When he spoke, his tone had changed. “You didn’t dye it.”
“Give that to me.” Kathleen thrust her arm through the doorway.
Devon picked it up. A slow smile crossed his face. “Do you wear it often?”
“Hand me my shawl, please.”
Devon brought it to her, deliberately taking his time. He should have been mortified by his indecent state of undress, but he seemed entirely comfortable, the great shameless peacock.
As soon as the shawl was within reach, Kathleen snatched it from him.
Casting aside her damp towel, she pulled the shawl around herself. The garment was comforting and familiar, the soft wool warming her instantly.
“I couldn’t bring myself to ruin it,” she said grudgingly. She was tempted to tell him that even though the gift had been inappropriate… the truth was, she loved it. There were days when she wasn’t certain whether the gloomy widow’s weeds were reflecting her melancholy mood or causing it, and when she pulled the brilliant shawl over her shoulders, she felt instantly better.
No gift had ever pleased her as much.
She couldn’t tell him that, but she wanted to.
“You look beautiful in those colors, Kathleen.” His voice was low and soft.
She felt her face prickle. “Don’t use my first name.”
“By all means,” Devon mocked, glancing down at his towel-clad form, “let’s be formal.”
She made the mistake of following his gaze, and colored deeply at the sight of him… the intriguing dark hair on his chest, the way the muscle of his stomach seemed to have been carved like mahogany fretwork.
A knock came at the bedroom door. Kathleen retreated deeper into the bathroom like a turtle withdrawing in its shell.
“Come in, Sutton,” she heard Devon say.
“Your clothes, sir.”
“Thank you. Lay them out on the bed.”
“Won’t you require assistance?”
“Not today.”
“You will dress yourself?” the valet asked, bewildered.
“I’ve heard that some men do,” Devon replied sardonically. “You may leave now.”
The valet heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Yes, sir.”
After the door had opened and closed again, Devon said, “Give me a minute. I’ll be dressed soon.”
Kathleen didn’t reply, thinking to her dismay that she would never be able to look at him without being aware of what was beneath those elegant layers of clothing.
Over the rustle of cloth, Devon said, “You’re welcome to occupy the master bedroom, if you like. It was your room before it was mine.”
“No, I don’t want it.”
“As you prefer.”
She was desperate to change the subject. “We need to discuss the tenants,” she said. “As I mentioned in the telegram —”
“Later. There’s no point in talking about it without my brother’s participation. The housekeeper said that he has gone to Wiltshire. When will he return?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Why did he go?”
“To consult with an expert about modern farming methods.”
“Knowing my brother,” Devon said, “it’s more likely he’s gone a-whoring.”
“Apparently you don’t know him, then.” Not only was she pleased to be able to contradict him, she was affronted on West’s behalf. “Mr. Ravenel has worked very hard ever since he arrived here. I daresay he has learned more about the tenants and estate farms than anyone, including the land agent. Spend a few minutes reading the reports and ledgers he keeps in the study, and you’ll change your tune.”
“We’ll see.” Devon pushed open the bathroom door. He was fully clothed in a gray wool suit, although he wore no necktie, and his cuffs and collar had been left unfastened. His face was expressionless. “Will you help with this?” he asked, extending his arm.
Hesitantly Kathleen reached out to fasten one of his loose cuffs. The backs of her knuckles brushed the skin on the inside of his wrist, where the skin was blood-heated and smooth. Acutely aware of the measured sound of his breathing, she fastened the other cuff. Reaching up to the sides of his open shirt collar, she drew them together and proceeded to fasten them with a small gold stud that had been left dangling in the buttonhole. As she slid her fingers beneath the front of the collar, she could feel the ripple of his swallow.
“Thank you,” Devon said. There was a slight rasp in his voice, as if his throat had gone dry.
As he turned to leave, Kathleen said, “Please take care not to be seen when you leave the room.”
Devon paused at the door and glanced back at her. The familiar taunting gleam appeared in his eyes. “Have no fear. I’m accomplished at making a discreet exit from a lady’s bedroom.” He grinned at her scowl, looked out into the hallway, and slipped from the room.
Chapter 12
Devon’s smile vanished as soon as he left the master bedroom. With no destination in mind, he wandered along the hallway until he reached a connecting space with an inset window niche. It led to a cramped circular stair that spiraled upward to servants’ rooms and garrets. The ceiling was so low that he was obliged to duck his head to pass through. A house as old as Eversby Priory had undergone multiple expansions over the decades, the additions creating odd and unexpected nooks. He found the effect less charming than other people might have; eccentricity was not something he valued in architecture.
Lowering to sit on a narrow step, Devon braced his forearms on his knees and bent his head. He let out a shaking breath. It had been the most exquisite torment he had ever suffered, standing there with Kathleen pressed against him. She had trembled like a newborn foal straining to stand. He’d never wanted anything in his life as much as he’d wanted to turn her to face him, and take her mouth with long, searching kisses until she melted against him.
Groaning faintly, he rubbed the inside of one of his wrists, where a glow of heat lingered as if he’d been branded by her touch.
What had his valet started to say about Kathleen? Why had she refused to sleep in the master bedroom after Theo’s death? The memory of her last argument with her husband must have something to do with it… but could it be something more? Perhaps the wedding night had been unpleasant for her. Privileged young women were often kept in ignorance about such matters until they were married.