Kathryn Smith (23 page)

Rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand, he entered the breakfast room on a yawn, only to find someone already sitting at the oak table, a pot of hot, fragrant coffee before him.

“Ryland. Lord, man, but you’re up demmed early.” Many years in the army would do that to a man, he supposed, but did he have to sit at the table looking no different than he did any other day, save for a growth of beard far too long for London standards? Really, the man didn’t look tired at all. In fact, he looked as energetic and invigorated as a newborn colt, despite the seriousness of his expression.

“Sit down, Miles,” Devlin said, pushing the chair across from him from the table with his foot. “We need to talk.”

He hated those four words. When Blythe said them, it usually meant she had done something stupid. When Varya said them, it usually meant he had. But when a man like Devlin Ryland said them, the whole country could be going to hell in a handbasket.

Miles did as he was bid, accepting the cup of coffee his friend poured for him without question. He felt better with the first gulp—even if it did burn his tongue.

“I’ll get right to the point. Your sister has accepted my offer of marriage, and we would like to set the date at three weeks hence.”

That
woke him up. His tongue forgotten, he straightened in his chair. “Three weeks!”

Was that enough time to plan a wedding? How long had it taken to plan his to Varya? Surely it must have been longer than that? Even if it hadn’t been, his baby sister deserved better than a rushed affair. She deserved St. George’s and all the trappings.

Devlin smiled. “Your sister demands that the banns be read and I reluctantly agreed. The date is set. I know Blythe is of age, but I should like to know we have your permission and blessing.”

Miles nodded. So many questions buzzed through his brain, but he couldn’t seem to decide which to ask first. Perhaps now wasn’t the best time to discuss particulars. All that mattered was that Ryland and Blythe had finally made up their minds. He couldn’t think of anyone who was better suited to his handful of a sister. Ryland was more than a match for her physically and while he would treat her like a queen and indulge her eccentricities, Ryland wouldn’t allow her to manipulate or control him either.

“Of course you have my permission—and my blessing. This is exactly what I’ve hoped for since the two of you first met.”

Devlin’s smile grew. “I know. If you will excuse me, I will leave you to your breakfast. I’ve much to do today.”

“You’re welcome to stay,” Miles told him, gesturing at the otherwise empty table. “The company would be nice.”

But Devlin was already on his feet. “I’d take you up on that if my morning weren’t now so busy. I will see you later though, at dinner. Blythe thought you and Varya might want to celebrate.”

Miles chuckled. “Indeed.” He offered the taller man his hand. “Welcome to the family, Ryland.”

It wasn’t until Devlin had left that Miles realized what it was that had seemed so strange about the other man’s appearance. It wasn’t just the growth of beard…
Son of a bitch.

Ryland was still wearing the evening attire he had worn the night before.

W
ord of their betrothal spread throughout the
ton
like tea through a lace tablecloth. It started the day after Miles discovered Devlin at the breakfast table. The marquess had made the decision that the sooner these two were married the better, seeing as how they could not seem to avoid inviting scandal. Some expressed surprise, others expressed boredom at what
they
had already suspected. And some, like Lady Ashby, were bitterly cruel and catty with their remarks.

“Is it not wonderful for Lady Blythe that she has
finally
found someone who will have her?” Lady Ashby was overheard asking someone at the theater that evening.

Blythe would be the first to agree that it was wonderful indeed. Devlin, on the other hand, would be sorely tempted to remind Lady Ashby that he certainly hadn’t wanted
her.

And of course, Blythe had many callers during those three weeks as the banns were read in church every Sunday. Old friends and acquaintances came with genuine wishes of happiness, gossips came to ferret out if perhaps there was a
reason
for the speedy engagement, and others came simply
because it was bound to be the wedding of the year and they wanted to guarantee their place at it.

Teresa called often. Sometimes Carny accompanied her and sometimes he did not. He always went in search of Miles, and the two of them engaged in their own conversations while the women busied themselves with preparations and excited chatter. It seemed like things were better between Carny and his wife, and Blythe for one was glad.

“Lingerie,” Teresa announced one morning over tea. “A woman must have lingerie.”

“I already have nightgowns,” Blythe replied.

Varya and Teresa shared a secretive chuckle and immediately put aside all other projects to go shopping. By the time they were done, Blythe had ordered much more than nightgowns—including a few items that were so shocking, she just knew Devlin was going to love them.

Devlin. She saw him every day, and yet it felt as though she rarely saw him at all. They were rarely alone—no doubt that was Miles’s doing—and when they were they were almost always in a public place, such as Hyde Park or a social engagement.

Every time they were together, every time she thought of him, memories of their lovemaking inevitably surfaced. How could she forget his gentleness during the first time? His adoration during the second, and his passion during the third? He was a man of startling emotion, running so much deeper than she had originally suspected. He spoke of her innocence, her light, as though she was something he didn’t quite deserve.

