There was so much she didn’t understand. Why had that ring affected her so? Why did her body warm every time St. John was about?

Kat had never considered herself a particularly sensual woman. But somehow, every moment she spent with St. John seemed to prove her wrong.

She had to find out more, discover what the ring was and what it meant. And she needed to know who Devon St. John really was.

“Very well,” she heard herself say. “He’s coming to ride tomorrow. I will see if he’ll stay for a wee bit of lunch, too.”

Malcolm’s face cleared. “Thank you, Kat! You won’t be sorry.”

Kat wasn’t so sure. All she knew was that she’d never feared anything the way she feared the St. John talisman ring. Except, perhaps, Devon St. John himself.

Chapter 8

I love you. I really, really love you. Like the stars in the sky, like the water in the oceans. You, my dear, are everything to me and there will never be another.

Mr. Poole to Miss Elizabeth Standon, while stealing a kiss behind the shrubbery of Standon House in Mayfair

“There he is!” Fiona exclaimed.

Murien rushed to the window and almost pushed Fiona aside in her determination to garner a look. “It’s about time! He’s been gone an hour.”

“Aye.”

A flash of satisfaction crossed Murien’s face as she watched Devon. “He’s magnificent. We shall make quite a pair, he with his dark looks and me with my fair ones.”

Fiona smiled. “He is most presentable.”

“Presentable? He’s more than presentable.” Murien began smoothing her gown. “How do I look?”

Fiona admired Murien’s choice of gowns. It was cream over white, the heavy, cream-colored lace draped over a white silk undergown. Small pale blue and pink flowers were woven into the lace, their tiny, pale green leaves adding faint touches of color.

The overall effect was one of fairylike delicacy, something Murien’s own pink and gold coloring supported. And indeed, if one didn’t look too closely into her eyes, Murien looked fresh and innocent and achingly beautiful.

Murien patted her hair. She’d pinned it up in a simple knot that emphasized the graceful length of her neck and the delicate turn of her shoulders. Fiona didn’t think Murien had ever looked so perfect.

They could only hope it was enough. For some reason, Devon St. John hadn’t been as enthusiastic about Murien as they’d hoped. Oh, he was pleasant enough, complimenting Murien on her beauty and paying her every attention. But he made the same efforts for Fiona, often including her in conversations that Murien obviously wished her out of. It was all rather confusing. Did he like Murien? Or was he merely being polite?

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hall.