Hidden Devotion (Trinity Masters #5)(7)
Once he was sure he had the fidgeting out of his system, Devon rang the bell, listening to the faint sound of chimes. It took just long enough for the door to open that he was fighting the urge to mess with his tie. Luckily, he was composed and still when the portal swung inward.
Juliette Adams was stunning. She always had been, and probably always would be. Honey-gold hair lay over her shoulder in a messy braid, her slight frame nearly overwhelmed by the knit sweater that was listing to one side, not quite falling off her shoulder but exposing the delicate line of her collarbone. Her skin was a warm gold, darker than he was used to seeing, and it gave her a sort of monochromatic-goddess appeal.
From fidgeting to flights of fancy. He really needed to pull it together.
She leaned against the door, blocking his entrance. It was ridiculous since he was a foot taller and 100 pounds heavier than her, but the look on her face made it very clear that if she didn’t want to let him in, she wouldn’t, and damn the logistics of trying to keep someone his size out.
He knew the house had top-of-the-line security, which meant she’d checked a video display to see who was outside before answering. That robbed him of the chance to see her unstudied reaction. Devon lived for the moments when he could catch her off guard, before her face and heart closed down.
As he’d been studying her, she’d been studying him. It had been eighteen months, two weeks and three days, since they’d been face-to-face. He wondered what she saw when she looked at him—if she saw him at all.
He was fairly certain that for Juliette, he was simply a representation of everything she hated.
A gust of wind tugged at his suit jacket, reminding him that he didn’t have an overcoat. She shivered as the cold air whipped into the house and Devon shifted, trying to block the breeze. Her lips pressed together, a brief moment of…something, but then she smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes.
“Devon, to what do I owe the honor of a visit from my betrothed?”
Damn it, damn it, she could not deal with this, with him, right now.
Stepping back she pushed the door all the way open and motioned Devon in. He carefully wiped the snow from his shoes before accepting the invitation. Juliette closed the door and leaned against it, taking a moment to center herself. She could feel him looming over her. At six feet one, with wide shoulders, he was physically big and his steady gray eyes seemed to always be watching and assessing.
She’d known him all her life and had been engaged to him just as long. Devon was one of her trinity, a marriage that had been decided upon as soon as she was born. Even on days when she was feeling charitable towards her father, Juliette couldn’t see her trinity—herself, Devon Asher of the New York Ashers, and Rose Hancock, direct descendant of one of America’s founding families—as anything but a political maneuver cementing three legacy families together.
It would help if Devon wasn’t handsome and well-mannered, but he was both. His brown hair was only slightly mussed by the wind, cut in a classic style with a side part. His navy suit, blue-and-white checked shirt and blue tweed tie were both classic and fashionably trendy—eminently appropriate for a young D.C. lobbyist. A Burberry scarf was draped around his neck and he pulled it off with quick, efficient movements, turning to hang it on the freestanding coatrack.
“Can I get you something to drink?” The words were out before she had time to consider what she was saying. A knee-jerk good-manner reflex.
“Tea or coffee would be nice. Thank you.”
Juliette bristled. “I haven’t been in the kitchen yet, so you may be out of luck.”
“That’s fine.” Devon frowned. “Have you eaten since you got here?”
“Five seconds in the door and already patronizing. Lovely.” Juliette headed for the kitchen, throwing open doors as she went.
The less-formal living room was usable, but the dining room was draped in tarps to protect the furnishings. Everything was in place in the kitchen and it took her only a few minutes to find where the kettle was stored.
Devon had followed her in. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he stripped off his jacket and draped it over the back of one of the counter-height chairs pulled up to the massive marble island.
“I didn’t mean to be patronizing, Juliette.”
Filling the kettle, she had to resist the urge to slam the faucet handle. The way he said her name set her teeth on edge. It was the same way he’d said her name when she was a gangly ten-year-old, following him around and dying of jealousy when he hung out with Rose, who, like Devon, was five years older than Juliette. They’d been peers and she’d been the annoying little kid trying so hard to get their attention, especially Devon’s.
“In that case, thank you for the concern, but I have, miraculously, managed to feed myself since landing.” She went digging through the canisters of loose-leaf tea until she found a nice Assam. “Speaking of which, how did you know I was here?”
“Rose heard from Jackson.”
“Who heard from Bethany, who heard from Sebastian. For people who live and die by their secrets, we’re ridiculously gossipy.”
Devon laughed, a warm, smooth sound. “True.”
She couldn’t even be mad at Sebastian—he wouldn’t have said anything about her becoming the Grand Master, but he would have mentioned to their friends that she was headed to Boston. Not saying anything would have been suspicious.