The Untamed Bride

“Let’s see.”

Phyllida, Catriona and Flick all rose and went to the wide window. Throwing open the curtains, they peered through the glass.

“It’s coming down nicely,” Flick reported.

“Wonderful!” Phyllida turned back inside. “Who knows? We might even have a white Christmas. The children will be in alt.”

A discussion ensued of the possibilities for keeping their numerous offspring amused. Deliah sat back and listened, smiling at the comments.

For quite the first time in her life wishing she had reason to join in.

The realization was so startling she sobered, blinked.

Just as the sound of a gong resonated through the house.

“Time to dress for dinner.” Honoria stood, waited until Deliah set down her cup and rose, too. “Come, I’ll show you to your room. Your maid should be there by now.”

They dispersed, the others heading down various corridors in groups of twos and threes, heads together, chatting, while she and Honoria headed around the gallery.

“If you get tired of us, do say.” Honoria caught her eye and smiled. “I assure you we won’t be offended. You’ve been traveling, while we’ve been sitting here waiting for something to happen. And you’ve already done wonders to relieve our boredom.”

“That,” Deliah replied, “was entirely my pleasure.”

And it had been.

Honoria left her at the door of a well-appointed chamber, and went on to her own rooms to change for the evening.

Closing the door, Deliah smiled at Bess. “Everything all right?”

Bess’s answering smile was wide. “Lovely place, this. The staff is so friendly. We’ve all settled in already. Now!” Going to the bed, Bess picked up and displayed the gold satin gown from Madame Latour. “Seeing as this is a duke’s house, I thought you might want to wear this.”

Deliah studied the deceptively simple, unquestionably elegant evening gown, and gave thanks for Del’s insistence that she take it. She nodded. “Yes-that’s perfect.”

Standing before the mirror, she started pulling the pins from her hair, and reminded herself to extract from him the sum he’d paid for the gowns before they reached home.

For tonight, however, she saw no reason not to take advantage of time, place, and gown.

Nine

Del was standing by the fireplace with Devil when Deliah walked into the drawing room.

The room was abuzz with conversation, yet for him a silence fell.

He was deaf. He felt dazed.

He couldn’t drag his eyes from the sight of Deliah in the gold satin gown he remembered so well, standing poised in the doorway-apparently unaware of the havoc she was causing.

Then she moved. His mouth dried as he watched her, lips lightly curved, glide across the room to join Honoria and two of the other ladies standing chatting with Gervase.

Del’s chest swelled as he finally managed to drag in a breath and break free of her spell. Instinctively, he looked at Devil. And saw his green gaze also fixed across the room.

Some unfamiliar emotion flared-part irritation, part irrational fear…jealousy? He couldn’t recall feeling it before, not over a woman, and never so sharply. Tamping it down, he glanced again across the room.

She looked like a golden flame, a beacon of warmth and promise. Gaze circling the room, he confirmed all the other men had noticed. Impossible to hold it against them; they were male, too.

Jaw setting, he turned to Devil, only to meet an amused, but understanding, grin. To his relief, his old friend made no reference to Deliah but instead chose to rib Gyles as he joined them.

Gyles, of course, struck back. Del laughed and felt the years slide away. They no longer stood in Eton’s schoolyard, yet beneath the changes of the years, some things-loyalties, friendships-remained the same.

“How’s your daughter?” Devil asked Gyles.

“Contrary to my beliefs, she’s apparently thriving. Colic, so I’ve been informed, is something they-and we-have to go through.”

Devil grimaced. “I’m still working on developing immunity.” His gaze traveled to Honoria, then on to Francesca, standing in another group. “I don’t understand how they can, apparently without difficulty, tell the difference between a wail that signifies serious pain and one that merely means they’re grumpy.”

“Let me know when you’ve worked it out.” Gyles shook his head. “You might have warned me how…distracting a wife and family were going to be.”

Devil shrugged. “No point-it was in your stars as much as mine. No chance we could have avoided it.” He grinned, shot a glance at Gyles. “So we might as well enjoy it.”

Gyles laughed, his gaze on Francesca. “True.” Then he looked at Del. “So what about you, Del? What lies in your future?”

Neither Gyles nor Devil glanced at Deliah, but Del knew they knew…he waved nonchalantly. “I haven’t really thought. This mission blew up, and it seemed more appropriate to put consideration of the future off until it’s done.”

“Sometimes,” Devil said, “fate and the future come knocking.”

“She certainly did where we were concerned,” Gyles said. “No reason it should be any different for you.”

Del smiled. “We’ll see.”

The conversation moved on to different topics, but the notion of marriage, of having a wife and family, of putting down roots in the rich soil of England and establishing a real home-making Delborough Hall into a real home-continued to drift through his mind, coming to the fore whenever he spoke to the other Cynsters, all men he knew, and he sensed, as he had with Devil and Gyles, their contentment.

A contentment he wanted, one he felt he’d earned.

Again and again, his gaze returned to Deliah.

He wasn’t surprised to find they were paired at dinner. He led her in with a believable show of sangfroid, one that deceived neither him nor her.

There was a light in his dark eyes, a warm possessiveness in his touch as his hand grazed the back of her waist when he guided her to her chair. Deliah felt it, on some level reveled in it, even though outwardly she pretended not to notice.

As they sat at the long table and entertained the others with stories of India and Jamaica, she couldn’t recall feeling so relaxed…ever. For the first time in her adult life she felt free to simply be, to interact without constantly monitoring her words and her behavior.

Free to be herself, because in this company her true self wasn’t in any way remarkable. Not shocking, not out of place. In this company, she fitted.

The men had been open in their appreciation of her in Madame Latour’s stunning gown. The ladies, one and all, had asked for the modiste’s direction. Honoria and Alathea had even inquired if she had more of Madame’s creations with her, and whether they might see them.

She’d never shared anything with other women before. Other women had universally regarded her as…too much. Too outspoken, too headstrong, too willful-too striking. Too tall, too well curved, too sharp-tongued.

The word too had always featured in others’ descriptions of her.

Not here. Here, all the toos she possessed were accepted, even encouraged. Certainly these ladies exhibited most of the same, and she couldn’t help but note all they’d achieved in their lives- husbands, children, marriages based on love and trust and a great deal more besides.

Ever since the Great Scandal, she’d tried to suppress her inner self, tried to transform herself, cram herself into