Galwin just wanted to make sure Claire was safe. That was the only reason he followed her into the earl’s private area.

At least, that was what he told himself.

But the truth was, he’d been watching her from afar ever since he’d walked away from her. Something in him refused to let her be.

He was fascinated. Obsessed, even. And, it could not be denied, he was also inexplicably and overwhelmingly possessive. A rare trait, indeed.

As soon as he walked away it occurred to him that someone else might ask her to dance. He hovered nearby to see who the upstart would be so he could ensure she was in good hands.

Again, that was what he told himself.

But no one approached her, quite surprisingly considering her beauty, and she seemed content to make conversation with her sister.

He’d watched her for far too long from his perch on the balcony. Were he not a gentleman, he might have been mistaken for some nefarious lurker with unsavory intentions.

But he was a gentleman, he assured himself as he watched her head down a private hallway. And as such it was his duty to ensure that she was safe. After all, that Swattle fellow could have seen her slip away just as he had. He could have been following her, too, and whereas Galwin’s intentions were noble—mostly—he had no doubt that the other man’s were not.

It did not take a genius to see the evil in the baron’s eyes. He’d seen the malice clear as day when Claire had claimed her dance card was full. It wouldn’t surprise him if the oaf lashed out in some way. And if he did, Galwin intended to be near.

It wasn’t until he was hovering before the closed door he’d seen her slip through that he was forced to face the truth.

While he was concerned for her safety, the correct thing to do would be to send one of her sisters after her. Or even one of her brothers or her brother-in-law. There were plenty of people at this ball who could look after Claire, and all of whom had more of a right to that honor than he.

His hand hovered over the doorknob.

He should leave her be, but he could not. Even as he struggled with his decision, he knew what he would do.

He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Whatever had happened tonight between them, it was nothing he’d ever experienced before.

It was love.

He nearly scoffed aloud at the thought. Of course it wasn’t love.

Wasn’t it?

He found that he couldn’t argue the point, not even within himself. Perhaps Claire was right and the emotion was based on natural urges. Maybe this was just desire… But he did not think so.

He was fascinated by her intelligence, her wit, her passion. The way her wild abandon tonight so thoroughly contradicted everything he’d thought he knew about this woman.

He grasped the doorknob, still uncertain of what he would say to her, only knowing that something needed to be said. Or done.

His mind called up an image of those perfectly plump lips. Perhaps he just needed to kiss her again to sort out this jumble of emotions that had turned into a raging inferno over the course of one evening. He started to twist the knob. Yes, he would kiss her, and perhaps then he’d know the right words to say—something to appease this feeling that the night had ended much too quickly and without any sort of resolve.

He needed some sort of resolution with this woman. Some sort of understanding.

He drew in a deep breath. He needed to know if she felt the same.

“I would not go in there if I were you.”

The deep, quite frankly terrifying voice behind him was unmistakable. One did not call him the devil for nothing. Davenport was glowering when Galwin whipped around to face him.

Galwin forced a smile, one that came from years of bluffing at the gaming tables. “Davenport, old man. Splendid party you’ve thrown here.”

Davenport did not return his smile. If anything, his glower turned ominously dark. “Why are you following Miss Cleveland?”

Galwin’s face fell. Damn. He’d been caught. He opened his mouth, ready to play the village idiot. Following whom? You must be mistaken!

But one look in those knowing eyes and at that grim expression and his words died in his throat. From what he could tell, no one played the fool around the Devil of Davenport and lived to tell the tale.

“I will ask you one more time, Galwin, before I throw you out of here with my own two hands. What business do you have with my sister-in-law?”

Galwin blinked and stammered slightly. Hell, he’d never stammered a day in his life. But then, he’d never come face to face with the devil before either. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “My lord, there seems to be a misunderstanding.”

The earl arched one brow. “Now is not the time to prevaricate, Galwin. Not unless you wish to meet at dawn.”

Galwin opened his mouth and then shut it again just as quickly. What was this about? Suspicion formed an angry pit in his stomach. Something was not right. What was Davenport doing here seeking him out? There was no reason for the man to leap to conclusions, particularly when it came to Claire. Not unless…

Oh no.