How could he possibly think that? He was the best of men, at least in her estimation. A man worth his salt, as it were. Was it the war he spoke of, and the horrors he had seen? Or was it something else? Something that made him hold himself at a distance at times, as though he was scared she’d see it if he got too close.

She’d discover what it was eventually. She hoped he
would be the one to tell her. Someday he would trust her with all his secrets. He would love her enough to tell her. He would have to. She wasn’t about to settle for anything less. Their marriage would be built on a foundation of respect, trust, and love, just as her parents’ had been—just as his parents’ should have been.

The more she discovered about the late Lord and Lady Creed, the less she liked either of them, especially the viscount. Devlin had told her how his father forced himself on his mother, resulting in Devlin’s conception. How could they ever have let him know this? Even if they had been unaware of him listening, it wasn’t something that should have been discussed so openly. And how could they allow a little boy to blame himself for such violence? How could they allow him to feel unwanted and less loved than his brothers? They should have been horsewhipped, the pair of them.

She would do her best to make up for all those years of loss. He would never feel unwanted or unloved again. She told him that during one of the few times they were allowed any privacy in the days leading up to the wedding.

He looked at her with the strangest expression, as though he wasn’t certain it was really she and not an illusion.

“You cannot promise me those things, Blythe.”

“Yes I can.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t.”

When she demanded to know what he meant by that, he changed the subject, but Blythe didn’t forget it. It wasn’t just his parents’ love Devlin felt unworthy of, it was love in general. He would not make it easy to give love to him. He would have to learn how to give love in return, although Blythe suspected he did that instinctively already. He just didn’t realize it. What he thought of as loyalty—like naming his horse after a dead friend—was actually an expression of love. She just had to make him realize it. And make him realize, she would. The consequences of failure were too potentially painful.

But perhaps the strangest visit leading up to the wedding came from Carny. He appeared by himself the morning before the wedding was to take place. And this time, Miles wasn’t the Christian he came to see.

Blythe was in the parlor with Varya, discussing details of the wedding.

“But dearest, you cannot have only
one
kind of flower in your bouquet!”

Blythe smiled. “I can and I will. I want roses. Tea-colored roses.” She wasn’t about to tell Varya why these flowers were suddenly so very special to her, or why the very thought of them sent heat rushing to her cheeks. They just simply had to be the ones she carried on her wedding day, and she would save at least one from the bouquet for the wedding night.

“Lord Carnover is here to see you, Lady Blythe,” Forsythe announced from the doorway.

Blythe and Varya exchanged startled glances.

“By all means,” Blythe said, “show him in, Forsythe.”

When the butler left the room, Varya turned to her sister-in-law. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

Smiling, Blythe patted the other woman’s hand. “Of course not. I am fully capable of facing Carny on my own.” In fact, she almost looked forward to the meeting, as she had a long time ago, long before her feelings for Carny became more than friendship. Perhaps it would be possible for them to have a friendship once more. Just dispelling the tension between them would be a big help. After all, Carny was one of Devlin’s closest friends. She would hate to be the reason for any discord between them.

Varya left the parlor just as Carny entered. He looked splendid in wheat-colored breeches and dark blue coat. Odd how at one time Blythe would have sighed over his impeccable appearance. Now she thought he looked stuffy. He said hello and kissed Varya’s cheek, making the proper small talk
before allowing her to be on her way. Then he turned his attention to the woman standing beside the sofa, and his easy expression turned somewhat anxious.

Blythe made the first move. “Carny.” She went to him, taking both of his hands in greeting. “It is good to see you.”

He looked at her as though she had bitten him, he was so surprised. “Blythe. It is good to see you as well.”

“Come, sit down. May I offer you tea? Or would you prefer something stronger?”

He crossed the carpet to a small chair, flipping out the tails of his coat as he sat. “I am fine, thank you.”

Blythe sat as well. “What brings you here alone this morning? Teresa is not ill, I hope?” She hated to think her friend might not be able to attend her wedding.

“No, she is well.” Carny’s brow puckered. “Or at least as well as she has been of late.”

Averting her gaze, Blythe pretended not to hear the softly spoken remark. She knew very well that Carny and Teresa had been having some difficulties in their marriage, but things seemed to have gotten better. She strongly suspected the trouble had something to do with Teresa’s obsession with having a child. Teresa talked of it often when it was just the two of them. She so desperately wanted to have one and thought Carny alarmingly uncaring on the subject. Blythe didn’t know what to tell her friend except to be patient. She didn’t bother to add that when little Edward was born, Carny had been right there demanding to hold the infant and expressing a desire for a son of his own. It would only upset Teresa more.

“Have you come hoping to see Devlin? He will be joining us for luncheon.” And he would be taking her for a ride in the park if he knew what was good for him. It had been too long since they last had any time alone—not that Hyde Park at five would offer any privacy whatsoever, but at least they’d be together.

