Dev chuckled to himself as he turned to walk toward his uncle’s home. Of course, the first debutante he felt a stirring of interest for in years would be betrothed! More than a stirring of interest, a small voice nudged him, if he were to be honest with himself. No, he’d been entranced, captivated, even, for those few minutes he’d spent alone with her behind the lion’s wagon.

The incident had set him back over an hour. Although her father’s home was indeed, in Mayfair, it was on the outskirts, some distance from the larger, more elaborately built mansions that surrounded his uncle’s home, Prescott House.

Situated in the heart of the exclusive neighborhood, the Prescott ducal townhome was set back from the street and somewhat hidden by centuries-old trees lining the walk. In addition, a wrought iron fence stood guard, providing nearly as much privacy as one would find in any country estate.

If only so much privacy could be had within, as well.

Dev’s father, the duke’s younger and only brother, was most likely in residence, as would be distant cousins, aunts, uncles, and other various types of relations, mostly hailing from the duchess’ side of the family.

Not that they had need to do so, but with so many otherwise unused chambers, it made little sense to take lodgings elsewhere. Prescott House was something of a palace, rather than a mere mansion, large enough for any or all of them to reside inside for days without seeing one another.

That being said, whenever he was in town, since reaching his majority, Dev rented private bachelor’s quarters.

He preferred a modicum of independence to the constant interference of meddling relatives. Although he had no quarrels with his aunt or uncle, he preferred, on principal, that he not be under the duke’s thumb any more so than necessary. He’d seen the effects it could have upon a man. His own father, although a man of independent means, seemed to defer to the duke’s wishes more often than not. Whether this was due to outright agreement or a sense of indebtedness, Dev was not certain. He preferred not discover such a propensity firsthand.

“Captain Brookes.” The longstanding butler, Mr. Evans, damned near stood at attention when he opened the door to admit him. Evans, Dev had learned, had once been a military man and would forever maintain his respect for the dignity of the vocation. “Out of uniform, today, Captain?” he inquired pleasantly, but in surprise.

Dev owed no explanation to servants but nodded and winked at the man. “A disguise, Evans. Ladies are mad for the uniform, you know.” And then, wanting to complete his task as quickly as possible, he said, “Is my father with his grace?”

Mr. Evans nodded affirmatively. “They are not alone, Captain. The duchess, Lord St. John, and Lord Harold joined them not thirty minutes ago.”

Dev pinched his lips together. “A family meeting, eh?”

“I would not know, Captain,” Evans answered predictably.

Dev grimaced and took his time as he sauntered up the stairs and down the familiar corridor.

The door was partially ajar, so he entered unannounced.

“—not necessary to hasten a wedding date.” His cousin Harold’s serious and somber voice carried across the large chamber. Harry spoke as though it were to be a funeral. Surely Harold wasn’t referring to his own wedding?

“Who’s to be wed?” he asked, not bothering to be welcomed into the conversation.

His father and their graces turned satisfied faces toward him as he strolled into the room. His father eyed him warily, noticing immediately, Dev was sure, the absence of his uniform.

“Devlin, my boy.” Prescott glanced up from the papers he’d been perusing. “Harold is betrothed. You’d know this already if you’d bothered stopping by when your regiment returned.”

Good Lord! Harold betrothed?

“This is true, Harry?” Devlin propped himself upon the arm of one of the long leather couches arranged precisely along the lines of an ancient heirloom rug. “Anyone I know?”

“Not unless you’ve been frequenting Almack’s,” St. John interjected, sounding as dry and as bored as usual. Lucas Brookes, the Marques St. John, was Harold’s older brother and Prescott’s heir. He’d been standing in the shadows, preparing to take some snuff.

Almack’s. That was one venue Dev would avoid at all costs.

An image of a petite blonde with porcelain skin intruded into his thoughts. “Not yet, cousin.” She’d probably landed her fiancé there.

“Dev, so wonderful of you to visit. Where have you been hiding?” Floating over in a cloud of perfume, his aunt placed one hand upon his arm and offered her cheek. “You’ve been in London over a fortnight, yet you’ve only just now come to reassure your family of your safe return. Naughty boy.”

