Kathryn Smith (20 page)

Trust Wyn to have such an answer. Never mind kindness or wit or strength. Prowess was a man’s most valued skill. Domination, power, superiority, those were the things a man measured himself with in Wynthrope Ryland’s world. Poor Wyn.

“The woman in question is a lady. My ‘skills,’ as you call them, have not yet been put to use.” Not completely, anyway. That night in the maze he’d made her shudder with spent passion, but then she had reduced him to a trembling mass as well.

Wyn made a scoffing noise. “Call her a lady if you will, brother, but they are all the same in the dark. Touch her the right way, find out what makes her scream, and she will be yours for as long as you want her.”

This conversation was quickly slipping into the vulgar. Devlin didn’t like this bitter side of his brother. “Ah, so women are just like men then?”

Laughing, Wyn elbowed him in the arm. “Precisely!”

Devlin grinned. He much preferred his brother when he
was laughing and jovial. His mean side was better avoided. Wynthrope was the type of man whom others wanted as a friend, but was better avoided as an enemy.

“Here is a twosome I wouldn’t want to go up against.”

Devlin smiled at Carny as he approached. All the bad feelings churned up by his “indiscretion” with Blythe had passed, and things were easy between them once more. Devlin knew his friend’s feelings for Blythe were nothing more than brotherly. It was only his own insecurity that tried to make them something more.

Or so he hoped.

“You wouldn’t stand a chance with one of us, let alone attempt both,” Devlin replied, shaking the smaller man’s hand.

Today Carny was dressed in the height of fashion, as usual. Wyn could give him a run for his money as far as appearance went, but Devlin felt positively lowbrow next to the two of them. His polished boots were scuffed by comparison, his jacket less perfect, his trousers less snug, his cravat more simplistic. He was comfortable, though, and he doubted either of the other men could claim the same.

“You will attend the ball at Wynter Lane this evening, I assume?” the blond man asked, nudging Devlin in the leg with the side of his walking stick.

Devlin nodded. “I was just picking up my gift for the guest of honor.”

Carny’s smile seemed a little forced, but his gaze met Devlin’s easily. “That is precisely what I am about this afternoon. I bought her a pair of emerald ear bobs. Thought the stones would match her eyes.”

Match her eyes? Blythe’s eyes were no more emerald than Devlin’s were! They were more like jade, but even that was muddy by comparison. Had Carny never looked at them?

“That is a lovely gift,” Wyn remarked smoothly. “Are you close to the young lady?”

Carny might have missed the edge in the older Ryland
brother’s voice, but Devlin didn’t. He shot Wyn a warning glance.

Carny merely smiled—a little sheepishly, Devlin noted. “She is as dear to me as my own sister would be, but I did something that wounded her grievously some time ago and hope the emeralds will help ease my way back into her good graces.”

Well, that made perfect sense. It was quite nice, actually—in a “buying someone’s affection” kind of way.

“I’m sure they will do just that,” Devlin assured him. Why burst his bubble by informing him that Blythe was hardly the type of woman whose good opinion could be bought? It was as pointless as informing Carny that emeralds would not match her eyes, not unless they were paler than any such stones he had ever seen.

“Well, I shall see you tonight then.” Carny smiled. “Will you be in attendance as well, Ryland?”

Wyn shook his head, his expression that of a man who had seen more of the world than he wanted and found it amusingly disappointing. “I have an appointment with an opera dancer that will not wait. Have a piece of cake for me, will you, old man?”

Carny chuckled. “Better ask that of Dev here. He always could hold much more eatables than I.”

They took their leave of Carny after a few more minutes’ banter and continued down Ludgate to Fleet Street, where they ambled toward a coffee house.

“You are oddly quiet,” Devlin remarked as they stepped inside. “What are you thinking?”

Wyn pulled a chair out from a table. “I am thinking that you should be wary of your friend.”

Devlin frowned as he sat. “You mean Carny?”

Wyn smoothed a hand over his neat black hair and seated himself. “The same.” He set his hat on the table’s polished surface.

Devlin gestured to a waiter for two coffees before turning his attention back to his brother. “Why do you say that?”

Wyn looked at him as though he was a simpleton. “You are taken with this young woman whose party you are attending tonight?”

Devlin nodded. “Lady Blythe Christian.”

