“Lady Cadogan.” Pris curtsied. “How delightful to see you.”
Dillon smiled and bowed over her ladyship’s hand. A twinkle in her eye, Lady Cadogan rapped his knuckles with her fan and advised him to keep his eye on his bride-to-be. He assured her he had every intention of doing so, then watched as her ladyship gathered her husband from the web of Pris’s loveliness and bore him away.
To Dillon’s relief, the stream of incoming guests eased, then the musicians struck up a brief prelude.
As he turned to Pris, took her hand, bowed, and led her to the steps leading down to the ballroom floor, he felt not the slightest tremor of nervousness or hesitation; what he felt was possessiveness and a driving need to have done with all the outward trappings, to have her wed, and his, at home in Newmarket.
It was she who hesitated at the top of the steps, he who, her hand in his, caught her eyes, her entire attention, and, holding it, led her down, out onto the floor as the guests fell back, led her into their engagement waltz.
She came into his arms light as air, a magical Irish maiden. As he drew her close, and the rest of the room dissolved in a whirl around them, he murmured, “You’ve captured me-you know that, don’t you? My heart, my soul, they’re yours forever.”
Emerald eyes, jewel-bright, smiled into his. “You’re the only man I see-that I’ve ever seen. I don’t know why that is, but it’s so.”
They said nothing more; anything else would have been redundant. They revolved around the ballroom, alone as far as they and their senses knew. Other couples joined them; others laughed and smiled. They remained oblivious, unaware.
Nothing beyond their cocoon could break the spell.
When the music ended, it took effort to wrench their minds from their private world and return to the mundane, to the hundreds waiting to chat and claim their company. They both did it because they had to, but just a glance, a touch of gazes, was enough to emphasize just how alike in that, too, they were.
Soon, their eyes said. A promise both were committed to keeping.
Turning aside, they let their well-wishers claim them. Eventually, they were forced to part.
Dillon accepted the necessity, but before leaving Pris’s side, he glanced up, and found her father waiting nearby to assume the duty of watching over her.
With a nod, he passed the baton to the earl, and allowed the crowd to come between him and Pris. The earl, the General, and Rus were all on hand, primed to ensure that what ever might happen, Pris remained safe, that regardless of any threat that might materialize, she would be neither a target nor able to involve herself in any willful, reckless way.
As for him…glancing around, he made his way to where Barnaby stood by the side of the room.
“Becoming inconspicuous was never so hard,” Dillon grumbled as he joined Barnaby. He looked over the sea of guests. “Any action?”
“Not a hint that I can see.” Barnaby grinned dourly. “I spotted the watchers outside. If Mr. X does make a move, he’s going to get a surprise.”
“We can only hope.” Dillon noticed a number of Cynster scions heading their way, smiling and exchanging greetings as they unobtrusively-as unobtrusively as such men could-tacked through the crowd. Over the next several minutes, Demon and Vane, then Gabriel and devil joined them.
“I take it your meeting with Tranter and company was fruitful?” devil raised a brow. “I assume those were his men skulking outside.”
Barnaby nodded. “His, or from one of the others. Mr. X’s underworld enemies seem legion, and they’ve been as stumped as we in identifying him. Until we approached them, I hadn’t realized how deeply they felt about him eluding them. He owes them a fortune, but it’s his anonymity they view as a personal insult-a slap in the face, a matter of honor.”
“Just so.” devil’s lips curved cynically, also wryly. “Powerful men hate to find themselves helpless. Your Mr. X has miscalculated there.”
“Hmm.” Demon glanced around their circle. “If he does move against Dillon, and they nab him, what should we do-haul him free or leave him to their untender mercies?”
They all considered; eventually all looked to devil, but he looked at Dillon and raised a brow. “You’re the most involved”-his glance included others in the room, Pris, Rus, and those involved in the substitution switch-“on all counts. What say you?”
Dillon held devil’s pale green gaze; he considered the possibilities, how he felt-would feel…“I say it depends on his actions. If he strikes, but it’s a token gesture, a jab at me before he goes slinking into the night, then we pull him out and hand him to Stokes. Tranter and crew won’t like it, but handing him over to the authorities was part of our agreement-they’ll accept it.”
“They’ll still benefit,” Barnaby said. “They want him identified so they can pick over his financial bones in case there’s anything they can salvage. And they’re well aware they’ll gain a modicum of status with the authorities for assisting in his capture. So yes, I agree, they’ll go along with that.”
“But what,” Gabriel asked, “if his revenge is rather more than token?”
Dillon met his eyes. “Then we leave him to his fate. If he’s that bent on revenge, handing him to the authorities will only create unnecessary difficulties.”
Lips curved without a trace of humor. “Indeed.” devil nodded. “So that’s what we’ll do.”
Vane looked at Dillon. “Planning aside, have you had any indication he’s preparing an attack?”
Dillon shook his head. “This is all conjecture on our part-we’ve no evidence he’ll try to take revenge at all.”
Barnaby snorted. “If he doesn’t, I’ll eat my hat. The fact he’s lain low and not acted precipitously only confirms that he’s a cool, careful schemer.”
“The most dangerous sort.” devil looked at Dillon. “Be careful.”
Dillon met that direct, faintly disconcerting glance, and nodded. The group parted, donning their affably charming social masks and going their separate ways, but devil’s glance-and the injunction that lay behind it-remained in Dillon’s mind.
Before Pris had come into his life and become such an essential part of it, he would have recognized devil’s look, and understood the implication, but not truly felt it, not as a threat. Now he did. He looked over the heads, and found Pris-the one thing he had to take greatest care of, as devil had intimated. She was engaged with a bevy of guests, Rus by her elbow, her father nearby, fondly looking on.
Conscious that something within him eased, like a beast settling back to semislumber, Dillon smiled at Lady Folwell and stopped by her side to chat.
Pris was safe, the night would soon be over, and their wedding would be one day closer. Despite his impatience to have Mr. X act, be identified, and dealt with, he was equally impatient to dispense with town and head back home with Pris. If Mr. X didn’t act soon, he would consign the substitution racket and its perpetrator to the past, and leave it behind. He and Pris had too much to do, too much to look forward to, to waste time on a ruined villain.
The ball was a certified crush, the evening declared a huge success. Horatia and Flick were both beaming. Dillon danced with them both, grateful but wary, too. Flick informed him that Pris intended to ask Prue to be a flower girl along with Pris’s sisters; he asked if she didn’t think it dangerous to be encouraging Prue to think of weddings-and set her laughing. He didn’t think, faced with the same question, that Demon would even chuckle.
Twirling herself, Pris saw Dillon circling with a delighted Flick in his arms, and smiled.
“Mr. Caxton is indeed a lucky man.”
The comment had her refocusing on her partner, Mr. Abercrombie-Wallace. Pris inclined her head and glanced over his shoulder as he steered her through the turn at the end of the room.