She’d recalled he was, or had been, involved with the military, or the army—the authorities in some guise. A number of her regular activities were of debatable legality; having Deverell peering over her shoulder…just the thought made her shiver.
With apprehension. She was sure it was that.
Deidre had been keeping a surreptitious eye on Deverell; she turned and smiled delightedly as they neared, and quickly shifted to make space for them beside her.
Phoebe adjusted her approach so that Deverell had no option but to stand next to Deidre. She waited until everyone had finished exchanging greetings, then caught Peter Mellors’s eye. “Peter dear, I’ve been extolling your knowledge of the house and surrounds to Viscount Paignton. He hasn’t visited here before and needs to find his way about.”
Peter grinned good-naturedly. He nodded to Deverell. “Just ask away, old man. Happy to help.”
Deverell smiled easily. “I’ve already found the billiard room.”
“Ah, well. Most important room in the house.” Peter winked. “We—well, most of the gentlemen—usually gather after dinner for a few rounds.”
“After doing your duty in the drawing room, I hope!” Mrs. Morrison, a formidable matron, eyed Peter with mock censure, sure to become real if he didn’t respond appropriately.
Peter’s grin was irrepressible. “Of course,” he vowed. “That’s understood.”
“It better be.” Mrs. Morrison faced Deverell. “The last thing we want is to find you gentlemen deserting us.”
“With such a coterie of fascinating ladies, I can’t imagine you’ll endure such a fate.” His glib answer, delivered with a charming smile and a hand over his heart, had Mrs. Morrison’s lips twitching.
“We’ll see.” After an instant’s hesitation, she inquired, “Are you intending to remain for the entire four days?”
“That is my intention.”
; “Unless you’re called away, of course.” Deidre Mellors, an exquisitely beautiful young lady with glossy brown hair, shifted to draw his attention her way.
He obliged, but remained more aware of Phoebe on his other side, quietly observing, than of Miss Mellors’s lovely hazel eyes.
Eyes she deployed shamelessly. “I understand your new estates are in Devon. It must be quite fatiguing, learning all the ropes when you hadn’t expected to inherit.”
“It hasn’t been as difficult as it might have been. There were excellent staff in place—they helped me pick up the reins.”
“I expect you’ll be spending the summer down there.”
“I hadn’t really thought.” Although conscious of Deidre’s eager expression, registering it and smiling in response, his attention had locked on Phoebe as she turned to speak with Mrs. Morrison; he couldn’t hear what she was saying. “There’s a few matters I need to settle before I retire for the summer.”
“Indeed?” Deidre’s eyes lit.
With an easy, yet noncommittal, faintly vague smile in place, he glanced at Peter Mellors. “Is there much shooting in the vicinity?”
Peter pulled a face. “Not much game at this time of year, but”—he glanced at Edgar Thomas, standing beside him—“we could set up a tournament.”
“Not pistols,” Deidre immediately said. “Archery. That way we ladies can join in.”
Deverell smiled—genuinely. The others took the altered expression to signify encouragement; they immediately fell to discussing plans for an archery tournament. In reality, that smile was for himself; as he’d expected, thinking him drawn in, Phoebe was making her move.
She’d already turned from him to chat with Mrs. Morrison; quietly taking her leave of that lady, she continued turning away and slipped from his side.
“Will you join us with bow and arrow, my lord?” Deidre gazed up at him, hazel eyes openly inviting.
He raised his brows. “I certainly plan to take aim at a target.”
His intended target was out of earshot.
Deidre beamed and turned to her brother. Deverell seized the moment to nod to Peter and Edgar. “Put my name down. If you’ll excuse me?”