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.
Chapter 19
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.”
“I didn’t steal it. I was going to return it to St. John as soon as—” She closed her lips over the words.
Malcolm unclenched his jaw. “You were waiting for the ring to prove its magic, weren’t you? But nothing happened, so you kept it, waiting.”
Murien’s face flooded with color. “Don’t laugh! You took it to Kat, but nothing happened when it was on her finger, either.”
“Nay,” Malcolm said, eyeing Murien’s closed fist with interest. “Something did happen.”
Devon’s gaze went to Kat. She flushed and shrugged. “It grew warm, that’s all.”
Murien’s expression tightened. “Warm? How warm?”
“Very. So much so that I—well, I could feel it inside.”
“I don’t understand.” Murien peered at the ring. “I’ve held it and held it and it still feels cold. So cold that it makes my hand ache and—”
Fiona took the ring from Murien. “You owe St. John an apology.” She crossed the room and handed the talisman ring to Devon. “Here you are, sir. I ask for forgiveness for the actions of my family.”
Devon looked down at the ring. It lay against his palm, sparkling as if newly minted. That was one
of the ring’s odder characteristics—that it never appeared old, but always new.
Always new. The words echoed softly through Devon’s mind. Would that he could keep his feelings for Kat always new. Then he’d have no compunction about marrying her.
Marrying her. Good God, where had that come from?
Did he want to marry Kat? His fingers curled over the ring and he searched his heart for the answer. It was not long in coming…the truth was that he loved Kat Macdonald. And in a way he’d never thought himself capable.
Of the many women he’d once thought he’d loved only to become un-enamored of them in a remarkably short time, he’d never once awakened with the urgent need to tell them some news or thought. He’d never before wondered about their opinions on matters near to his heart or found himself storing up questions that might loosen some bit of information about them or their thoughts and feelings.
The reason his love for Kat was so different was that he had been different. In getting her to open to him, he’d opened his own heart and soul to her. And in doing so, he’d found a woman of gentleness and compassion that answered something deep inside him.
He loved Kat Macdonald. And suddenly he knew it was forever. The ring began to warm, sending a tingle up his arm. He opened his fingers and looked at it in amazement. How could he have ever run from it? From his fate? “Thank you,” he said quietly, and then slipped the ring into his waistcoat pocket.
“Murien,” Fiona said, turning back to her sister. “Perhaps you should join the other guests. We will be along shortly.”
“But I—”
“That is all, Murien.” Fiona’s voice rose in frosty dismissal.
Murien stiffened. “Fiona, do not speak to me that way.”
“Why not? You stole St. John’s ring.”
“Yes but—Malcolm did the same thing.”
Malcolm snorted. “All I did was borrow it for a wee hour, no more. You’ve kept it for days. Had Kat not so obviously won over St. John, you would have the ring with you still.”
“Won over?” Murien laughed. “What do you mean by that?”
“You saw them kiss and…other things. Everyone did.”
“Yes,” Murien said, a faint aura of superiority on her face. “But it doesn’t matter. You cannot make St. John marry Kat for that; she’s already ruined. She has no reputation to protect.”
Kat’s face flooded with color. Devon wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms, but something about the stiff set of her shoulders halted him. She had her pride, and she would not welcome a gesture from him that might be interpreted as pity. So instead he sent a cool glance toward Murien. “I don’t know what you’re speaking about.”
“Oh? Let me tell you, then. When she was seventeen, Kat—”
“I know about that,” Devon said dismissively. “I just meant that I don’t know what you mean when you say she has no reputation to protect. She has a reputation for many things, including her excellent glasswork, as well as her kindness, capability, caring, and intelligence.”
Kat looked at him, bemusement on her face. But Murien was not so quiet. She made an impatient noise. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but it’s—”
“None of your concern,” Fiona said firmly. “Murien, it is time you left. Now.”
“But I—”
“Either you go, or I will tell Mother how you embarrassed us all by sneaking into St. John’s bedchamber and stealing a family heirloom.”
“You wouldn’t dare!”
“Try me. And you know what she’d do. You’d never see Edinburgh again, much less London.”
There was a long moment of silence. Murien looked resentfully from Fiona to Devon. “I suppose there isn’t any need for me to stay, is there?”
“No,” Malcolm said flatly.
“None at all,” Devon added. “Even if the St. John talisman ring began to glow red-hot with your name printed on the side, I would never marry you.”
Her face flushed a dull red, but she kept her head high. “Very well. I will leave.” She turned, but then paused. “Of course, that means that you have lost your wager, Fiona. And your marriage. I hope you’re happy.”
With those bitter words, she swept from the room, slamming the door behind her.
Malcolm looked at Fiona. “I’ve never heard you speak so firmly to her before.”
