And the Bride Wore Plaid (32 page)

Though Kat had been expecting such a thing, it didn’t make it any easier to witness. Especially since nothing had prepared her for the sight of Devon in his ballroom finery.

Dressed in black breeches that hugged his muscular legs, and a coat tailored to fit his broad shoulders without a wrinkle, he stood out among the more provincial dressers. He’d done little to his hair except comb it back, but one unruly lock hung over his forehead, giving him a slightly dissolute look.

Added to that were the faint shadows beneath his blue eyes and the look of impenetrable boredom that he was sporting, and he was easily the handsomest and most intriguing man in sight.

Kat paused at the door, suddenly wanting desperately to turn and run. It was ludicrous to make an appearance in such a lovely ball gown; she wasn’t sure now why it had mattered. From the cold glances she was already receiving, she was a pariah no matter how she dressed.

As soon as she was identified, the rumors would begin yet again, and there would be more stares, more whispers, more innuendoes—the vicious circle never stopped. Her spirit quavered at the thought.

This was not the way she’d envisioned the night. She’d thought to make an impressive entrance of some sort. To be accepted where she never had been.

She wasn’t sure now why she’d thought that... perhaps because by falling in love with Devon, she felt new. Fresh. And even lovely.

But now, facing the harsh stare of society, she had to wonder ... was that an illusion too?

Heart heavy, she decided to make a hasty retreat, but before she could move, Malcolm suddenly materialized.

He didn’t give her time to argue, but led her back inside, tucking her hand in the crook of his arm so she couldn’t escape. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Home,” she said flatly.

“But you look beautiful.” He eyed her up and down, growing appreciation in his gaze. “Where did you get this gown? It’s perfect for you.”

“Annie made it.”

“She’s a wonder. One day I shall steal her from you and I will never eat poorly prepared food again.”

“She’s a miracle,” Kat agreed. She knew what he was doing—making casual talk so she could regain her composure. She loved him for it, even though she wished he would just let her go.

“I didn’t even know Annie could wield a needle. Yet another reason to prize her over all other women.”

“Except one,” Kat said softly.

Malcolm’s gaze grew shadowed. He led her across the room, nodding at this acquaintance and then that. “Except one. At least have a bit of punch.”

“But I—”

“It has ice in it that cost me a bloody fortune. The least you can do is drink some of it and pretend it tastes as good as it looks.”

Kat had to smile. “Is Fiona driving you to ruin?”

“Oh no. I can stand the nonsense. I just wish—” He broke off, something crossing his face and then disappearing behind a bland smile. “At least let me complain. All good hosts do, you know. It’s their way of casually dropping their costs into the conversation.”

“Is that why they do it?”

“Lud, yes. See those large pots of violets by the door? Fiona ordered three hundred of them and they cost me five pounds each. What’s horrid is that the flowers will be dead by morning and we don’t even get to keep the bloody pots.”

He found the refreshment table and procured a glass of punch, then handed it to her. “Well?” he said with a challenging look in his eye.

“It’s wretched, but cold. Very cold.”

“There. You’ve made my evening better already. As much as this blasted affair has cost me, I demand to get the maximum enjoyment out of it that I can, so thank you, most lovely of sisters, for drinking my punch and admiring my ice.”

Kat returned the glass to him.

“More?”

“Oh no, thank you. Let’s save some ice for your other guests.”

“Very well, but at midnight, you must be in line to snatch up an iced cake. You could end up with a prize, you know.”

She followed his gaze to the tables where the cakes were set. “Why is everyone standing around the table now? There is still almost forty minutes before the clocks will chime.”

“Because some of the prizes settled to the sides and you can almost make out what prize is in which cake.” He lowered his voice. “I’m going for the third cake in the fourth row. You can see a jewel of some sort sticking out of the bottom.”

“You had the opportunity to see the cakes before anyone else, so I believe that is cheating. Are you certain you wish to compromise your values in such a way as to—”

“Malcolm—” came a deep voice. “And Miss Kat.”

Kat knew who it was without even looking. Blast it, it had been a trick. Malcolm had lured her into the room and then kept her busy until Devon could find them.

