A Rake's Ruin (Devilish Lords #1)(27)

He just hoped she was as eager to see him tonight as he was to see her.

He’d hated how they had left things at the party. Her assumption that he was in need of her dowry was almost humorous. Almost. It would have been comical if it wasn’t so insulting. He knew he’d developed a reputation with the ladies but did that necessarily mean that he was a useless wastrel to boot?

Perhaps it did, in Claire’s world. She’d always been so black and white with her view of the world, whereas he never expected anyone to be all good or all bad. There were no devils in this world, just as there were no saints. Everyone had a little of each inside.

He stared into his glass, seeing Claire’s face as he swirled his brandy. While Claire might have the face of an angel and the demeanor of a saint, he couldn’t wait to catch a glimpse of her wicked side once more. As her husband, he couldn’t wait to explore her hidden naughty nature.

But first he had to make her see that he wasn’t the devil she seemed to think. He might not be as upright as Rhys, but he had sense about him when it came to business matters and, more importantly, he was ready to be a committed and loving husband.

“You are getting married.” This time Rhys said it with a resigned sigh and a shake of his head. “Just what kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into now?”

Galwin frowned. He wanted to protest but hated the fact that Rhys had guessed correctly. This was hardly a traditional courtship and it had come about because of rash decisions and improper behavior.

Just not his.

For once in his life, he was the upright party involved. But of course he couldn’t say such a thing to Rhys. He would rather suffer another smudge to his own tarnished reputation than besmirch Claire’s honor.

So he kept his mouth shut in the face of his brother’s judgmental glare. “I cannot believe this. I leave you alone here in London for a few weeks and you get yourself engaged to some chit who’s after our money. What did she do? Lure you into a garden where her mother stumbled upon you?”

He ignored his brother’s harsh, sarcastic tone just as he ignored the aspersions to Claire’s character. He knows not of what he speaks. He told himself that repeatedly as he took a sip of brandy. His brother was wrong, of course. Not about the garden part, perhaps, but about everything else. With her dowry and her beauty, Claire could have had her pick of men.

And instead she’d been saddled with him. While his brother’s words of censure wafted over him without effect, that thought was enough to make his stomach turn. He’d been a waffling fool these last two weeks, alternating between a ridiculous, giddy joy at his newfound engagement to Claire Cleveland and a sour, dismal depression at the fact that she was miserable about it.

How could he be happy when the woman he loved was so despondent? And while she’d put on a good front, he had seen through her artifice in that darkened study. Even in the dim lighting, her sadness had been apparent. Palpable, even.

He’d wanted to console her, to somehow make matters right. But how? He could offer to let her go, but even then her reputation would be tarnished and she would no longer have the sort of freedom she’d so clearly desired.

He was in a bind. And it didn’t help matters that his own selfish interests were impossible to ignore. While he wanted to be unhappy because she was unhappy, he couldn’t ignore the little voice that cried out with glee like a little boy who’d gotten his way. Even now as he pondered how he could get her out of this mess, a part of him resisted.

She is mine.

If anyone had told him prior to the Davenports’ ball that he might fall in love, and in the course of one night, he would have laughed heartily. The very notion was absurd…until it wasn’t.

“And who is she?” Rhys asked as he strode past him to refill his drink. “Who is this woman who managed to get my notoriously marriage-averse brother to commit?”

“Claire Cleveland,” their mother said.

Galwin stood at the sound of his mother’s stern voice ringing out from the doorway. Tall and regal with silver hair and strikingly blue eyes that his brother had inherited, the duchess was impossible to ignore.

She strode into the room and embraced Rhys. “Welcome home, dear. And stop pestering your brother with questions. I am delighted by this turn of events, as you should be as well.”

Galwin could barely contain his mirth as his mother’s wickedly intelligent gaze settled on the elder son. He knew what was to come, they both did. “If your brother can find himself a wife, don’t you think it’s time you do the same?”

Rhys turned to scowl at him which made him laugh into his snifter. Bloody hell, he would have fallen in love and gotten married years ago if he would have known it would make Rhys so peeved.

Irritating his older brother was more than just his right as a younger brother, it was also one of his greatest pleasures. Rhys was a good man—a great man, even—but he was extraordinarily diverting to torment.

His enjoyment of the scene quickly faded, however, when Rhys turned to him with an unpleasant smirk of disbelief. “Claire Cleveland? She hardly seems your type.”

He frowned at his brother, whose meaning was irritatingly clear. She was too good for him. Too pure and proper and…hell, just too good all around. They all knew it.

Rhys looked far too pleased with himself as he walked back toward Galwin. “Claire Cleveland.” He drew her name out like a song. “I never would have imagined you ending up with such an insipid bore.”