“My apologies, Aunt. I’ve been finalizing my latest assignment… and other things…” he trailed off. This was only one of the reasons he chose not to reside at Prescott House.

His father raised a brow. “Colonel Harris’ duel being one of them?” Of course. The duel.

Duels were no longer legal. But when one’s colonel requested a man to act as second for him…

“And other matters.”

“I’d have seconded Harris if he’d asked me. Well done of you, Dev.” St. John spoke up from the shadows again. “Kensington’s actions were appalling. I understand Harris has been forced to send Alice away. She’s utterly ruined.”

Dev would not expand on that. He’d since learned that Alice, the Colonel’s wronged daughter, had not led the chaste life her father had believed. Perhaps it was best for her to be away from London. Get into less trouble that way.

Dev, though, was curious about his younger cousin’s earlier words. “Harold? A bridegroom? I am all astonishment.”

But Harold did not meet his eyes and laugh as Dev expected. “We haven’t set a date.” From Harold’s tone of voice, his younger cousin was none-too-anxious for the happy event. “I’d prefer a small ceremony at Eden’s Court, after the Season’s end, but their graces wish to hold the nuptials here in London.”

“Your fiancée has no opinion on this?” Most women, to his knowledge, were much involved in these sorts of details. And likely the chit would want all pomp and circumstance possible. She was marrying into a duke’s family, after all. What debutante would not wish to share the spectacle of her good fortune with all of London?

“Her family will be amenable to our wishes.” It was his uncle who answered.

Her family?

Poor chit. Or perhaps not. Perhaps she knew exactly what she was getting herself into.

Again, Dev conjured up the lovely Miss Babineaux. She embodied all that was feminine. Her groom, no doubt, eagerly looked forward to their wedding night. He would be wise to provide her with the moon and the stars.

If he didn’t, he’d be a fool.

“The lady best not take issue…” His uncle spoke in a stern voice. “…for all the blunt we’ve put up to secure this charade.” Delightful. Such pleasantness that could only be Prescott. And a charade it was to be? The puzzle pieces logically fell into place now.

“It is an arranged marriage, then?”

Harold laughed ironically. “Did you think I’d fallen madly in love?” Harold had never been a happy person, even as a lad. “Father wants to move the date up. I’ve resigned myself to the institution, and yet it is still not sufficient for his grace.” Tension had flared between Harold and his father for years now. Dev doubted they would ever get past it.

“With everything settled, with the first installment paid, I’ll have a bride for you, and I’ll not wait.” Harold’s frown grew deeper as his father spoke. “The sooner we ease your mother’s worries, the better. What does it matter to you? It’s not as though it will change anything.” Ignoring his son’s obvious reluctance, the duke scribbled some notes on the ledger before him. “Besides, the announcements have been sent. The first of the banns are to be read Sunday.”

Another example of why Dev did not dwell in Prescott House.

Harold’s shoulders drooped in sullen defeat. “Does Mr. Scofield know? Does she?”

“Mr. Scofield is as eager as I to have this done. You may inform her tomorrow night at the theatre. They are to attend as our guests, of course.” Prescott’s disdain insulted his son more than a raving tirade would have.

“Do join us, Dev.” The duchess spoke up, dispelling some of the tension. She’d grown rather adept at that, soothing over the ruffled feathers created by her husband and sons. “Welcome her into the family with us.”

Dev nodded, sorry for his cousin. What a twisted world this was…

“What is it that’s brought on this visit, Devlin?” His father’s question broke into Dev’s thoughts. “Not that we aren’t pleased to be graced with your presence.”

So, his would be a family discussion after all. No reason to hem and haw, then.

“I’ve sold out. Signed the papers on an estate in the country, and as of this morning am a landed gentleman.” He would not soften the blow, so to speak. It was not his way.

He expected disappointment. He knew his uncle nurtured hopes of him achieving the status of colonel. He was less certain as to what his father’s reaction would be.

The room fell silent for a moment before his aunt stepped forward and embraced him. “I am so glad!” She effused her approval.

But Dev kept his eyes upon his father. He tried not to be concerned with pleasing family, but his father’s good will mattered.