She closed her eyes and tried to move her heart back into place before turning and smiling. “Mr. St. John. How are you this evening?”

“My, that was frosty,” Malcolm said, sending her a frown. “Perhaps you had too much of the icy punch.” He glanced at Devon. “Have you come to claim Kat’s hand for a dance?”

To her horror, she realized the band was playing a waltz. “I don’t dance.”

“Excellent,” Devon said. “I’ll teach you.” He took her hand in his, Malcolm slipping away without so much as another word.

“You cannot learn to dance while at a ball!” Kat said desperately.

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll look a fool. And you will, too.”

“Nonsense. I’m an excellent teacher. Just put your arm here, and your hand here.” He placed one of her hands on the tip of his shoulder and held the other one loosely. Immediately all the unease in Kat’s stomach grew warmer.

“Good!” he said, placing his other hand on her waist. A shiver immediately traveled through her, though she resolutely ignored it.

His eyes glinted into hers. “Now comes the easy part; all you have to do is follow me.”

“What?”

“Just follow me,” he repeated.

“But I—”

The music swelled, and he began to move. Aware that now, in reality, every eye was indeed upon her, Kat struggled to keep up, desperately counting. Several times she stumbled, and once she went left when he went right.

He sighed, his breath brushing her hair. “I can see we’re going to have to work on this.”

“There is no need,” she said stiffly, wishing miserably she’d never come. What had she been thinking? She should have refused. It would take more drastic measures to escape now. Perhaps she could fall to the floor and have a fit; she’d once witnessed just such an occurrence at a ball years ago and the unfortunate woman had been immediately spirited away. But apparently Kat’s boldness was back at the cottage along with her comfortable clothes.

How she hated that every eye was upon them. By now everyone knew who she was, and their entire dance would be scrutinized, analyzed, conjectured about, and exaggerated until it didn’t resemble the truth at all.

“Kat.” Devon’s voice was close to her ear. “Relax, my sweet. Trust me to get us through this maze of horrid dancers.”

She looked into his eyes. “What does trust have to do with dancing?”

“When you follow someone in a dance, they have to direct you because you are dancing backward and you cannot see where you are going. I’ve often thought men do not realize how difficult it must be to relax and let a partner you sometimes barely know lead you through a maze of dancers. But you and I, we do know one another. And if there is one thing we do have, it is trust.”

She thought about this. Perhaps ... perhaps he was right. Things had changed when she realized that being closer to him did have a cost—her own heart. But that was not his fault. He’d been honest with her from the beginning.

She met his gaze and found him regarding her, a quizzical gleam in his eyes. A smile was wrung from her at his hopeful expression. “I do trust you.”

“I know,” he said simply. “Relax, my lovely Kat. Let me navigate for a while.” He pulled her a little closer. “Meanwhile, you rest.”

She did as he suggested, though after a moment, it dawned on her that those dancing around them had a good foot between them while she and Devon had mere inches. “I don’t think you’re supposed to hold me this close.”

He rested his cheek against her hair. “But I like it.”

She was quiet a moment more, then she lifted her head to ask, “Why do men always get to lead?”

His lips quivered. “I’ve often wondered that myself. Perhaps we can trade off. Would you like to lead for a bit?”

Would she? She thought a moment, then nodded. “Certainly.”

He smiled and let her begin leading. She wished she could say she was good at it, but she wasn’t. Twice she ran them into another couple, and once they barely missed a low table by the door.

But eventually she began to understand how to do it, and she led them without incident. As she relaxed, she became aware of the feel of his chest against hers. Of his hand on her waist. Of being surrounded by him.

The music swelled and pulsed, yet somehow they were in the center of a bubble of pure bliss, a slow heat simmering about them.

Kat let herself drift against him. It was heavenly, being held like this.

Their bodies brushed, then touched, then stayed there.

A deep languor arose, and Kat closed her eyes, letting the music take them where it would.

They went slower and slower, lost in the tug of heat that rose and ebbed between their bodies. Everything else ceased to be. It was just the two of them and no one else. Finally, his arms encircled her and his mouth moved from her hair, to her cheek, to her mouth . ..