Fiona gave a faint shrug, her shoulders seemingly weighted. “It was overdue. I-I suppose I shall return to our guests as well.” She made as if to turn, but Malcolm’s hand closed over her arm.
“Stay,” he said softly. “Please? Perhaps you can help me sort this out.”
Her eyes widened, but after a moment, she nodded.
Devon knew the time had come. He and Kat both knew the rules of society, but when they were together, the rules seemed to vanish. They became unimportant in the face of other things, like passion, and companionship, and love.
He turned to Kat and took her hand in his. “Kat, this is not the way I’d thought to do this, but I want to make things right. For now and for always. Will you marry me?” “No.”
The word echoed in the silence that followed. Devon could not believe his ears.
She bent her head. “Devon, thank you but…I do not want to marry you.”
A thick ache arose in his throat, and he suddenly realized that though he knew his feelings, he didn’t know hers. Or he hadn’t until now. He raked a hand through his hair, wondering what he was supposed to do now, feel now, think now.
She didn’t love him. She had refused his offer of marriage without even pausing. It had cut to his soul, and he found that he could not breathe, could not think. Love was not supposed to be painful, was it? Or so despairing. Had he known it would hurt so, he would never have allowed it to happen.
Damn the talisman ring. This was the retribution he received for having lost it. Unless…what if the legacy of the ring was not, as he’d thought, marriage? What if it was merely the act of finding one’s true love? And in that act, many things could happen, marriage being one of them.
Or heartbreak.
Malcolm blinked as if as bewildered at Kat’s answer as Devon was. “Kat, lassie, do you know what you’re saying?”
“I know,” she said, her gaze locked on her hands, clasped in her lap.
A mirthless smile touched Devon’s lips. He had feared that blasted ring all these years because he’d thought it represented the inevitable loss of his freedom. Now that he would have welcomed that loss, he found that it was all moonshine…An untruth. A fabled myth.
Good God, it did not bear thinking of. Just as he was ready to accept marriage—even to welcome it—it was denied to him. She had said no.
Devon looked at Kat. It was then that he saw what his pain had not allowed him to see before: Kat was crying. Not just a few droplets, either, but streaks of tears, trailing silently down her face. Her lip quivered, but no sound came out. Just a soft gasp of air as if she were drowning in her own sorrows.
Her pride, he realized. That was what was keeping them apart. It wasn’t that she didn’t love him at all.
Relief sang through his veins and he reached for one of his handkerchiefs, but Malcolm was quicker.
The Scotsman muttered a curse and dug a handkerchief from one of his pockets and then pressed the scrap of linen in his sister’s hands. “Och, don’t cry. If you feel that strongly about it, you don’t have to marry St. John.” He sent a hard glance at Devon. “Does she?”
Devon jaw tightened and his mind sprang into action. After a long moment, he shook his hand. “Actually, I believe she does have to marry me.” His chest felt weighted, but he ignored it. If he did not say and do exactly the right thing in the next few moments, he stood to lose the love of his life. And that was what Katherine Macdonald was—the end and beginning of his life. He was just starting to realize that fact.
The real beauty of it was, he’d found his true love, his soul mate, and he hadn’t needed the blasted ring at all. All h
e’d needed was to slow down enough to listen to his own heart. And his heart told him without question, without doubt, that Katherine Macdonald was the woman he’d been searching for for so long.
Life without her would be nothing but a long string of sad disappointments, missed laughter, and aching loneliness, and he’d already had enough of that to last a lifetime.
The problem was, though he was unwilling to face life without her, for some stubborn reason, she was all too willing to live life without him. Perhaps it was because she’d spent the years since her public humiliation telling herself she didn’t want someone else, didn’t need anyone else…but what she hadn’t yet realized was that love wasn’t about needing someone in your life. It was about wanting someone.
There was only one way he could fix it all—mend Kat’s tattered reputation, quiet the gossips at Kilkairn Castle, and never again wonder if he could love someone forever.
Devon crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels. “Malcolm, I have been compromised and I demand satisfaction.”
An explosive silence met this pronouncement. Devon didn’t blame them; it was never something he’d ever thought to hear himself say.
Malcolm’s brow lowered. “What are you saying, St. John?”
Devon turned to Kat. She sat still as a stone, hands tightly gripped in her lap, her cheeks pale. She’d managed to partially dry her eyes, Malcolm’s handkerchief twisted between her fingers. “Kat, I hate to tell your brother our secrets, but ’tis necessary.”
“Secrets?” She blinked up at him, her lashes spiked with wetness. “We have none.”
“We’ve one or two. I just want you to know that ’tis necessary.”
Her brow lowered and he could see she was trying to discern his meaning.
Meanwhile, he turned to Malcolm. “Prior to this, my reputation was spotless. Reparation must be made. I demand that Katherine Macdonald marry me.”