The Heir and the Spare (24 page)

“Thank you, Devon. But you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” he said, looking into her blue eyes. He caressed a cheek that flushed under his touch. She leaned in, and he brushed his lips against hers. As they began to melt into the kiss, they were interrupted by the very unromantic sound of Lady Palmerston’s cough.

She strolled over to her chair by the fireplace and sat down.

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed.

“What is it?” Emilia asked.

“That ring! Well done, Kensington.”

“I know! Isn’t it spectacular!” Emilia gushed.

“Thank you.”

“I shall try to continue, provided I am not blinded by the sight of it. I think the wedding should be small,” Lady Palmerston said, and then she proceeded to cover all the important wedding details, which Emilia and Devon agreed to. “There is one other matter. As you have seen today, this betrothal has the ton in a state of hysterics.”

Devon nodded. Emilia grimaced.

“Do prepare yourself for a crush at the Hampstead Ball tomorrow night, to which you will escort us. We shall all endure hours of inane questions and insinuations.”

“I cannot wait,” Devon said dryly.

“Please do not perish with excitement. Good day.”

Taking his cue to leave, Devon kissed Emilia’s hand. “Till tomorrow night, then,” he said.

“I shall save you a dance,” she replied. He laughed and kissed her hand once more before leaving.

“Now, Emilia,” Lady Palmerston said sternly. “Do let me get a good look at that ring.”

Devon, having not been informed that one is always precisely fifteen minutes late, arrived at Lady Palmerston’s residence and stood waiting in the hall. He was not looking forward to the evening. Had he stayed in England, he would have been to scores of parties and balls. He would have known people. But now, he was to make his debut as a second son presumed dead, a man affianced to the woman the ton was sure would marry his loathed brother. He had heard the rumors and read the papers. They assumed him to be a fortune hunter scheming for a title, or dead. He, in truth, didn’t really care what they thought. However, he did not look forward to an evening that would inevitably be spent denying ridiculous rumors.

Emilia appeared at the top of the stairs, and Devon sucked in his breath. She wore a gown of pale rose silk that seemed like an innocent blush on her creamy skin. Her red hair was swept back from her face and coiled loosely atop her head. The ring he had bought her sparkled in the candlelight. This stunning woman was going to be his.

Emilia looked down at him from the top of the stairs, and she wondered how she had ever confused him with his twin. She could not see the distinguishing slash of a scar from where she stood, but she could see the desire in his eyes. Her eyes probably reflected the same. He was tall, dark, and ridiculously handsome, especially in his evening clothes, which were tailored to perfection, accentuating his broad shoulders and muscular frame. One day, soon, he would be hers, to have and to hold.

“We are sure to be the center of attention tonight,” Lady Palmerston said as they all settled into the carriage. “But Emilia is used to it by now.”

“Are you?” Devon asked.

“I suppose,” Emilia answered.

“She is beautiful, rich, and new in town, and linked slightly to scandal. Of course she is the center of attention. I am glad, though, that you shall be with us tonight, Kensington. Your presence should ward off many of her tedious suitors.”

Devon shifted uncomfortably at that. The thought of other men looking at her the way he did, or talking to her, and considering marriage to her, aroused his jealously. And to think he had almost lost her. He was suddenly possessed by the urge to draw her close to him and hold on to her, but she was seated on the other side of the carriage.

“My dear aunt, I thought you enjoyed scaring them off yourself,” Emilia replied sweetly.

“I must admit, it was a pleasure,” Lady Palmerston said with a deliberately exaggerated sigh. When the carriage lurched to a stop in front of a brightly lit mansion in Mayfair, Lady Palmerston said, “Before we go in, the library is located behind the second door on the left in the main hall. Since you shall be married quite soon, do refrain from using it. Emilia has created enough scandal for one season.”

There were blatant stares and a hiss of whispers as they were announced. The crowd parted for Lady Palmerston as she guided the couple through the ballroom to Lady Stillmore.

“How are Annabelle and George?” Emilia asked.

“I haven’t heard a word, so I gather they are
quite
well,” she replied, and Lady Palmerston and Devon laughed. Emilia blushed, having an idea what the joke was about.

