Remember Love (Ravenswood #1)(55)

So she had got up and turned. And without even looking at him, she had known he really was there and he really was Devlin.

Oh, he had changed, she thought less than a minute later, gazing at him as he gazed at her, only a couple of feet separating them. Not beyond recognition, but . . . fundamentally. He looked years older. There was a roughness about him, though his hair was neatly combed and he was clean shaven and well dressed. Perhaps it was because his face was swarthier or more weather bronzed than it had used to be, though it was not easy to see clearly in the dim light of the church. There was a hardness to the look of him. It was in the set of his jaw and mouth and in the direct, cold gaze of his eyes. Or perhaps it was the wicked scar that crossed his forehead and the upper part of one cheek and sliced through his eyebrow and made her knees feel weak. He looked dark and ruthless. Even cruel. For the first time it occurred to Gwyneth that his name suited him—Devlin. It was not far off devil, was it?

Was this what war did to a man? Was this what it had done to him? Or had something else done that and war had merely accentuated it?

She knew without any doubt that she wanted nothing—absolutely nothing—to do with this man. She had to make an effort not to take a step back from him. And yet . . .

And yet she had told him she was going outside for some air, and there had been an implied invitation in her words. After failing to attract her father’s attention though she had called his name twice, she left the church, and he followed her.

Devlin Ware, Earl of Stratton. Not the boy and very young man with whom she had fancied herself in love. A stranger.

Perhaps this was a fortuitous meeting, she thought. It would get the first dreaded encounter behind her, and she would not have to hate quite as much the thought of tomorrow with the necessity of coming face-to-face with him before the interested gaze of a number of her neighbors. Tomorrow she would be able to concentrate upon introducing Aled to them all and basking in the pleasure of being in company with a distinguished man who was obviously courting her. He had talked of escorting her rather than just going along with her and her family.

She hesitated for a moment outside the church, but she did not want to stand here with him, eye to eye, visible to anyone who passed by—or peeped from windows. She set out along one side of the green.

“It is a lovely day,” she said. “Sunny. Warm. No real wind.”

“A quite perfect autumn day,” he said, and his voice was surely deeper than it had used to be. A bit gravelly.

“I trust Lady Rhys is well?” he asked after a few moments, when her frantic mental search for something else to say about the weather had yielded nothing.

“Oh yes,” she said. “She is perfectly well. Thank you.”

“And how—”

“Idris—”

They spoke simultaneously, and stopped talking simultaneously.

“After you,” he said.

“Idris came from Wales yesterday,” she said. “He stayed two weeks longer than we did. He brought home news of his betrothal to Eluned Howell. She is the daughter of one of my father’s close friends.”

“You must all be happy about that,” he said.

“Yes indeed,” she assured him.

“And when is the wedding to be?” he asked.

“The date and the place have not been decided upon,” she said. “But I expect it will be in Wales.”

“Ah,” he said.

He had not offered his arm when they left the church, for which fact she was very thankful. She would have had a hard time taking it. She felt an inward shiver at the mere thought of touching him, this man who was Devlin and yet somehow was not. This man with whom she was conducting a ridiculously stilted conversation.

She was half aware as they strolled along a second side of the green that they were attracting some attention. Or rather that he was. For everyone, of course, was avid for their first glimpse of him, the man who, rightly or wrongly, had wreaked such havoc with all their lives six years ago, when Ravenswood had abruptly stopped being the center of the universe to those who lived near it. When all the bright entertainments that had been the center of their social lives had ceased and the Countess of Stratton in particular had become a near recluse, all the sparkling warmth of her charm gone. When the three adult Ware brothers had left home, not to return. When the earl, it was rumored, had taken to drink and became a somewhat pathetic figure as he continued to behave in the village as though nothing had happened.

The conversation had lapsed, and Gwyneth wished with all her heart that she had remained in her pew at the church and pretended she had not known Devlin was sitting behind her. She could not remember feeling as uncomfortable—or as miserable—as she was feeling now.

They did not turn onto the third side of the green and so back in the direction of the church. Rather, he veered off, and Gwyneth followed him onto the bridge over the river. He stopped halfway across, and they stood side by side looking along the water. There was a hint of yellow in the trees. Soon the leaves would be multicolored and there would be that desperate feeling of beauty that must be enjoyed to the full now before winter descended and stripped it all away.

“But spring always comes,” she thought, and then felt very foolish because she had actually spoken the words aloud.

“Does it?” he said, and it seemed to her that there was a bitter sort of cynicism in the brief question.