“There are whispers,” Davenport said, crossing his arms over his chest as he gave Galwin a damning glare that spoke clearly as to who he blamed for those whispers.

“Whispers, my lord?” Galwin became increasingly aware of Claire’s presence on the other side of the door. More than anything, he wished to protect her. “I can assure you that whatever you have heard—”

“I would not have believed it,” Davenport continued as though Galwin had not spoken, his watchful gaze darting between him and the closed door. “Let me be precise, I definitely would not believe any rumors of impropriety on Claire’s behalf.”

The earl’s glower made it clear that he would believe rumors that besmirched Galwin’s character. Irritation at the other man’s smug righteousness made him stiffen, but he couldn’t quite muster the appropriate level of outrage.

He had, in fact, developed a well-deserved reputation for being a shameless flirt and perhaps even a rake. It was a reputation he’d become quite proud of, in a way. He adored the fact that his presence at parties made women flutter their fans as they whispered and blushed. He loved not having the same rigid expectations of propriety and decorum that his elder brother was forced to adhere to as heir to the dukedom.

But now, in this moment, he despised the fact that his past transgressions reflected poorly on Claire, and worse, there was nothing he could say to defend himself. Particularly since he was not certain what rumors were spreading. If he spoke now he could incriminate Claire even further.

Damn. He wished more than anything that he could have a moment alone with her to get their stories straight before dealing with Davenport.

But Davenport hardly looked as though he were in a patient mood and Galwin suspected he should be grateful that this conversation was not being conducted at sword point.

“Might I ask what exactly those rumors were about?” he asked. He needed more information if he were to talk their way out of this situation.

“A certain boorish baron is telling anyone who will listen that you and Claire were alone in the garden together.”

Hell and damnation. He was going to throttle Swattle before this night was through. Davenport was watching him closely so he forced a laugh he did not feel.

“Claire Cleveland?” he said, his tone full of incredulity. “Davenport, you should know as well as anyone that dutiful maids are hardly the company I seek when I am looking for a late night rendezvous in the gardens.”

Davenport’s lips curled up in a sneer that Galwin felt in his gut. He deserved that condemning, judgmental glare—not because of his roguish ways but because he had slighted Claire.

Beautiful, lovely, spirited Claire.

He very nearly rolled his eyes at his own musings. Good Lord, even his internal monologue was besotted with the woman. Was this what those poor, poetry-minded sops were on about when they wrote those odes? Clearly he had been cursed by the same spell for he found himself itching to write verses about her hair, her eyes, and most particularly her lips.

Bloody hell, he needed to rein in these ridiculous notions before he drew himself and Claire into a situation they couldn’t get out of.

Not that he would mind, necessarily.

He stared at Davenport with astonishment as that idea took root. He toyed with it, turning it over and dissecting it as the other man studied him as though he could read all he needed to know in his posture.

To Galwin’s surprise, Davenport let out a weary sigh and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Bloody hell, what has Claire gotten herself into?”

He opened his mouth to respond but Davenport did not give him the chance. “Whatever is going on between you two, it ends now. You will have nothing to do with her from this point forward, understand?”

Of all the ways this conversation could go, that was Galwin’s least favorite option. He realized with a start that he would have preferred a wedding at gunpoint to being told that he was banned from seeing Claire again.

Was that true? Would he really prefer marriage to a lifetime of watching Claire from a distance but never again tasting those lips, or hearing her voice, or holding her delicate frame in his arms?

Yes. Unequivocally and undeniably, yes.

“What is it?” Davenport asked, his voice gruff with what was clearly unwanted concern. “Are you ill or something?”

Galwin watched in fascination as the earl looked around with uncharacteristic unease. “I’ll fetch a footman to help you to a sitting room.”

“That will not be necessary.” Galwin gathered his wits about him long enough to hide the horror that had filled his body at the prospect of a life without Claire.

That threat put this situation very neatly into perspective. Whatever happened, he would not lose Claire.

But does Claire want to be ensnared? The voice taunted him.

Oh hell. He finally found a woman who stirred longings of wedded bliss and she was temporarily off limits in the marriage market.

