“Cynssyr.” Mary came to him with a rustle of silk and the scent of fragrant rose. She took both his hands in hers. “I’m so pleased you’re here.”
“Where’s Anne?”
“Somewhere.” She looked over her shoulder. “I’m afraid you’ve missed supper.”
He thought of the crumpet he’d eaten. “I’ve dined, thank you.”
“We were just about to start opening gifts, so she can’t have gone far.”
“I’m glad I haven’t missed that.” He followed Mary into the room.
She frowned, not seeing her sister. “Where is she? She was with Devon last I saw her.”
“I’ll find her. Do excuse me, Mary.” He moved into the room, the recipient of several surprised stares, most notably one from Benjamin that turned to a smug smile and, honestly, one or two glares. Emily was easy to find. She was, as always, surrounded by a crowd of men even at a party in honor of her sister. Not Thrale though. The Marquess sat at the pianoforte, turning pages for Lucy. Emily’s lovely eyes opened wide when she saw Ruan. He was used to parting crowds so he had no trouble making his way to her. She bent a knee. “Your grace.”
“Miss Sinclair.”
She exuded polite disdain. “Whatever brings you here? Did you lose your way?”
“Why,” he said with all the innocence he could muster, “it is my wife’s birthday.” He gave her his arm, and she took it. “Your pardon, gentlemen, my lords, but I must have a word with my sister-in-law.”
“Well,” Emily said when they’d gone a few feet. “I’ll say this for you, you got me away from those awful bores.”
With a mock bow, he quipped, “I seek only to serve.” He guided her near a window where they might have a modicum of privacy.
She tapped her foot. “What happy accident brings you here?” she asked caustically. “Or was Mrs. Forrest otherwise engaged tonight?”
“You presume too much and know too little.”
“Not so. Else I would have done something to prevent you marrying Anne.”
“You might have claimed precedence,” he said wryly.
It took her a moment to understand, and when she did, she snapped, “If I thought it might have worked, yes.”
“Well, thank God it didn’t occur to you.”
Emily looked at him through narrowed eyes, not at all bothered by the insult. The thought of being married to Emily gave him a case of the frights almost as bad as thinking of Anne married to Devon instead of to him. Emily apparently didn’t feel much different.
“You might have come a bit earlier and saved her the humiliation of having to explain why her husband couldn’t be bothered to attend the celebration.”
“I’m sure she made me an excellent excuse.”
“As a matter of fact, she did. And you were not at all deserving of her kindness.”
He frowned, too irritated to hold his tongue. “You know, Emily, your sister is a duchess. Her life is not a complete hardship. She will never want for anything.” But his heart was not in the rejoinder, and Emily, sensing it, moved in for the kill.
“I don’t see that my sister is better off for it, your grace.” He knew she was angry because of the insolent way she pronounced the honorific. “You’ve spent nothing on her for which Mary, Lucy or I haven’t been responsible, and I won’t count all those clothes nor the diamonds either, for you gave them to her for the sake of your reputation, not for her. You’ve given her nothing, you ungrateful wretch. Yet, I’ll wager Cyrwthorn has never run better since Anne came. Your life has improved immeasurably since Anne. Deny it. Hah. You can’t. So, your grace, don’t look at me with that holier-than-thou expression.”
“If you know the secret to getting her to spend my money, do tell it, for I should like to know. God knows I’ve tried. She won’t.”
“Of course she won’t. She feels too guilty.” He nodded because he knew exactly what Emily meant. But Emily was a woman incapable of leaving well enough alone. She crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t deserve her.”
“No,” he agreed gently. “But I thank God every day that I have her.” In return for the admission, he had the rare pleasure of seeing Emily Sinclair at a loss for a retort. “I am here to find Anne, not listen to a tedious lecture I’ve already had from Aldreth and Bracebridge both. Where is she?”
“I shouldn’t tell you anything at all. You only make her miserable. I know you mistreat her.”
“Watch what you say, Miss Sinclair.”