Wyn gave a dismissive wave. “It makes no matter who she is; the point is, Carnover has an interest in her as well.”

“You’re wrong.” It came out more fiercely than he intended. He continued in a more casual tone, “Carny could have had her years ago. He didn’t want her.”

Wyn smirked. “There is nothing quite so tasty as a bone another dog wants.”

Scowling, Devlin shook his head. “That’s stupid. Carny loves his wife.”

Something very much like wonder lit the depths of Wyn’s eyes. “Even after all the horror you’ve seen, you still want to believe the best of everyone, don’t you?”

“It was the only thing that kept me from putting the Baker to my head,” Devlin replied softly. He met his brother’s gaze evenly. “What I want to know is what you’ve seen to make you always think the worst.”

Two hot cups of coffee appeared on the table before them, along with sugar and a tiny pitcher of cream.

Wyn tossed two lumps of sugar into his cup and stirred with a shiny silver spoon. “You have seen the evil man is capable of, little brother. I have seen the deceit. You go ahead and believe there’s good if it makes it easier for you. I believe my way is safer.”

Devlin lifted the creamer and shook his head. What had happened to his brother? “Safer perhaps, but does it make you happy?”

For one split second there was nothing but bleakness in Wyn’s countenance. “Nothing makes me happy.” Then it was
gone, replaced by the cool façade once more. “Just do me one favor, Dev.”

Devlin licked his spoon before laying it on his saucer. “What’s that?”

“Do not turn your back on Carnover. It wouldn’t surprise me if he tried to put a knife in it.”

His brother’s words still rang in his ears when Devlin arrived at Wynter Lane that evening. Wyn was wrong about Carny. He had to be. It was foolishness to think otherwise.

Still, the seed of doubt had been planted. Wyn was good at that.

“Stop thinking about it,” Brahm whispered as they stood behind other resplendent guests waiting to enter the noisy ballroom. “Wynthrope just wants to make everyone else as bitter and distrustful as he is.”

Devlin couldn’t imagine Wyn intentionally doing anything to upset him—he would to Brahm, but not to him. Brahm was right about one thing, however. Thinking about it didn’t make it truth. And Wyn
was
distrustful of almost everyone. Devlin didn’t know if his brother even trusted him completely. The only person Wyn would ever put that much faith in was their other brother North. The two of them had a special relationship.

“How do you feel?” Devlin asked as they stepped up to be announced. “Is your leg all right?”

“It’s fine,” Brahm replied through a forced smile. “Although it may not get me very far if the vultures decide to attack.”

This was Brahm’s first social outing since the accident that killed their father. Even more importantly, perhaps, it was his first outing since giving up drink. He had no idea how the society he had often humiliated himself in front of would accept him.

Devlin smiled. “Do not worry. I’ll protect you.”

Brahm thumped his cane on the marble floor. “I am the Viscount Creed. I can protect myself.”

Devlin nodded. “That was very good. Very haughty and masterful.”

The older Ryland brother chuckled. “Shut up.”

Happy to have made his brother smile, Devlin faced the room as their names were called. He couldn’t help but notice the gasps at Brahm’s name, nor could he miss the scandalized glances that were directed at them.

“They hate me,” Brahm muttered, his smile still frozen on his face. He leaned heavily on his cane as they entered the ballroom.

“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.”

His brother shot him a look of mock horror. “And have put on my best clothes for nothing? No thank you. I will remain until I’m certain my welcome has been overstayed and then I will go home.”

“Just stay away from the punch.”

The tip of Brahm’s cane came down hard on his foot. “Beg pardon.” His expression was all innocence, but there was a gleam of laughter in his eyes.

Devlin led him toward the highly piled gift table where Brahm deposited his gift—a book on horses that he had chosen at Devlin’s suggestion. Devlin kept the necklace he had bought in his pocket. He would save it to give to Blythe later.

“Do you need me to stay with you?” he asked his brother.

Brahm made a face, his russet eyes hardening with determination. “I most certainly do not. I would rather chew off my own arm then give this lot the satisfaction of seeing me falter. I shall remain sober and strong on my own, thank you.”