After all these years of avoiding marriage-minded mamas, wasn’t that just bloody ironic?

No, it was not ironic. It was a damned inconvenience.

He studied Davenport the way the other man had regarded him. The situation was undesirable, perhaps, but not untenable. There was a way this could work in his favor. A way that perhaps he could give Claire the space and freedom while protecting her honor at the same time.

But his plan would require assistance. His eyes narrowed on Davenport. This man looked disinclined to help Galwin to anything…other than a sick bed, perhaps. But he clearly cared about Claire and her happiness. Or, if not her happiness, then his wife’s, which was one and the same.

He knew the Clevelands well enough to know that those siblings might argue and disagree, but they were loyal to the end.

“See here, Davenport, you might not like me, but believe me when I say that I have no wish to harm Claire or her reputation.”

He forced himself to hold the earl’s menacing glare. Davenport gave nothing away. Keenly aware of Claire’s proximity, Galwin tried to focus on the task at hand and not what was at stake. Namely, her happiness.

And his.

It was with a jolt that he realized the two were now one and the same. How had that happened? And when.

It mattered not. Not at this particular moment, anyway.

Davenport eyed him from head to toe and Galwin had a suspicion he came up lacking. “You and I might not run in the same circles, but I know of you.” The earl gave him a smirk that made his opinion clear. “And from what I know, I cannot imagine why I should trust you.”

Anger warred with shame. That was, until he remembered with whom he was speaking. He narrowed his eyes and straightened to his full height, which was an even match for the dark, brooding earl. “As this city’s resident devil, you ought to know better than anyone that rumors are not always true.” Although in Galwin’s case, they often were. “And they rarely give the full story.”

That much was true. For, no matter what the earl had heard tonight, he most definitely did not know the full extent of what had gone on between him and Claire.

For better or for worse.

Davenport did not know that he had kissed her and touched her and held her so close, his soul ached. And he also did not know that his interactions with Claire this evening had forever altered his view of himself, society, the world…

Not to put too fine a point on it, but Claire Cleveland had turned Galwin’s world on its head tonight. Nothing would ever be the same for him, least of all his heart.

Davenport seemed unmoved by his speech. If anything, Galwin was fairly certain he’d irritated the irritable man even more with his mention of his moniker. Or retired moniker, he supposed, now that the earl had reformed his rakish image for the woman he loved.

That thought renewed his determination. If anyone should understand his plight, it was this man right here. He let out an exasperated sigh, no longer trying to match the earl in mulishness. Pride be damned. He had a woman’s reputation to save and a wife to win. “Fine. I have made my share of mistakes and I admit it. But if you know anything about me it is that I have been a devoted friend to Jed, and he to me.”

He saw a flicker of acknowledgement cross the earl’s gaze. He would not try to deny that, at least. He saw the opening and seized it, letting his voice convey his sincerity and ardor. “If you do not believe that I care about Claire, trust that I would never harm Jed’s sister.” He met the earl’s gaze. “Any of his sisters.”

Some of Davenport’s grim anger seemed to ease at that. Grudgingly, the other man nodded. “Very well. Let us say that I trust you.” His voice turned to a growl. “How do you mean to remedy this situation?”

The threat was clear in his voice. And you had better remedy this situation…or else.

He ignored it. He did not need the other man’s threats to make this right for Claire. “I will marry her.”

Davenport stared at him for a moment. Then he blinked. Once, then twice. “And does Claire wish to marry you?”

No. “That has not been made clear.”

Davenport scowled. “I see.”

And Galwin was nearly certain that the earl did see…everything. “I will not force Claire into a marriage she does not want.”

Yes, he clearly did see. Even without speaking to Claire, her brother-in-law could see that she deserved better than him.

And she did. She deserved a better man—one who had not spent his adulthood developing a reputation that was unworthy of her or his family name.

Amazing how one night with one woman could make him regret a lifetime of bad choices. More than that, an entire philosophy of life. One that was based solely on seeking out the pleasures of the flesh. A view of life that was selfish and short-sighted.