Devon was admiring the pink flush of her cheeks when a smaller, round man with a mop of pale curls strode up to the group. Devon looked at him through narrowed eyes— he looked familiar; he knew he did not like him, but he could not place the man.

“And if it isn’t the spare, returning after all this time,” the man chuckled, clearly amused at his own attempt at humor, in spite of the fact that no one else was.

Parkhurst, that’s who it was. Phillip’s little friend who had always followed his twin around like a starving puppy. Devon remembered him now, and smiled tightly and nodded.

“Good evening, Parkhurst,” Lady Palmerston said. “Spying on behalf of Lord Huntley?”

“I only came to say hello to an old friend and to offer my congratulations to Miss Highhart. I see that since you couldn’t have Phillip, you settle for a copy. A spare copy,” he said, chuckling again.

Emilia ignored him and looked to Devon to see his reaction. His face was devoid of any expression, but upon looking down, she noticed that his hands had balled into fists. Rather than allow him to start a fight in the middle of the ballroom, she spoke up.

“Thank you, Parkhurst,” she replied sweetly, “but you are well aware that I rejected Phillip, as he would be unable to give me children. Or do you have personal information on the matter that you would like to share?”

Parkhurst turned a shade of red to match Emilia’s hair and stalked off.

“Well done, Emilia. I must be rubbing off on you,” Lady Palmerston said gleefully.

With Parkhurst gone, another man strolled over. He appeared to be in his thirties, and had thinning hair and a pasty complexion.

“I’m Lord Derby. You’re Kensington, right? The second one. You look just like your brother. He’s a good friend of mine, he is,” the man said, pausing and expecting Devon to declare that any friend of Phillip’s was a friend of his. Devon offered a nod and the barest hint of a smile.

Meanwhile, Emilia was engaged in conversation with a woman introduced as the Baroness of Chester. “Miss Highhart, it is such a shame you didn’t marry Phillip instead. He’s just as handsome, and he’ll be a duke!”

“I am quite pleased with my betrothed. And I’m American, remember? Titles don’t matter to us.”

“My dear, titles matter to everyone.” The baroness spoke as if Emilia had declared that breathing wasn’t all that important. “Lady Palmerston, I cannot believe you haven’t talked more sense into your niece.”

“Perhaps, Lady Chester, I should talk some sense into you. My niece has plenty of it.”

Lady Winthrop, upon seeing Emilia’s ring, declared, “If one cannot get a duke, one might as well get a fantastic piece of jewelry!”

Devon forced himself to take a deep breath and to keep silent. As a child, he had wanted to be the heir, just to receive some attention. As he embraced his freedom, he thought himself lucky to not have such a burden. And knowing of the debt that accompanied the title, he still didn’t want it, at least when he was thinking rationally. But tonight, he wanted it. He hated that all these gossipy strangers made him forget himself. He believed Emilia when she said it didn’t matter to her. If it did, she certainly could have accepted Phillip. And she hadn’t.

She stepped aside just then, making room for someone to join the conversation, and as she did so, her hand brushed against his thigh.

As one person would leave, so another would take their place. The only possible means of escape from such tedious conversation was to dance, and Devon swept Emilia into his arms as a waltz was starting. He pulled her scandalously close, which made her shiver in pleasure, and placed his hand low on her back.

“That must have been the longest hour of my life,” Emilia said. “I’m sorry you must go through all of this as well.”

“It is tedious. I think we should take a long trip to the country once we are married. Just the two of us,” he said, resting his cheek against hers.

“Mmm. I would love that,” she replied softly, savoring the warmth of being in his arms. They didn’t speak, but fell into an easy silence. She let all thoughts drift away, and let her senses take over. The scent of soap and something indescribably male. The heat radiating from his body, and becoming hers. Fingers intertwined.

The waltz concluded, and they remained embraced for just a second longer. Emilia felt his head lift away from hers, and his body went rigid.

“Would you care for a walk on the terrace?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied. The fresh air would be nice, but so would being alone with him in the moonlight.