It did Devlin’s heart good to hear his brother speak in such a manner. For years he had watched Brahm follow in their father’s footsteps, and even while he was away in the Peninsula, letters from North kept him informed of the oldest Ryland’s descent into drunken debauchery. He wasn’t surprised that
some of tonight’s guests had looked on Brahm with disdain. Given what Devlin had heard of his brother’s escapades, it was a wonder that Miles hadn’t appeared and asked him to leave.

“Devlin!”

He turned. Speak of the devil. Miles and Varya were coming toward them. It had been Varya who called out his name.

“Damn,” Brahm whispered. “Do you suppose I’m to be tossed out before I even make it to the lemonade?”

He might sound glib, but Devlin knew his brother was incredibly anxious about the next few minutes. How Miles and Varya—a marquess and his princess wife—treated him could set a standard for the rest of the
ton.

“Good evening, Miles, Varya,” he greeted as they approached. “May I introduce you to my brother, the Viscount Creed?”

Miles, bless him, was exceedingly polite, even though he had to know all about Brahm’s legendary reputation. Varya, on the other hand, went above and beyond Devlin’s hopes.

“Lord Creed!” she exclaimed happily. “I have been exceedingly anxious to meet you.”

Brahm’s surprise was evident. “You have, Your Highness?”

“Do not call me that,” she replied with a tiny frown. “It sounds so stuffy. Call me Varya.” She took his arm and continued in a conspiratorial whisper, “I heard what you did in Lady Pennington’s punch bowl. I must have all the particulars.”

Devlin almost choked on his own breath, the urge to laugh came upon him so strong. Trust Varya to be the one person who wanted to acknowledge Brahm’s scandalous past—and ask for details.

Brahm cast a bemused glance over his shoulder as Varya led him away. Devlin turned to Miles.

“Where is your sister?”

Miles smiled. “Always to the point. I like that about you, Dev. I really do. My sister is chatting with Carny and Teresa. I am sure she will be pleased to see you.”

Devlin was loath to approach Blythe with Carny present, but perhaps it would be easier to lure her away with Teresa there as well. He excused himself from Miles and crossed the Italian marble to where she stood, magnificent in a gown of shimmering emerald silk, with delicate chains of gold woven through her upswept hair. Her eyes and skin glowed like warmed alabaster beneath the chandeliers’ sparkling light.

Miles was right. She did look pleased to see him. Her breath caught in her throat—he could tell from the way her breasts lifted against the low neckline of her gown and stayed there. She stood wary and still—like a lamb looking at a wolf.

As he hoped, Carny and Teresa left them alone. It was Teresa’s idea. She slanted him a sly smile as she led her—reluctant—husband away. He had to stop this. There was nothing suspect about Carny’s actions. Nothing at all.

“Happy birthday.”

Blythe smiled, the wariness leaving her eyes as genuine pleasure took over. “Thank you.” She gestured to her ears. “Carny and Teresa insisted that I wear their gift.”

The emerald ear bobs dangled from her earlobes with glittering brilliance. These were no little “forgive me” ear bobs. These were “you’re incredible, I must have you” ear bobs. If it weren’t for the fact that they were supposedly from Teresa as well, Devlin would be very tempted to break Carny’s neck.

Suddenly his little diamond pendant didn’t seem so special.

“They’re beautiful,” he remarked, his throat dry.

Silence settled between them. It had never felt this uncomfortable before. What the hell was wrong with him? He was thinking the worst of his friend, actually entertaining Wynthrope’s cynical and distrusting comments. There was no need. Carny had known Blythe for a long time. He had said himself that she was like a sister to him. Of course he was concerned about her—and Devlin’s intentions. It made perfect sense.

“Do you have a partner for the first dance?” he asked.

She nodded. “Miles. It is something of a tradition with us.”

“Ah. What about the second?”

Her gaze fell away, and he knew without her answering who had already spoken for the second dance. Carny.

Brotherly concern—that’s all it was.

Brotherly, his arse.

He swallowed. “I suppose your dance card is fairly full.”

“Fairly, yes.” She looked up. “But not completely.”

Was that hope in her eyes or pity? He couldn’t tell. And he had bought a new suit just for this night, damn it all. He’d even had Brahm help with his cravat—it was tight and stiff with starch, and it was difficult to move his head. Now he was going to spend most of the night standing against the wall watching other men dance with the woman he wanted.