“I’ve only to look at her to see it’s true. Since she married, she’s lost weight. She’s pale and tired. You’ve drained her of her strength. I know she was unhappy before, tied to Papa like that, but now—Now it’s worse for she’s miserable.”
“She’s to give me a child.”
Emily gaped at him.
“You’re a spoiled little brat, Emily Sinclair, and I hope to God one day some man takes you over his knee and soundly beats you. Now, where is Anne? Oh, Hell, never mind. I’ll find her myself.”
“Wait.” She caught his sleeve, tugging urgently. “She’s with Bracebridge.”
His pulse leapt in alarm. “Did they leave together?”
“Not gone. Just out of the room. She was upset.” The defiant lift of her chin told him who she thought the likely culprit. She pointed to a door a few steps along the hall. “They went in there.” Shrugging, she gave him a look. “That parlor’s so small, no one ever uses it.”
A few feet from the parlor Emily indicated, which, if Ruan correctly remembered, overlooked the back of the house, he realized she’d followed him. He stopped. “Thank you, Emily. Go back to the party. You’ll have been missed by now.” The door was open, so he had nothing to fear from his wife’s decision to absent herself with Devon in so private a manner.
“What am I going to do?” he heard Anne say. “I do not think I have ever been so unhappy in all my life. She loves him. She loves him, and I think he loves her, too. I cannot bear it.” Her voice broke. “I can’t. Devon, help me. Please, help me.”
Stricken by the catch in her voice Ruan took only a step or two inside. Devon sat on a chair that, should he happen to turn his head to the right, would give him a view of the door. And of Ruan. Anne sat on the floor at Devon’s feet, her head and arms cradled on his knees while Dev leaned forward, stroking her cheek, a slow and tender caress.
“Darling Anne,” Devon said softly, finger gliding along the upper line of her cheek. “If you want to leave him, I will help you.” After a moment of silence, he took her hands. “Even if your answer is no, we are not finished, you and I.” His voice turned low and sensual. “For now, for another while yet, I will be to you whatever you want. Friend. Polite acquaintance. Enemy. Even lover.” His voice dropped another notch to shivery whisper. “Especially that. Be warned, Anne, that when he has his heir from you, I will do anything. Anything at all. Even betray him.”
Ruan fully appreciated the moment. His best friend in all the world intended to break his marriage, leaving Ruan with no choice but to trust a woman who had no earthly to keep her wedding vows.
“I will protect you. Never fear that I won’t.” His voice was raw, emotion at the forefront. “Let me love you, Anne. I will give you the happiness you deserve. Whatever the cost.”
Ruan heard a sound behind him and turned. Foolishly, he had assumed Emily would do as he told her. Of course, she had not. She stood a step behind him, looking every bit as heartsick as Devon and Anne. Her mouth quivered, and tears pooled in her blue eyes.
Ruan acted quickly. He grabbed Emily by the elbow and pushed her out, walking her halfway down the hall before stopping. “Listen to me,” he said harshly. “You’re being a damn fool.”
That got her attention. She gave him a look of loathing. “How could you just leave them together? Didn’t you hear him?”
“You’re not a stupid woman. If you have a tantrum over this, you will destroy any hope of making Devon see you as anything but the brat you are.”
“
Oh, God.” That her reaction was despair rather than a cutting rebuke told him Emily’s case was near fatal. As bad or worse than his own.
“Even if Anne does love him—” His heart thudded against his ribs. My God, he thought, what if Anne loved Devon? “—she will honor her wedding vows.” Which she would do whatever the sacrifice. He had no fear on that score. Nor could he think of anything worse than spending the rest of his life knowing Anne loved someone else.
Emily’s chin lifted in quick defense of her sister. “You think I don’t know that?” The dratted child might be spoiled rotten, but she had always been Anne’s fiercest champion. Despite, it seemed, being hopelessly in love with Devon.
“You understand your sister quite well. As for Devon,” he said with a confidence he did not feel, “he’ll not stay in love with a woman who will never return his love.” Not physically, anyway. The notion sparked a twisting sort of panic. “That sort of passion eventually burns itself out. It must. Bide your time, Emily. Do not press him now.”