Prescott reclined in his chair. “I would have provided an estate for you — something to cut your teeth on. In the country, you say? You’ve not much experience with land stewardship.”

But Dev’s father rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You have earned it, I’m certain. You’ll learn the way of the land, the ways of the people. I know that you will succeed in whatever you set your mind to.”

Dev let out a breath he had not realized he’d been holding. He’d warred with a few niggling doubts. Was he taking the coward’s way out? He knew this was not the case, and yet… His father’s blessing reassured him of his decision.

“So, you will not be leaving England for months at a time? This is wonderful news! We won’t have the constant worry for your safe return. And we will once again have your company for the holidays, and for birthdays. Oh, Prescott…” She turned toward her husband. “…this is wonderful news indeed.”

St. John finally stepped out of the darkness. He was tall, slim, and Dev thought, more duke-ish than his father. “Well, if we aren’t to toast Harold’s wedding, then perhaps we ought to toast Dev’s new status.” He poured a splash of scotch in a short glass and handed it over. The others already held some sort of drink in their hands. “To Dev,” they all said.

“To Dev,” Harold echoed.

The drinks were tossed back heartily.

Wonderful.

* * *

When Miss Mossant had first hinted to Dev that the ladies would be in the park this afternoon, Dev had thought it would be unwise to accept the bait.

As a rule, he never dallied with engaged women. Married women, perhaps, if they were sophisticated and knowledgeable in the ways of the world. But even so… he preferred to avoid love triangles completely. Less complicated that way.

Less dangerous that way.

However, Miss Rhododendron Mossant was not spoken for. The dark-haired lady seemed interesting enough and was quite pleasant to look at. Perhaps Miss Babineaux would bring her fiancé along, and Devlin could size the gentleman up. He had saved the minx’s life, after all. He felt almost responsible for her!

Perhaps the ladies wouldn’t even come. Or they’d been and gone already. Why, afternoon could mean practically anything!

With such logical intentions settled, he strolled — for no reason whatsoever — along the calm waters of the Serpentine on the appointed day at the height of the afternoon.

He’d not realized people thought to feed the water fowl. Didn’t most of the ton come here simply to feed their own hunger for gossip? Or to show off a new hat, or bonnet, or some other faradiddle?

He laughed at himself.

And then his laughter turned to one of pleasure. She was here.

Across the grass he caught sight of a petite woman with soft blond curls trailing a leash. At the opposite end, a long reddish pup pranced along in front of her.

It took a moment for him to register that her friend walked beside her, Miss Mossant, yes, Miss Mossant. The girls complemented each other in a most attractive way. One tall, dark, and slim, the other shorter, golden, and softly rounded.

No fiancé in sight, damn his eyes.

He watched as they reached into a cloth bag and offered pieces of bread to the more courageous ducks approaching them. It did not take long for every duck in sight to surround the two ladies.

One might think ladies of the ton would be intimidated by such fowlish exuberance.

Not these girls.

Their giggling and laughter floated across the park almost musically.

As he watched, Miss Sophia Babineaux, with a flourished twirling, tipped the bag upside down and turned it inside out. Any last crumbs scattered and were pounced upon eagerly.

The ducks, it seemed, had experienced this before and knew no more plunder was to be had.

As they waddled away, Dev sauntered toward the ladies.

“No chaperone, again?” he asked.

Smiling, Miss Mossant pointed toward two tittering maids seated on a bench several yards away. They were obviously caught up in their own gossip and oblivious to both Miss Mossant’s and Miss Babineaux’s affairs. “The best kind!”

Miss Babineaux eyed him suspiciously. He did not blame her for doing so. His actions yesterday were not exactly those of a well-intentioned gentleman.

Her canine, however, gazed at him adoringly. Taking whatever welcome he might find, he crouched down and scratched the back of Peaches’ head.

“She is afraid of the ducks. She only barked at them once, and they nearly quacked her head off for it,” Miss Babineaux explained.

Her voice touched something elusive inside of him. Not long ago, he’d held this little bundle in his arms, tasted her lips…

Looking up, he studied her as his hand massaged the dog’s neck. “She’s a good dog. How long have you had her?”