Kat was lost. She kissed him back as passionately as he kissed her, reveling in the feel of Devon, her Devon, around her, with her. His hands moved across her back, then lower to cup her bottom intimately. It was then that she realized that the music had come to a halt. As had all the talking.

In fact, the entire room was deafeningly silent.

Kat opened her eyes, breaking the kiss, stepping away so that Devon was no longer touching her. All around them stood the other guests.

Some were smiling.

Some were plainly scandalized.

Some looked too shocked to do more than stare with mouths agape. Dear Lord, but they’d all seen Devon kissing her. Worse, he’d had his hands on her arse.

Kat caught sight of Murien’s furious face, Fiona standing beside her, white-faced and grim.

Good God, what had she done? Kat didn’t dare look at Devon; it had to be his worst nightmare. She turned toward him, her gaze locked on the top button of his waistcoat. “Do not say a word,” she said in a low voice. “Let me—”

“Katherine.”

Malcolm’s voice broke over her. She turned to find him next to her.

He looked hard at Devon. “It appears as if this ball has a purpose after all.”

“Malcolm, no—” Kat began.

He threw up his hand. “This is a conversation better had in private. Shall we retreat to the library?”

She nodded miserably, wishing she could find something to say to Devon. Meanwhile all around them came the whispers. They were low now, but Kat knew how this part went... first were the tiny whispers, followed by the slightly audible murmurs of disapproval. Next came the accusations. Those hit with gale force, ripping reputation and fate alike.

How had she let this happen? Kat had to find a way to fix things, a way to keep Devon St. John from being harmed by their mistakes.

It was with a sinking heart she walked into the library, Devon behind her, as Malcolm closed the door and turned to face them.

I love happy endings. I had one myself, you know.

Lord Rutherford to his lady love, Mrs. Montesque-Drumme, while watching the fireworks at Vauxhall Gardens

“Pssh.” Malcolm rubbed his neck and looked at his sister and best friend. “I dinna know where to begin. You know better than to do such a thing.”

They didn’t say a word, each avoiding the other’s gaze. Malcolm wondered what he should do. “What happened out there? You two were supposed to be dancing.”

“We were dancing,” Kat said, her cheeks pink. “At first.”

Devon nodded. “I was letting Kat lead for a while—”

“You let Kat lead?” Bloody hell, what was wrong with the man?

“Aye. And somehow, it just felt... good. So I kissed her and, well, that felt even better. So I suppose I forgot where I was and—” Devon raked a hand through his hair.

There was no mistaking the husky timbre of St. John’s voice or the slanted glance Kat threw his way.

They were lovers. Malcolm had suspected as much, but the heated looks along with the passionate kiss and intimate hold he’d witnessed between them on the dance floor proved it beyond any doubts.

Perhaps he should—The door flew open and Murien stood in the doorway, Fiona peering anxiously over her shoulder.

Murien walked in, her hand fisted about an object. “Do not continue this farce.”

“Farce?” Malcolm scowled. He’d never liked Fiona’s sister, and every day he was coming to like her less if that was possible.

Murien’s lip curled as she looked at Kat. “You are trying to trap Devon into marriage. Well, I won’t stand for it.”

Devon’s frown was quicker than Kat’s. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Kat has never tried to entrap me or anyone else.”

“She is not an innocent. Nor is she without fault. I think you should put her to the test.”

“What test?” Devon asked, his irration mounting.

Murien held out her hand. There, on her palm, lay the St. John talisman ring.

Fiona gasped. “Murien! Where did you get that?”

“Thank God it has been found.” Devon started forward, but Murien’s fingers closed over it.

Malcolm had to unclench his jaw to speak. “You stole that out of St. John’s room.”

Murien regarded him with a triumphant sneer. “Only after I saw you, dear brother, borrowing it.”

Malcolm’s face heated. He glanced at Devon, then shrugged. “I just wanted Kat to see it.”

Fiona looked from him to her sister. “Murien, you know St. John was searching for that ring. There is no excuse for what you did.”