“I may be a damn fool, as you say, but I’m not a complete fool,” she said, dabbing at her eyes. Few women managed to shed genuine tears and still look beautiful. Emily was one.
“There’s a good girl.”
“Don’t you patronize me.” But she spoke without her earlier edge. He found himself the recipient of a thoughtful gaze. “You poor man. Have you told Anne you love her?”
Jesus Christ. What was it with these Sinclair women? “She did not believe me.”
“I’m not sure I believe it.”
“What you believe is a matter of complete indifference to me.”
“There is hope, you know,” she said, and not without a certain gentleness though he felt sure any tenderness was for Anne, not him. “Anne admires you. She never speaks of you but to make you a compliment I’m sure you don’t deserve.” Ruan’s heart leaped at that. His entire being grasped at the straw Emily offered. “Why, I cannot comprehend. But she does admire you. You might yet turn it to love.”
“How?”
“It’s simple,” she said archly and with a truly annoying smile. “Lord Ruin must die.”
Exasperated, he returned to the parlor door, dragging Emily with him. “I ought to be horse whipped for listening to you.”
“You might dispatch the Duke of Sin while you’re at it,” she added.
“Quiet.”
“Insincere Cynssyr, too.”
He lengthened his stride and raised his voice. “Anne? Are you here? Ah, just as you said, Emily.” Both Dev and Anne were standing when he came in this time.
“Cynssyr,” said Anne. She wasn’t wearing her spectacles and that made her squint.
Ruan watched Dev, busy straightening the lapels of his coat. The black eyes, when they met his, were unreadable. “Forgive me, Anne. I did not mean to be so late,” Ruan said, holding out his arm as she came near. “However, I’m told I’ve arrived in time for the gift-giving.”
She gave him a look, then she smiled, a little sadly. “Shall we?”
Ruan expected Emily, the poor heartbroken child, to wait for Devon to offer his arm, but she didn’t. Instead, she walked in front of Ruan and Anne, leaving Dev to bring up the rear. A small victory for Emily, for Devon looked aggravated.
Ruan sat silent while Anne opened her gifts. A bolt of shimmering lavender silk from Mary, a delicate ivory fan from Lucy, a cameo brooch from Emily that all the Sinclair sisters agreed looked very much like one that had once belonged to their mother. Thrale’s gift of a sheaf of musical scores by Bach and that young puppy Beethoven met with a pleased exclamation. Devon gave her an edition of Shakespeare’s sonnets. Ruan could see an inscription inside when Anne opened the cover. What tender words had Devon written for her? Though she scanned the sentences, she did not read them aloud. A small silver rattle came from his mother, for the first of many grandchildren, she said, glancing meaningfully at Ruan.
It was with a certain satisfaction that he drew Cowperth’s box from his pocket. A small gift. Inexpensive in the greater scheme of things, but much better than Hickenson’s shawl, however lovely, and a shot across the bows of Anne’s heart. He almost missed her face when she opened the box because he was watching Devon who had a view of Anne and could see each gift. Her eyes went wide. Devon gave away nothing.
Anne didn’t say a word.
“What is it?” Benjamin asked.
“Anne, do show us,” said Lady Prescott.
With a trembling hand, she slipped off her borrowed wedding band and returned it to the dowager duchess.
“My dear child.”
Ruan reached for the box and the ring inside. One look at Anne’s face, and he forgot everything but her. “I should have seen to this ages ago,” he said, slipping the gold band onto her finger. “It isn’t much, I’m afraid.” Tears spilled from her eyes, and he brushed one away. “Hush,” he said softly. “Hush, my love. Tis but a ring, and a plain one at that.” God save his soul, but he’d known that plain gold band would touch Anne more deeply than the gaudiest diamond in creation.
His mother leaned in to examine Anne’s left hand. “You have your father’s exquisite sense of the appropriate.”