“Almost four years now.” With her hair in ringlets, dressed in lace and pastels, she appeared to all the world a simple miss. And yet… her eyes were guarded. Something troubling lurked behind her smile. Something… dark?

The dog licked his wrist before Dev rose.

“You are still in town.” Miss Mossant addressed him, drawing his attention away from Miss Babineaux. “How delightful for us! We can thank you again for your assistance yesterday. You are quite the hero, Captain.”

“My pleasure, ladies.” Dev spoke cautiously.

Miss Mossant watched him from beneath fluttering eyelashes — fluttering and flirtatious eyelashes. She was a beautiful woman in her own right, but the ladies seemed to be the closest of friends. This could become complicated if he did not watch himself.

He ought not to have come. He would converse briefly with the two of them and then bid them farewell.

Intentionally keeping both women in his sights, he would not appear to single either of them out.

“A circus is in town.” The words left his mouth of their own volition. Good God, what was he doing?

Brilliant blue eyes flickered with interest. “Is that why the animals are in town? They’re not here for the menagerie then?” He remembered now, that in spite of the danger she and her dog had been in, she’d been concerned for the lion.

“They are not. They’ve set up not far from Westminster Bridge, just off Church Street.” Dev could escort both ladies to the spectacle.

“The lion is there?” An unmistakable light of curiosity entered her eyes.

He’d caught her attention.

Dev nodded, oddly satisfied. He’d rarely, if ever, actively pursued a lady of the ton. A gentleman was bound by too many rules.

He was likely to stumble into one of many traps.

All too aware of her engagement, he nevertheless could not prevent himself from watching her: the curve of her mouth, the gloss of a curl as it fell casually along her silky cheek.

She was a well-bred, genteel young woman, as was Miss Mossant. And strictly speaking, he’d not yet been properly introduced to either of them. He had no knowledge of the two women’s families, nor they of his. He was going to have to remedy this.

“I’ve brought my conveyance today.” He dared her.

Miss Babineaux seemed to consider his invitation for a moment, but then she sighed. Her expression, he noted, showed reluctance.

“I cannot take Peaches.” She then looked over at her friend. “But Rhoda, you should go. I will make up some excuse and send your maid home. You oughtn’t miss it for my sake.”

“Really, Soph? You wouldn’t mind?” It seemed, Dev thought ruefully, he was getting his due. Not that he minded escorting the other woman… but he’d hoped…

“No,” Miss Babineaux reassured her friend and then glanced over at Dev and frowned.

Dev knew she was not indifferent to him, although she might wish that she were. Dev forced himself to turn toward the other lady. “Miss Mossant?”

“Rhoda, go with Captain Brookes,” Miss Babineaux urged her friend once again. “I’ll take Peaches home. I’ve a great deal of letter writing to catch up on anyhow.”

Dev forced a smile. It was early in the day, and letter writing was a weak excuse indeed.

It seemed she did not intend to stray.

Again, anyhow.

“Won’t you join me, Miss Mossant?” He bowed in the direction of the taller, darker lady. She was quite lovely in her own right. He ought not to feel so disappointed.

“I’d be delighted.” Her warm eyes sparkled as she took his arm. Miss Babineaux scooped her dog up and turned to leave just as Miss Mossant abruptly halted their progress. “Oh, no! Except I cannot! I rescheduled my fitting with Madam Chantel for today! After breaking my appointment yesterday, I cannot possibly miss another one. Madam would be livid!”

Miss Mossant looked crestfallen and dropped his arm reluctantly. “You go, Soph. Church Street isn’t far, and I can drop Peaches off with your mother.” Miss Babineaux went to protest, but her dear friend persisted as she gathered Peaches into her own arms. “I’ll take care of everything. You are the one who will wed soon. You ought to have a little fun. Go, Sophia… Go!”

Not allowing for any argument, the taller girl tucked Peaches under her chin and strolled confidently away.

And just like that, Dev was alone with this engaged lady.

The lady who’d occupied his thoughts, quite persistently, for the past twenty-four hours.