to the stage, but as she stared at the performance going on below, a London ballroom came to mind, the fifth ball of her first season without more than five dances in total to her name.

Instead of the notes of Verdi’s opera, she heard the lively notes of a Scottish reel. Instead of opera singers on a stage, she saw couples kicking up their heels on a parquet dance floor. And in the midst of it all, she imagined herself, sandwiched between her hostess, Lady Rowland, and her mother: a chubby, freckled, tongue-tied girl with her back pressed against the wall and her lace gown itching like mad, hating every moment of this horrible ordeal called the London season, feeling an utter failure, wishing she were anywhere else on earth.

And then, the dance had ended, the couples had cleared the floor, and there he’d been on the other side of the room, his eyesscanning the crowd where she stood, going right past her like every other man at every other ball, and then… and then swerving back to look again.

So long ago, and yet, she could remember everything about that first glimpse of Devlin Sharpe. The light of the chandeliers above glinting off the unruly strands of his midnight-black hair. His eyes, the only eyes she’d ever seen that were truly the color of turquoise, lighting on her. His dark brows lifting, as if the sight of her somehow surprised him, and then, a faint smile curving the corners of his mouth as if the surprise was a very nice one indeed.

And then, he’d moved, heading straight for her, those brilliant eyes riveted on her face as if nothing else in the world existed. His deep, well-bred voice asking Lady Rowland for an introduction and then asking her for a dance. When he’d held out his hand to lead her to the floor, Kay had felt the sweet, stinging pain of hope, and gratitude, and joy, and sheer, stark terror. And when he’d turned and taken her in his arms, her heart had seemed to leap out of her chest, tumbling right into his grasp.

Three months later, after only seven conversations and six stolen kisses, she’d agreed to give up everything in her safe, tidy world, to elope with him to Gretna Green and make a new life by his side on the other end of the globe.

They’d never made it to Africa, of course, or even Scotland, but long after the duke and his sisters had found them, persuaded her home, pulling her back from the brink of a wild, irrevocable decision, and returning her to sanity, her love for Devlin and her faith in him had remained unshaken.

If you don’t come with me now, you never will.

She hadn’t realized what he’d really meant by his fateful wordsthat night in Birmingham: that if she didn’t come now, he’d leave her behind for good. She’d thought he would see that the duke’s sisters had been right, that it was far better to engage in an honorable courtship, however much her parents disapproved, than to sneak off in the night. She’d assumed he loved her enough to follow her home and patiently win her, that he would at least try to gain her father’s permission, or if that failed, that he would at least be willing to wait the three years until she was twenty-one and parental permission wasn’t needed.

Even when she’d been confronted by her father, when she’d faced his anger and disappointment with her, even when he’d banished her to their remotest estate in Wales, her love for Devlin had remained unshaken. Even when she had learned he’d departed for Africa without her, even when twenty-six months had gone by with no word from him, she had still refused to believe he had abandoned her. Until the day her father, impatient with her unwillingness to give Devlin up and exasperated by her intransigent refusal to consider marrying her cousin Giles instead, had told her the truth and showed her the proof of Devlin’s betrayal. Staring at the canceled bank draft, she had been forced to realize what an idiot she had been.

The singing stopped, the music ended, and all around her, the crowd applauded, forcing Kay out of her contemplation. As the lights came up, she came out of the past and into the present, away from the man who’d ruined her and toward the man saving her. Away from the man who’d let himself be bought and toward a man who could buy anything, a man who could give her children and a secure future, who would provide for her mother and sister. Aman who, by his own words, thought very highly of her. That, she thought, turning to look at him again, was so much better than love.

Wasn’t it?

“Kay?”

She blinked, realizing Wilson had just said something to her. “Hmm? Sorry, what did you say?”

“You’re staring at me awfully hard.” He laughed. “As if you’ve never seen me before.”

“Am I?” She echoed his laugh with one of her own, touching her fingers to her forehead. “How rude. I was lost in thought, I’m afraid.”

“Thoughts about what?”

“About you, of course,” she said lightly. “Now,” she added with a deep breath as she stood up, “I think I’ll take a turn downstairs while I have the chance. If everyone will pardon me?”

Wilson rose at once. “I’ll come with you.”

Suddenly, she felt stifled again, just as she had in the Savoy courtyard when he’d told her about following her across Yorkshire, just as she had felt with her mother in the dressmaker’s, and she wondered in chagrin if it was her destiny to be followed and hovered over and watched every minute of her entire life from birth to death.

“Oh, no, please. I’d prefer to go alone.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized how they must have sounded, and when Wilson frowned, she hastened into speech again, hoping she hadn’t hurt his feelings. “I doubt you’ll wish to accompany me into the ladies’ withdrawing room,” she murmured, trying to look embarrassed at having to refer to such a delicate topic.

At once, Wilson’s face relaxed back into an expression of tolerant amusement. “I’d rather not.”

“That’s just as I thought. I’ll try to be back before the end of intermission.”

“I should hope so. It’s thirty minutes.”

She gave him a look of pity. “Really, darling. Women take forever in these matters. You’ve been married before. Surely you know that?”

“I’ve been a widower so long, I’d forgotten,” he admitted, took up her hand, and cupped it in both of his. “But is it wrong that I’ll miss you?” he asked.

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