“But Kathleen —”
“No to rouge,” she said, “now and for all time.”
“We need to enhance our complexions,” Pandora protested.
“It won’t do any harm,” Cassandra chimed in. “The bottle says that Bloom of Rose is ‘delicate and inoffensive’… It’s written right there, you see?”
“The comments you would receive if you wore rouge in public would assuredly not be delicate or inoffensive. People would assume you were a fallen woman. Or worse, an actress.”
Pandora turned to Devon. “Lord Trenear, what do you think?”
“This is one of those times when it’s best for a man to avoid thinking altogether,” he said hastily.
“Bother,” Cassandra said. Reaching for a white glass pot with a gilded top, she gave it to Kathleen. “We found this for you. It’s lily pomatum, for your wrinkles.”
“I don’t have wrinkles,” Kathleen said with dawning indignation.
“Not yet,” Pandora allowed. “But someday you will.”
Devon grinned as the twins snatched their empty baskets and scurried away to continue shopping.
“When my wrinkles appear,” Kathleen said ruefully, “those two will have caused most of them.”
“That day will be a long time coming.” Looking down at her, Devon cupped her face with his hands. “But when it does, you’ll be even more beautiful.”
The skin beneath his gentle touch flamed with a blush more brilliant than potted rouge could have imparted. Desperately she tried to make herself pull away from him, but his touch had paralyzed her.
His finger slid around the back of her neck, holding her steady as his mouth sought hers. A shock of heat went through her, and she went weak, swaying as if the floor had tipped like the deck of a ship. His arm went around her, locking her against his body, and the feel of his effortless power devastated her. I’m yours, he’d once made her say in the carriage room as he had taunted her with sensual pleasure. It had been the truth. She would always be his, no matter where she went or what she did.
A soft moan of despair slipped from her throat, but his kiss absorbed every sound and breath. He feasted on her with controlled hunger, his head turning as he deepened the angle to fit their mouths together more closely. Touching her tongue with his, he enticed a response, his kiss tender and fiercely demanding. She was lost in a confusion of pleasure, her body flooded with ungoverned craving.
Without warning, Devon pulled back. She whimpered and reached for him blindly.
“Someone’s coming,” he said quietly.
Leaning against the counter for support, Kathleen fumbled to smooth her dress and tried to control her breathing.
Helen and Winterborne were returning to the rotunda. The corners of Helen’s mouth were curved upward as if they had been tacked there with pins. But something about her posture reminded Kathleen of a lost toddler being led in search of its mother.
Kathleen’s apprehensive gaze was drawn to the glitter on Helen’s left hand. Her stomach dropped, all the sensuous warmth leaving her body as she realized what it was.
A ring.
After a mere two weeks of courtship, the bastard had proposed.
Chapter 31
Dear Kathleen,
I have just returned from the Lufton farm after inquiring about the welfare of their newest resident. Please convey to all concerned parties that Hamlet is thoroughly content with his pen, which, I might add, has been constructed to the highest porcine standards. He seems enthused about keeping company with his own harem of sows. I would venture to say that a pig of simple pleasures could ask for nothing more.
All other news from the estate pertains to drainage trenches and plumbing mishaps, none of it agreeable to relate.
I am anxious to know how you are taking the engagement between Helen and Winterborne. In the spirit of brotherly concern, I beg you to write soon, at least to tell me if murder is being planned.
Affectionately yours,
West
Kathleen took up a pen to reply, reflecting that she missed West more than she would have guessed. How strange it was that the drunken young rake who had come to Eversby Priory all those months ago should have become such a steadying presence in her life.
Dear West,
Upon Mr. Winterborne’s proposal to Helen last week, I will confess to initial thoughts of homicide. However, I realized that if I did away with Winterborne, I would also have to dispatch your brother, and that wouldn’t do. One murder may be justifiable in these circumstances, but two would be self-indulgent.
Helen is quiet and withdrawn, which is not what one expects of a girl who has just become engaged. It is obvious that she loathes the engagement ring, but she refuses to ask Winterborne to change it. Yesterday Winterborne decided to undertake all the planning and expenses of the wedding, so she’ll have no say in that either.
Winterborne dominates without even seeming to be aware of it. He’s like a great tree that casts a shade in which smaller trees can’t thrive.
Regardless, the wedding seems inevitable.
I’m resigned to the situation. At least, I’m trying to be.
Your brotherly concern is much appreciated, and returned with sisterly affection.
Ever yours,
Kathleen
Devon returned home late in the evening, filled with weary satisfaction.
The lease agreement with London Ironstone had been signed by both parties.
During the past week, Severin had turned the negotiations into a cat-and-mouse game. It had required inhuman discipline and a surplus of energy to contend with Severin’s accelerations, delays, surprises, and amendments. At several points, the lawyers had fallen silent while the two of them feuded and sparred. Finally Devon had been able to force the concessions he’d wanted, just as he had found himself considering the prospect of leaping across the table and strangling his friend. The infuriating part had been knowing that Severin, unlike anyone else in the room, had been having a perfectly splendid time.
Severin loved excitement, conflict, anything to entertain his voracious brain. Although people were drawn to him and he was invited everywhere, it was difficult to tolerate his feverish energy for long. Spending time with him was like attending a fireworks display: enjoyable for a short time, but fatiguing if it lasted for too long.
After the butler took his coat, hat, and gloves, Devon headed to the study for a much-needed drink. As he passed the stairs, he could hear traces of laughter and conversation from the upstairs drawing room, while the music box played a glimmering cascade of notes.