Carny shook his head. “No. I came to see you.”

She stared at him expectantly. He was silent. “About?”

A pained expression crossed his handsome features. “Blythe, you know Devlin is one of my oldest friends. I would not be alive if not for him.”

“You would not have Teresa either,” she reminded him when it became clear he wasn’t going to mention it himself.

Judging from his countenance, he wasn’t sure if that was something to be entirely thankful for. Good Lord, had things deteriorated to that point? Poor Teresa, she so obviously still loved him.

What was it about this man that inspired such devotion in women? Whatever it was, she was glad it no longer affected her.

“I am not so certain my wife would thank him for that right now,” he surprised her by saying. “In fact, I think she’d rather have attended some other soldier in that hospital, but that is beside the point. I am not here to discuss my marriage.”

Well, that was good. “What are you here to discuss?”

He took a deep breath. “Yours.”

Now
that
was surprising! “Mine?”

He nodded, sliding forward in his chair until he was perched on the edge. “Blythe, we used to be good friends, did we not?”

“The best,” she replied honestly, despite her growing wariness.

“Then tell me, as a former and hopefully future friend, are you marrying Devlin to spite me?”

Blythe’s jaw dropped. “I beg your pardon?”

If he realized just how preposterous his question was, he didn’t show it. “You didn’t agree to marry him because of what happened between us, did you?”

“Of course not!” She could hit him for even suggesting it.

“Lord Carnover, your arrogance is astounding.”

He actually smiled at that, the blighter. “You only call me ‘lord’ when you are angry with me.”

“You had better believe I’m angry with you!” She was practically shaking with it. “How dare you imply that you have any involvement at all in my decision to marry! You may take credit for my spending the last two years intent on
not
marrying if you need credit at all!”

He laughed. He actually laughed! Good Lord, it had been forever since he’d laughed at anything she said. This was not a good time to start again.

“Oh thank God,” he murmured when his laughter ebbed.

Blythe sat board-stiff on the sofa, glaring at him. “I think you had better explain yourself, Carnover.
Now.
”

His smiled faded as he faced her, but merriment continued to light the bright blue of his eyes. “I was worried that your engagement to Devlin was some kind of retaliation against me—not that you would deliberately use him,” he was quick to add, “but that you might have said yes to show me that you could land a husband.”

Her anger slowly—very slowly—ebbing, Blythe raised a brow. “Carny, I wouldn’t have wanted to show you that I could land a fish let alone a husband.”

“I know that.” The gleam in his eyes dulled. “Despite what you may have thought of me these last couple of years, I never stopped caring about you, Blythe. I care about both you and Devlin. I only want to see you happy.”

She wasn’t about to let him off that easily. “And you think I am determined to make him miserable, is that it?”

“No. I do not think you would consciously make anyone miserable.”

Ahh, touché. A subtle yet effective reminder that she would have made
him
miserable, and that he would have returned the favor.

“Neither of us is going to make the other miserable,” she informed him. “I am marrying Devlin because I want to marry him. You may console yourself with that, if you wish.”

Carny smiled, his eyes warm again as they gazed at her.
“Then I believe the two of you will be as happy as you deserve.”

She didn’t understand him at all, and while it was petty of her, she couldn’t help but respond with “I expect we shall be. Devlin Ryland is truly the best man I have ever known.”

“Thank you,” came a seductively familiar voice from the doorway.

Blythe’s heart jumped in joy. Leaping from her chair, she ran to him, arms outstretched as though it had been four and twenty weeks since she’d last seen him rather than that many hours. “Devlin!”

He caught her in his powerful arms, lifting her off her feet as he planted a quick, hard kiss on her lips, heedless of their audience.

“Carny came to wish us happy,” she told him when he set her down, her head spinning from his kiss.

Her fiancé smiled, but the same surprise Blythe had felt lit his eyes. He turned his attention to his old friend. “Thank you, Carny.”

The blond earl was on his feet, a slight flush high in his cheeks. Obviously, he was embarrassed by Devlin’s sincerity. “You deserve it. Now, I will leave the two of you alone. I doubt you’ve had much time to yourselves recently.”

Devlin protested. “Stay for a bit, at least until Miles returns.”

Carny shook his head. “No, thank you. I promised Teresa I’d be home in time for luncheon. I will see you tomorrow at the ceremony. Good day.”

With that he departed, leaving Blythe and Devlin staring after him, their arms wound around each other’s backs.

“That was the oddest visit I’ve ever had,” she confided.

“He wanted to make certain I wasn’t marrying you as some kind of revenge against him.”

Devlin’s lips curved. “He has that little faith in my charm, eh?”

“Or mine.” Her tone was dry. “It was odd. I’ve spent so long being angry with him, and now…”

Turning, Devlin slid both arms around her, pulling her close against his chest. “Now what?”