He waited until Anne was looking at him, not her hand. “I love you,” he said.
At that instant, Anne didn’t care if he did or didn’t. She leaned toward him, threw her arms around his shoulders and kissed him on a trembling breath. A moment later, his mouth opened over hers, one large hand cupping the back of her head, and she was complete. When at last they parted it was to find themselves the object of everyone’s fascination.
“I don’t think,” remarked a breathless Lady Prescott to Thrale, patting her upper chest, “that I have ever seen a more touching scene in all my life.”
Ruan reached for Anne’s hand, interlacing their fingers. He told himself it was a statement to Devon that his wife was off-limits, but it didn’t feel like that sort of statement. He felt like a man holding the hand of a woman he’d come slowly to adore. She had him tied in knots, no doubt about it, but he didn’t mind at all.
Back at Cyrwthorn, Ruan stood beside the carriage waiting for Anne to give him her hand. Movement distracted him when she stepped down. He watched the shadows. Every nerve in his body went taut. The coachman took one of the grays by the bridle. With a soft cluck of his tongue, he started them to the mews. Upon the pretense of adjusting the shawl around Anne’s shoulders, he peered into the darkness behind her.
Alarm prickled along his back. There. Something moved. And again. A shadow at the foot of the front stairs deepened, shifted, then coalesced into the shape of a man moving stealthily toward the side of the house.
“Henry,” Ruan called softly. The shadow briefly stepped out of darkness so that Ruan saw the man’s face before he turned the corner toward the mews. “Escort the duchess inside.”
“Your grace.”
“What about you?” Anne said.
“I need a word with the groom.” He chucked her under the chin. “I’ll be along shortly.”
He watched her climb the stairs, then when she reached the door, he walked around the side of the house to find out what the hell Julian Durling thought he was up to.
CHAPTER 31
Ruan grabbed Durling’s upper arm, ostensibly to steady him, but he didn’t want the man disappearing on him either. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re a bloody hard man to find sometimes.”
“You smell like the inside of a tavern. Go home and clean yourself up.” Two days worth of beard covered the man’s cheeks, he wore no hat, and he still wore a gambler’s felt sleeves on his coat.
“I just can’t keep away from the hells. Damn shame.” Gleefully, he did a drunken jig. “But this time, I won. Enough to cover a good many of my debts.”
“Splendid.” He leaned back to avoid getting another whiff of stale wine and clothes worn too long.
“Send her away, Cyn.” He swayed and steadied himself by catching Ruan’s coat slee
ve. “Before it’s too late, send her away.”
“Too late for what?”
“She’s next.” Durling’s bleary eyes fixed on Ruan then crossed. “Lord, but I’m foxed. I’ve not been this fuddled since University. You’re a good man, you know. Really top notch. Even if you weren’t a bloody duke.” Ruan groaned. He was in for it now. Durling was a sentimental drunk. The man swayed again, tilting his head down as if to lay it on Ruan’s shoulder. “You were a class ahead of me. Lord, how we admired you. All of us wanted to be like you, and then you went off to the war. I rowed because you did, know that?”
Ruan grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard enough to rattle him out of his ridiculous nostalgia. “What do you mean, she’s next?”
“The duchess,” he said in a tender voice. “Lovely, lovely duchess. She’s next, Cyn.” Durling sobbed. “And I don’t think I can stop it.”
Ruan’s blood froze. “Is it you?”
“Who beats those women? No.” He slumped against Ruan’s shoulder. “No taste for that sort of violence. Not yet anyway.”
“Who is it?”
“Do stop shouting. My head’s going to bloody explode.” And that was the last thing Julian Durling was going to say for several hours at least. Had Ruan not caught him, he’d have hit the ground like a sack of stones. Mostly by dint of brute strength, Ruan got Durling to the stables where he and one of the grooms got him into a carriage. He lay sprawled on the seat, snoring.
“You’re not to leave him. Not even for a moment,” he told the biggest of his grooms. “On second thought, let’s get him on the floor. Then he won’t have far to fall.”
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