“So there are indeed two of you!” one gentleman declared as they passed by. Emilia looked over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of Phillip standing in the entryway to the ballroom. His eyes were narrowed as they scanned the crowd. She turned around before he could see her.

“He’s here,” she whispered, tripping over her own feet, but held steady by Devon.

“I know,” he replied, stepping aside so she could step onto the terrace, and he followed behind her. Hand in hand, they strolled to the far end of the terrace.

“What are we going to do about him?” Emilia asked. “And why are you smiling at that?”

“Because no one has ever asked me what
we
are going to do about him, it was always what
I
was going to do about him.”

“Well, he is a problem to both of us.”

“I hate that. He’s always been a bother to me, to say the least. And now someone I care very much for is getting dragged into it.” He pushed his fingers through his hair, seemingly in frustration. “And I know it’s all my fault. If I had just introduced myself that night . . .”

“Yes, had you done so it would have saved us a lot of trouble,” she answered honestly. “But it can’t be undone. So let’s not let it bother us. We did find each other at last, anyway.”

“You’re right,” he said, and then repeated the words once more. “So what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know. But I am not going to allow him to ruin my happiness. And I need you to do the same.”

“I’ll try. I can’t promise I will right away. I’ve spent my whole life letting him get the best of my temper, and me,” Devon said. “But I can promise to try.”

Emilia smiled up at him. He took her hand and murmured,“Come here,” before pulling her into his arms. His mouth came down on hers, and for a moment, nothing else in the world mattered at all.

Reluctantly, he ended the kiss. “Let’s go back inside.”

They had not walked very far when an older gentleman stepped in their path. His dark gray hair was clipped short, his face was angular and tense, and his frame was tall and wiry. His clothing and his comportment spoke of wealth and privilege.

“We meet again,” he said with a level stare at Devon.

“Kensington.”

“Your Grace,” Devon responded with a nod, before performing the introductions. Emilia shook the hand of the Duke of Grafton, hoping her expression did not reveal that she had heard of their duel.

“I doubt anyone would fault me if I were to call you out,” Grafton said sternly, and Devon tensed beside Emilia. “Your previous deception begs for it.”

“Oh, please don’t,” Emilia couldn’t help but blurt out. Both men turned to regard her. She read a mixture of awe and pride in her fiancé’s face, and Grafton seemed amused and heartbroken at the same time, probably because, Emilia recalled, his own wife hadn’t demonstrated her loyalty to him.

“Keep her away from your brother,” the duke said finally, gesturing to Emilia and walking away.

Devon exhaled slowly. “Well that went far better than I had anticipated,” he said. His initial instinct upon seeing the duke again was to take Emilia by the hand and run. His reward for staying was the erasure of a fear he had lived with for five years—meeting Grafton at dawn, this time in penance for his own sin. And having his fiancée stand up for him. His doubts about their marriage diminished a little bit.

Though he wished to leave this ball, and further confrontations, he did not suggest it.

Devon decided upon waltzing instead. No one could talk to them, and no one could get close to them for very long. He could hold her against him and look at her as much as he pleased. Had they not been betrothed, their third waltz would have been seen as an engagement announcement. Their fourth waltz had all the guests gossiping. The fifth waltz was a small scandal. But the way they gazed at each other put an end to all the rumors that Miss Highhart might have chosen wrong.

As
Emilia was getting ready for bed that evening—not because she was tired, just because it seemed the thing to do the night before one’s wedding—there was a knock on the door.

“We need to talk,” her aunt declared, shutting the door behind her.

Emilia grinned. Like most young women, she had waited her whole life for this conversation. She had, of course, come to understand a few things, between looking at pictures of art and kissing Devon.

“As my final duty as your chaperone, there are some delicate matters that I must explain to you.” Emilia was wide-eyed and silent, so Lady Palmerston, standing before her with arms akimbo, continued. “I am sure you are aware of some of the facts. I have no wish to know how much you are aware of. On your wedding night, Devon will explain far better than I. Good night, Emilia. It has been a pleasure to act as your chaperone.” She turned to leave the room.