Chapter 6
“Ready to take the final momentous step?”
Gyles looked up as Devil sauntered into his private sitting room. Breakfast dishes crowded the table before him, but he’d paid them scant attention. Food was the last thing on his mind.
Wallace had come in early to wake him-he hadn’t been asleep but had been grateful for the interruption. He’d spent enough hours with his thoughts. Bathing, dressing, dealing with the inevitable last-minute queries, had kept him busy until Wallace had served him breakfast, then retreated to tidy his bedchamber.
Just as well Devil had arrived.
“Come to witness the condemned man’s last meal?”
“The thought had crossed my mind.” Pulling up a chair, Devil sat facing him across the table and surveyed the dishes he’d disarranged rather than demolished. “Saving our appetite for later, are we?”
“Indeed.” He felt his lips twitch.
“Can’t say I blame you if all that’s being said of your countess-to-be is true.”
He hid a frown. “What’s being said?”
“Just that your selection was precisely as one might expect. Your uncle was quite taken. None of the rest of us met her-they arrived after dark.”
Gyles hadn’t thought Horace’s standards differed that much from his. Then again, his uncle was over sixty-perhaps he now favored the quiet and meek. “You’ll meet her soon enough, then you can form your own opinion.”
Devil reached for a pikelet. “You’re not going to reiterate you’re marrying for duty, not love?”
“And slay your fond hopes? I’m too polite a host.”
Devil snorted.
Gyles sipped his coffee. Misleading Devil wasn’t his aim, but he wasn’t up to explaining. Denying the gypsy-denying his own raging needs-had sapped his energy. He should have been feeling smug, triumphant, anticipating the successful outcome of his careful plans. Instead, he felt inwardly dead, his emotions leaden, dragging him down.
He’d done the right thing-the only thing he could have done-and yet… he felt as if he’d done something wrong. Committed some sin worse than any she’d tempted him to.
He couldn’t shake aside that feeling; he’d been trying to for half the night. Now here he was, about to marry one woman while another dominated his thoughts. The combination of wildness and innocence, wrapped in a package ripe for plunder, beribboned with a promise of uninhibited passion, of unrestrained wantonness… the gypsy was enough to drive any man insane.
She’d shaken him as no woman ever had.
This morning, soon, he’d free himself of her. No matter how attached Francesca was to her, he’d put his foot down. The gypsy would be off his estate, and away from him, by sunset tomorrow at the latest.
He made a mental note to make sure she didn’t forget her horse.
“I hestitate to mention it, but it’s a little late for second thoughts.”
Gyles refocused.
Devil nodded at the clock on the mantelpiece. “We’d better go.”
Gyles turned, and saw it was indeed time. Concealing his ridiculous reluctance, he rose, then checked the set of his sleeves and settled his coat.
“The ring?”
He hunted in his waistcoat pocket, drew it out, and handed it to Devil.
Devil studied the ornate band. “Emeralds?”
“It’s been in the family for generations. Mam
a happened to mention that emeralds would suit, so…”