From where he stood on the landing, Malcolm could see Murien standing by the fireplace, her expression one of artful innocence. Damn it, but she looked beautiful…beyond beautiful, even. He thought of Kat this morning, in her plain gown and slightly mussed hair, and he grimaced. He was going to have to do something about that. And soon.

Malcolm’s heart sank when he caught sight of Devon’s admiring expression as he faced Murien. Bloody hell, there was no justice in this world.

Just before Devon went through the door, he paused and sent Malcolm a quizzical glance. “Are you coming?”

“No, no! Perhaps we can meet in an hour for a game of billiards?”

“Of course. I hope you are prepared to lose again.”

With a grin, Devon followed Fiona the rest of the way into the room.

As Fiona moved to shut the door, her gaze met Malcolm’s. For an instant, a tense silence bound them. Malcolm had never wanted anything more than to throw caution and his pride to the winds and reclaim her for himself. What would she do if he marched up to her and threw her over his shoulder, then took her to their room and locked them both away for a week?

The urge was almost overwhelming. But first he’d have to make a promise he didn’t know if he could keep. He let the words die on his tongue. Fiona’s gaze faltered and dropped. Her shoulders slumped and she turned away and then pushed the heavy door closed.

Grumbling to himself, Malcolm turned and made his way up the stairs, hoping against hope that Devon was made of sterner stuff than most men.

The next morning, Devon flipped one end of his cravat over the other, then twisted them in an intricate knot. It took almost fifteen minutes, but when he finished, his cravat was tied in a fabulous creation known as “the mathematical.”

His valet, Tilton, watched a respectful distance away, preserving the utmost silence. As Devon finished, he cast an amused glanced at the valet. “You can speak, you know. I don’t need silence just to tie a cravat.”

Tilton sniffed. “They say Beau Brummell required absolute silence and that the slightest noise would cause him to go into a fit.”

“Brummell was a fool. A well-dressed fool, but a fool nonetheless.” Devon made the final adjustment to his cravat. “There. How’s that?”

“Superb, sir. Simply superb.” Tilton regarded the cravat a moment more, and then, nodding faintly, he picked up the coat he’d just brushed. “A pity you got so dusty yesterday morning.”

“I was riding. That happens to my riding coat when I use it.”

“You’ve been riding before, but never have I seen so much dirt.”

“That’s because I rode in the woods and not in a genteel park with tended pathways.”