Scandals Bride (Cynster 3)

Catriona stifled a grin. Cynster wives were definitely not mere cyphers, pretty trophies to be displayed on their husbands' arms. With three others in the room, she couldn't escape the conclusion that, for whatever inscrutable male reasons, Cynster men had a soul-deep affinity for strong women.

And, furthermore, despite their occasional comments to the contrary, they wouldn't have it any other way. They took real delight in indulging their wives; one only needed to catch the look in Devil's eyes as they rested on Honoria, or in Vane's as he watched Patience.

Or in Richard's as he watched her.

The realization stopped her thoughts-something inside her quivered. The reason Cynster men so indulged their wives was there in their eyes. Much indulged their wives might be; much loved they certainly were.

And, as Devil loved Honoria, and Vane loved Patience, so Richard loved her.

It was that simple.

Dragging in a tight breath into lungs suddenly parched, Catriona barely heard the flow of noise and chatter about her. Her sight was turned inward.

Richard had fulfilled his vow to play second fiddle to her-to honor and indulge her position as lady of the vale-which was a large concession from a man like him-a warrior like him. She'd realized that from the start-that without such a concession, their marriage could never work, could never be the success they both needed it to be.

He'd made that concession because he loved her.

The sudden clarity, the absolute certainty that filled her mind was dazzling, breathtaking.

She'd known that he needed her, that he now knew he belonged here, in his appointed place at her side. But she hadn't, until that quivering instant, realized that he loved her as well.

Glancing at Devil, she saw him grin and flick a finger to Honoria's cheek, then he turned to address Vane, but his hand closed over Honoria's where it rested on the table. Vane was lounging in his chair, one hand on Patience's back, his fingers idly toying with her curls.

Only by that light in his eyes, and, perhaps, if she had any experience by which to judge, his intensity in their bed, did Richard show his love for her. He was reserved-she'd known that before she'd met him; he always wore a mask in public. He didn't display his love openly, as the others did so easily, apparently without thought. She needed instead to pay attention to his actions, and the motives behind them, to see what force was driving him.

She should, perhaps, have seen it before, but he yielded his secrets grudgingly. That he knew was beyond question; as Honoria had mentioned, Cynster males weren't blind, although they sometimes pretended they were. He had, she recalled, been very definite that he wanted her as his cause.

Turning to speak to the twins, she hugged her newfound discovery to her heart and, throughout dinner, took it out now and then to ponder. To consider. Again and again, she observed that special something that flowed openly between Devil and Honoria, and Vane and Patience-and wanted it for her own.

Quite how she might bring it about-give Richard the confidence he needed to show his love openly, presumably by convincing him she returned it fullfold-was something she'd yet to determine.

But it was something she vowed she would do.

Smiling sunnily, she chatted with the twins-thanks to The Lady, she now had ample time to work on Richard.

The next morning, Richard lay in bed and tried to disguise his fretfulness. Lying in bed doing nothing was his least favorite pastime, but at the moment, that was all he could do. Nothing.

At least he'd managed to coax his wife into sleeping beside him once more; she'd apparently been sleeping in the room next door ever since his poisoning, so as not to disturb him. He had made it very plain that now he'd regained his senses, not having her beside him would disturb him even more. He'd won that round, but no other.

There was no point in arguing-he couldn't stand on his own, much less walk. He'd tried, surreptitiously, in one of the few moments he'd been left alone. Luckily, he'd crashed back on the bed and not the floor. His muscles were not just weak but, as his witchy wife had warned him, still feeling the effects of the poison. Even holding his eyelids up was an effort.

Inwardly cursing she who had drugged him, he kept his face relaxed and listened to Vane's news of shared friends. With his usual instinctive grasp, Devil had refrained from pressing the question of who had poisoned him, waiting until he'd recovered enough to inquire. While Richard and Catriona had not discussed the matter beyond their exchange before Helena, Richard had, with complete confidence, assured Devil that the poisoner was not a threat now, and that he and Catriona would deal with the matter once he'd fully recovered.

Devil had accepted that; Richard knew he could rely on his brother to quash any further interest in the matter. It was definitely a situation he and his witchy wife needed to deal with on their own.

Not, however, yet.

Stifling a sigh, Richard smiled at Vane's description of a race held at Beuclaire Hall. Then he let his gaze drift past his cousin, to where Catriona sat on the windowseat, industriously darning, her hair turned to a blaze of glory by the sunlight streaming in through the window.

At least there was nothing wrong with his eyes.

Five minutes later, heralded by the most peremptory of knocks, the door opened. A tall, broad-shouldered, ineffably elegant figure sauntered in.

His gaze fell first on Catriona-and went no further.

The ends of his long lips lifting in a smile both Richard and Vane knew well, the gentleman advanced, then swept Catriona a bow.

"Gabriel Cynster, my dear."