Because now he knew that the pleasures of the flesh that he truly desired were linked permanently to the pleasures of his heart.

Bloody hell, falling in love had turned him quite suddenly into a blathering fool. It was alarming, really. He would have to rein that in lest Claire witness his descent into lovestruck idiocy.

Love. That was what this was, he was certain of it now. He just had to prove it to Claire. And make her see that she felt the same—a task made that much more difficult by the fact that she clearly did not believe in love.

The task ahead seemed daunting. He had to prove to Claire that love existed in the first place, and then make her see that she felt this emotion for him.

And she had to feel the same, didn’t she? Wasn’t that how love worked?

He found himself matching the earl’s scowl. How the hell was he supposed to know? He’d never been in love before. Perhaps his love was of the unrequited variety. That was a legitimate thing, he assumed. It was written about often enough.

Davenport crossed his arms over his chest. “I will talk to Claire and if she—”

“No.”

“No?” Judging by Davenport’s shocked roar, Galwin guessed it was the first time the other man had heard that particular word. “This is my house and Claire is my responsibility. I will not be—”

“Hear me out,” Galwin interrupted. His voice was sharp and he glared at the notorious earl. He had no time for niceties or etiquette. Not now when his future and Claire’s happiness were at stake.

His interruption had the desired effect of shocking Davenport into silence long enough for him to get a word in. When he spoke, his thoughts came out rushed and ineloquent, but the gist was there. “Claire deserves to marry a man who loves her. She has finally had a taste of freedom, thanks to your marriage to her sister, and it would be a crime to tell her now that she has gone from needing to wed for money to needing to wed to save her reputation.”

He stopped to draw in breath and saw that the earl looked as though he might protest, but then clamped his mouth shut. He took that to mean that Davenport understood. And he should. If anyone knew what the Cleveland siblings had gone through and their close call with financial ruin, it was this man—the man who saved them by bailing them out when he wed Anne.

“Are you saying you are in love with Claire?”

That was not the question he’d been expecting. He bristled at the personal question. “I am saying that she deserves better than a rushed wedding and whispered rumors. She deserves a courtship and a suitor, and—”

“I suppose you intend to be that suitor?” the earl drawled, his tone filled with smug amusement, as though the idea were preposterous.

“Did you not imply earlier that you would force me to propose if the rumors were true?” he snapped.

The earl’s scowl deepened. He was being a hypocrite and they both knew it. “I might force you, but I will not force Claire.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I am not asking you to.”

“Then what are you asking?”

“Give me time.” His tone was embarrassingly beseeching and he could not bring himself to care. He needed time to make Claire see that she loved him.

And she did. He refused to think about any alternative. She had to love him in return.

Davenport’s eyes narrowed. “Time for what?”

To make her love me. He cleared his throat. “Squash the rumors,” he said…or rather, demanded. “Use your influence to get Swattle to stop talking.”

“And if others are talking?”

Hell and damnation. Who else had seen them? What were they saying? He shoved the thoughts aside. “Claire is known to be proper and demure,” he said.

“And you, sir, are not.”

Blast, he would do anything to take back his former misdeeds if it meant sparing Claire from his reputation. “Do what you can to abate the rumors,” he said. “And in the meantime, I will talk to Claire.”

“Talk to her,” the earl repeated, a question clear in his voice.

“I will ask her to marry me.”

Davenport stared at him in a long, tense silence. “And if she says no?”

“I will deny the rumors, of course, and do whatever I can to help her maintain her position in society.”

He watched as Davenport considered him. What did he see? A reformed rake, he hoped, perhaps not so unlike himself.

“I will be here,” Davenport said, pointing at the floor where he stood. “I will not move and I will not hesitate to barge in and beat you to a bloody pulp if I hear anything untoward.”

He nodded. “Understood.”

His heart started to race as he realized what he had done and what he was about to do.

He was going to propose. To the woman he loved.

A woman who did not even believe in love.

A woman who did not seem to like him very much.

He drew in a deep breath as he turned the knob. He could do this. And he would succeed, because he had to. There was no reason to be so nervous. After all, he had faced greater challenges in life…

He just couldn’t think of one at this particular moment.