Page 29 of The Earl's Secret
“It has actually not been as difficult as you might think. She has had some rather keen ideas,” he said as mildly as he could.
“I see,” Whitehall said, the last comment obviously stirring some suspicions as he murmured, “Interesting.”
“Shall we try a game?” Devon asked, gesturing to the billiards table, to which Whitehall nodded, thankfully allowing himself to be distracted from their conversation, although Devon knew he was intelligent enough to realize his aim.
If only he could distract himself so easily.
Hours later, after handily defeating Lord Whitehall, Devon entered the ballroom, pausing for a moment to take in all before him.
“Lady Embury certainly outdid herself,” Whitehall said from behind him, and Devon looked back, nodding.
“I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything quite like this.”
The entire room was decorated to resemble some celestial paradise – heaven, he supposed, or perhaps simply the clouds? Devon couldn’t be certain, but he had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t quite good enough to walk within the atmosphere, that he hadn’t met the qualifications.
When he took a look around at some of the other guests, however, he quickly lost any concern that he wouldn’t fit in, as he knew some of these gentlemen would be much more at home in a gaming hell or a brothel than they would in such a ballroom.
“Is St. Peter supposed to be waiting somewhere to let us in?” Devon asked jokingly as he noticed the harp player in a corner, dressed in a toga – perhaps this was to be the heaven of the ancient Greek gods and goddesses, then.
“It seems we are all free to enter,” Whitehall said, and the two of them sought out a drink as they stood to the side and kept their eye on the door – ostensibly to see who would enter, although Devon was interested in the arrival of just one particular guest.
And there she was now. Cassandra took slow steps into the room, as though uncertain if she also belonged. Her gaze roved around until it landed somewhere to the left of him, and he wished that the genuine smile rising in her cheeks was for him. But no, he realized as he watched her, she was looking at Hope and Faith Newfield. At least it wasn’t another gentleman.
“Sometimes I forget that Ashford has such a comely sister,” Whitehall said, and Devon found his hands tightening, the one not holding the glass forming a fist. Whitehall was his friend, but he should have no claim over Cassandra – although neither should Devon, at least until he spoke to Gideon.
“Yes,” he said in a clipped tone before taking a sip of his brandy, wishing that he could fetch a glass for Cassandra and bring it to her, for it was one gesture he knew she would actually appreciate. But if anyone were to discover him, he would likely bring further shame to her name as well as questions regarding his own actions in trying to force alcohol on a young woman.
“There was that whole business with her indiscretions and being sent away from her family,” Whitehall continued, and Devon had to wonder if everyone but him was aware of what had happened to Cassandra.
“I’m sure it was all a misunderstanding,” he murmured instead. “She has always been quite… polite, as far as I am aware.”
Of course, that was rather far from the truth, but what was he supposed to say? That the two had tortured one another with their words and pranks because they didn’t know how else to otherwise manage the tensions between them besides making love to one another in a drawing room?
She looked especially beautiful tonight, of course, although Devon found that he was always thinking that about her. Her dress was a pale blue with a green touch to it, causing her to look like the angel she was among the white silk that had been hung upon the walls. She wore a small gold piece around her neck, the aquamarine jewel nestled between her breasts, her hair softly pulled back, allowing a few tendrils to fall around her face in ruddy brown waves.
Devon wished that he could go to her, to claim her as his own, for he saw the hungry gazes that were trained on her. But she was not his – not yet. Only in his own heart and mind.
Which he hoped to change. Starting tonight.
CHAPTER12
“Ihave tried to make sense of your riddle, Cassandra, truly I have,” Hope said from where the three of them stood at the edge of the ballroom, waiting for the musicians to begin playing. It was an eclectic mix of guests. There was nobility who lived close enough to make the journey in less than a day, as well as some of the local gentry, who took pride in being invited to an event held by Lord and Lady Embury. Cassandra wondered how the dancing would proceed, if any of the local gentlemen would be inclined to ask for her to join them. She rather hoped so, for it became dull to dance with the same men again and again.
She tried not to think about one certain gentleman, who she had danced with but once, before they had taken part in another kind of dance altogether.
She had noticed him when she had entered the room, although she tried not to allow him or anyone else to see just what effect his presence had upon her. He had been speaking to Lord Whitehall, who she was surprised to see, and had felt the gazes of both men. She could only wonder what Devon might have to say about her presence and the time they had recently spent together.
Of course, if she had turned to meet his stare, she would have been in good company, for it seemed that every other woman present was also keenly aware of him. How could they not, with the way his dark chestnut hair swept back from his forehead, his blue eyes crisp and haunting, his stature dominant and demanding attention?
“Cassandra?”
She jerked her gaze back toward Hope, who was staring at her with some knowing in her blue eyes. Faith didn’t hide her suspicion at all.
“Has a certain Lord Covington so captured your attention?” she asked, and Cassandra straightened her shoulders.
“Not at all.”
“Must be Lord Whitehall, then.”
