Wondering what he intended to do. Realizing she had no idea.
Wondering why, even now, she didn’t fear him as much as she suspected she should.
He’d intended to press her a great deal harder, but seeing her standing there, arms crossed defensively, determined to resist yet with all manner of emotions coloring her eyes, he’d remembered that learning her secret was only one step along what was proving a difficult road.
A more challenging road than he’d foreseen, but in that moment when he’d studied her across that silly table—he could have pushed it aside with one finger—he’d remembered his true goal. And adjusted his strategy accordingly.
Pressuring her would only increase her resistance and, it seemed likely, her strange, underlying fear. He was going to have to find some different route to her secret, preferably one that didn’t involve her; he was too old a hand at strategy and tactics to let his push to learn her secret put his ultimate goal out of reach.
That evening, throughout their time in the drawing room before dinner, which he spent with Audrey and Lady Cranbrook, then during dinner itself, when he was flanked by Georgina and Heather, Phoebe watched him, puzzled and wary.
When the company regathered in the drawing room, he made no move to join her. Which only puzzled her more.
As he’d anticipated, Lord Cranbrook called the company to order, then turned to him. “Perhaps, my lord, we should share our conclusions with all here.”
Even though she stood across the room, he sensed the tension that gripped Phoebe.
He nodded and faced the company, who fell obediently—expectantly—silent. “As requested by his lordship, I’ve spent the day investigating the disappearance of Lady Moffat’s maid.” He nodded to her ladyship, still florid and inclined to take umbrage; frowning, she nodded curtly in return.
“After questioning all those likely to have information”—he let his gaze roam the wide circle, coming to rest on Phoebe’s white face—“all I can conclude is that the maid ran away, or perhaps was lured away, sometime during the night, after she’d seen Lady Moffat to bed.”
Phoebe’s hand clenched tightly on her fan.
Deverell inclined his head, apparently to the company, in reality to her.
“Beyond that, all else is conjecture.”
A murmur rose; people turned to their
neighbors. Speculation filled the air.
Phoebe stood with Deidre, Peter, and Edgar and let the talk wash over her. She felt dizzy, giddy with relief that Deverell hadn’t revealed what he knew, but with trepidation dawning, slowly gaining ground.
He hadn’t given her away. Why? The one thing she felt sure of was that there would be a reason.
She shifted and glanced around Edgar’s shoulders to where Deverell stood talking with Lord Cranbrook and Lord Craven. The events of the day had somehow drawn a line between him and the younger gentlemen; no one could any longer see him as one of them.
He was not just older, but other. Not just more experienced but an altogether different sort of man. Which brought her back to the confusion she felt every time she looked at him, every time she was near him.
As if he felt her gaze, he half turned; across the room, his eyes met hers.
Their gazes locked, held. And she could almost hear his promise, in his deep, dark, dangerous voice, sensed beyond question his resolution, his implacability.
A heartbeat passed, then two.
Then, as if confirming her understanding, he inclined his head. He held her gaze for one last pregnant moment, then turned back to their lordships.
Phoebe shivered. Shaken, rattled, it was a full minute before she breathed freely again. She turned back to the others, focused her attention on them, forced herself to respond to their comments about what entertainments they expected to attend when they returned to London.
Inside, she grew increasingly concerned.
Deverell had concealed her part in the disappearance. Did he, would he, expect some…recompense for his restraint?
Until that moment when she’d met his eyes and known he wasn’t finished with her, she hadn’t considered that his silence had in a very real way placed her in his debt.
The very last place she would have chosen to be.
That night, sleep was difficult to find, and when it came, she dreamt of him.