Page 13 of Bad Luck Bride

“The one here in London with your friend Lord Calderon and the Duke of Westbourne?”

“Yes.” He wavered, then added, “We decided to expand the venture beyond one hotel, and to raise funds for that, we put shares inthe corporation on public offer just two days ago. Wilson Rycroft is one of those who bought in. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, of course, but now…” He paused again, studying Pam’s face, not sure from her placid expression what she was thinking. “Now that I know Rycroft is engaged to Lady Kay, I’m wondering if I should bow out?”

“Bow out?” Pamela’s smooth forehead crinkled a bit as if in puzzlement. “But why on earth should you do that?”

“Well… given all that gossip years ago,” he began, but to his amazement, Pamela laughed.

“You mean because you and Lady Kay once scandalized society by trying to elope?”

He blinked at her matter-of-fact tone. “I told everyone that it never happened.”

“Of course you did. Quite right of you.”

“But you don’t believe my declaration was the truth?”

Pamela gave him a look of pity. “Dearest Devlin, no one believes it.”

That, he appreciated with a grimace, was probably true. “Perhaps that’s all the more reason to bow out. The first hotel is set to open in a few weeks, and Simon wants a big, grand ribbon-cutting for it with everyone in society stopping by. I’m expected to be there, and I’d like my fiancée there by my side. No doubt,” he added, studying her face, watching for any signs of feminine jealousy, “Rycroft will be thinking the same.”

Not a flicker of concern disturbed her perfect countenance. “Of course. And…?”

“There are sure to be other events, too, while we’re here in London—dinners, parties, and the like—and there’s the season, too, ofcourse. We’re bound to see the two of them. It could be awkward. I should hate for you to be uncomfortable in any way.”

“But why should I be?” Pamela seemed genuinely bewildered. “That whole business between you and her was ages ago. Why, I was only a child. It’s silly to be bothered by things like that. And it certainly shouldn’t have any impact on our plans or your business arrangements.”

“An admirable attitude.”

The dryness of his voice seemed to penetrate Pam’s complacency, and her eyes widened as if in surprise. “Did you think I’d be jealous? Of her?”

“I suppose I did, rather,” he confessed, bemused.

“My darling.” She smiled, the confident smile of a girl who knew her own appeal, a smile tinged—perhaps—with just a hint of conceit. “Lady Kay is no threat to me.”

He looked into her face, the face of a woman who was barely twenty and beautiful enough to stop traffic, who was able to bring dozens of men running with a snap of her fingertips, and he supposed it was understandable that she wouldn’t regard a woman who was older than she, who had been deemed a spinster, as a threat, even if her fiancé and that woman had a past. As she’d said, it was a long time ago.

“I see,” he said slowly, not sure what else to say. “Then there’s no reason for me to bow out of this thing?”

“None at all. Now, then,” she added and patted his lapel, “you’d best pick a flower, and let’s be going. If we’re late, Mama will squawk like an irritated hen. She hates when people are unpunctual.”

“Right.” Still bemused by her utter lack of jealousy, and a bithumbled, too, if he was being honest, but also heartily glad to leave the subject of his first love behind, he turned and pulled a bachelor’s button from the bucket of flowers beside him. “What about this one?”

She laughed, shaking her head as if he were a hopeless business. “Far too plebeian.”

“I’m so glad I have you to steer me in the proper direction about these things,” he said, returning the bachelor’s button to its place and selecting a small white carnation instead. When he shot her an inquiring glance, she nodded approval, and he broke the stem to shorten it.

“Are you?” she asked, as he tucked the flower into the buttonhole of his morning coat.

“Am I what?”

“Are you glad?” she asked, adjusting the stem, then letting her hand linger against his chest. “Truly?”

Encouraged, he leaned closer. “Are you certain we have to go to lunch?” he murmured. “I prefer my idea of some passionate necking.”

He planted a kiss on her perfect retroussé nose, causing her to cast an apprehensive glance around the shop. “Devlin,” she chided, though he could tell she wasn’t really displeased. “You shouldn’t do things like that.”

“Why not?” he countered, catching her hand in his as it fell to her side. “Because people will see? Let them.”

“But—”

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