A Proper Wife

“Leave the girl alone, Bettina. She can address me however she likes.” James smiled and held out his hand. “Come here, girl, and let me see you.”

Ryan’s mouth thinned. Was that the plan? To contrast Bettina’s avarice with the girl’s modesty?

He almost smiled. It was clever, but it didn’t fool him.

Devon looked at James’s outstretched hand. She wanted to look anywhere but at the man she now knew was Ryan Kincaid.

Damn, she thought, it’s not possible!

Bettina had not shut up from the instant they’d gotten into the Kincaid limousine. She’d rattled on and on about how much James Kincaid had liked Devon. She’d talked about how he’d never had a daughter or a granddaughter. And, oh, she’d said, she just knew how impressed he’d been with Devon when he’d had them to dinner the previous week; he’d never taken his eyes off her.

Devon hadn’t replied and eventually Bettina had changed the subject. Perhaps Ryan would be there tonight, she’d said, and sighed girlishly. Did Devon remember him? He’d been at the old man’s house the night Gordon had brought them there for dinner.

Devon had said she didn’t and let it go at that. What was the point in adding that all she could remember of that night was wishing the floor beneath the dining room table would open and swallow her whole? It had been horrible, hearing the contempt in the old man’s voice each time he spoke to Bettina; it had been even more horrible, watching her mother crawl.

And then there’d been Gordon’s younger brother who’d come in late, left early, and never so much as looked at her in between.

Ryan, his name was, and Bettina had babbled on and on about him all the way here tonight, about his good looks and his money and his bachelor eligibility.

“Devon!”

She looked up. Bettina was staring at her, her eyes shooting sparks, her smile fixed and feral.

“Grandfather Kincaid is waiting,” she said sharply.

Devon swallowed and started forward. Ryan was standing in her way; she expected him to move but he just stood there like a rock, his eyes cold and flat as green glass, so that she had to brush past him, her shoulder and hip feathering against his.

“It’s...it’s nice to see you again, Mr. Kincaid,” she said, and gave James her hand.

“Such cold hands, girl.” James chuckled. “What is it they say, Ryan? Cold hands, warm heart?”

“Something like that,” Ryan said.

Devon looked up. She saw the faint smile on his handsome mouth, the chill in his eyes, and she stiffened. It was time for someone to make the first move, and it might as well be she.

“Good evening, Mr. Kincaid,” she said. Her voice was steady, though her heart was thumping. “What an unpleasant surprise.”

It was like throwing a bucket of water on a red-hot stove. There was an instant’s silence, and then, with a hiss like supercharged steam, Bettina swung toward Devon, eyes wide.

“What did you say?”

It was Ryan who answered, his voice icy.

“She said that we’ve met before. Isn’t that right, Miss Franklin?”

“We certainly have. We met this afternoon, at Montano’s.”

Bettina gave a nervous laugh. “I don’t understand. Devon, you naughty girl, you never said-”

“I didn’t know. We weren’t formally introduced.” Devon’s smile was rimmed with frost. “I had no idea this—gentleman—was Ryan Kincaid.”

Bettina looked from Ryan to Devon. “You mean, you sold something to Ryan today, at Montano’s?”

Ryan gave a harsh, cold bark of laughter. Devon shot him a furious look, then turned toward Bettina.

“No, Mother. I didn’t sell Mr. Kincaid anything.”

James cleared his throat. “Ryan? I’m afraid I’m lost here, too. How do you and Devon know each other?”