The Games Lovers Play: A Cynster Next Generation Novel by Stephanie Laurens

Author:Stephanie Laurens [Laurens, Stephanie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781925559453
Publisher: Savdek Management Pty Ltd
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

That evening, when Therese and Devlin attended a dinner party hosted by their next-door neighbors, the ageing Lord and Lady Warkworth, they were the youngest couple present by a goodly number of years.

Indeed, given that she was younger than the majority of the guests’ children, Therese had difficulty even pretending to an interest in the topics the ladies chose to discuss. She wasn’t silly enough to attempt to introduce any topics of her own. Dealing with this company required all the social skills she’d accumulated over her twenty-seven years in the ton.

Consequently, after a torturous time over the dinner table, where she’d been flanked by gentlemen older than her father and rather less interesting, as she perched on the edge of an uncomfortable straight-backed chair in the Warkworths’ drawing room and sipped tepid tea with the female half of the company as they awaited the return of the male guests, her gaze kept drifting to the drawing room door, while inwardly, she willed the gentlemen to appear.

She was aware that her nerves were just a touch tightly strung, and her senses were alert as if anticipating…something. She had no idea what. Ever since she’d come downstairs after discussing Horry’s latest bout of teething with Nanny Sprockett, gaily expecting to join Devlin at the luncheon table, only to discover, via Portland, that his master had quit the house, she’d been out of sorts. Just a tad disgruntled.

According to Portland, Devlin had had business matters to attend to and had elected to lunch at one of his clubs.

For some reason, that news—which she would have found utterly unremarkable just a few weeks ago—had dimmed her mood.

Subsequently, she hadn’t seen Devlin until, turned out in his customary impeccable evening attire and, therefore, appearing every inch an aristocratic Adonis, he’d joined her in the front hall just in time to leave for the Warkworths’; the short stroll around the corner and along Upper Grosvenor Street had left no time at all for even the briefest of conversations.

She wanted to go home and, somehow, assess whether she’d misread their earlier embracing of what she’d taken to mentally terming “a deeper connection” or if she’d been correct in thinking they were, in fact, growing closer and Devlin’s decision to leave the house instead of sharing luncheon with her had been driven by necessity rather than inclination.

“So, my dear Lady Alverton.” Ensconced on the sofa, Lady Carmichael turned and leaned closer to address Therese. “What university did your sons attend—you have two, I believe? Was it Oxford or Cambridge?”

Therese plastered on an innocent smile. “I fear my sons are still in the nursery.”

Lady Carmichael’s eyes widened, and she sat back. “They are?” Her ladyship’s gaze swiftly surveyed Therese as if finally registering her age. “Yes, well, I suppose that’s not to be wondered at, heh? Can’t imagine that husband of yours being that much of a cradle snatcher, devil though he undoubtedly is.”

Therese smiled weakly and prayed the gentlemen ran out of port.

Two minutes later, noises in the hall heralded the return of the men.

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