Page 110 of The Devil’s Lair

“Good.” She grins, and my heart squeezes.

I relay some instructions to Maisie, and seconds later, their heads are locked together as Maisie reads one of Isla’s favorite books. I smile, taking a few precious moments to watch her. It’s getting easier and easier to let go, which is good for Isla. The last thing she needs is a clingy mother. All that will do is limit her development, and Marcus has done enough of that already. I don’t intend to add to my child’s woes.

A tap comes at the outer door.

“Coming.”

I open the door to Tobias, who looks hotter than sin in a tuxedo. Now I know what’s beneath those clothes, it takes all I’ve got not to suggest missing the ball and heading to his bedroom instead. Not that I’d ever do such a thing, but that doesn’t mean the temptation isn’t there.

His gaze sweeps over me in one slow, devastating pass. “Wow.”

“I was about to say the same to you.”

“I’m having second thoughts about attending this ball at all. You’re too stunning to share. Unfortunately, Dad would take it badly, otherwise I would totally duck out.”

I giggle. “Funny. I had those exact thoughts myself.”

“Hmm. I might have to improvise.” He glances over my shoulder at Isla and Maisie with their heads together. “I’m stealing Mama away for a few hours. Is that okay, Isla? We won’t be far away.”

I adore how he considers her at every turn, reassures her, lets her know we haven’t abandoned her.

“Bye,” she says, attention still fixated on the book.

I chuckle. “You’re second best tonight.”

“Only with Isla, I hope.” He takes my hand, and we make our way down Oakleigh’s sweeping staircase.

As we close in on the ground floor, the noise from the arriving guests drifts upward.

“I’m nervous. Is that silly?”

“Not even a little bit. This is new to you, and as the latest addition to the De Vil family, there will be interest from our guests. They’ll want to talk to you, especially as we had a private wedding. Don’t worry, though. If at any point you’ve had enough and want to leave, you tell me. You don’t have to explain or justify yourself. If you don’t want to outright ask, pick a safe word, and when I hear it, I’ll know you’re done.”

“A safe word?”

“Yeah. Customers use them at the club. They act as an immediate stop signal.”

“Oh.” My gaze flits about as I try to think of one that I wouldn’t use in everyday conversation. “What about ‘stylus’? That way, I can weave it into a sentence so it won’t sound obvious.”

“Stylus it is.”

“Thank you for thinking of me.”

He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses me briefly. Still, I feel it all the way down to my toes.

A multitude of sounds drift from the ballroom. Violins, muted conversations, the faint clink of champagne flutes. Tobias’s warm hand presses against my lower back, anchoring me, reminding me I’m not alone. I remember to take a breath and relax my shoulders.

It’s fine. This is fine. Just a fancy party with fancy people. I can do this.

Tobias swipes two glasses of champagne from a passing server and hands one to me. I take a sip, glancing around. I can’t see the other wives anywhere, although that could be Imogen’s striking red hair on the other side of the ballroom.

He follows my gaze. “I remember Imogen’s first ball.”

Ah. So, it is her. “Was she as nervous as me?”

“Hurt more than nervous.”

I frown. “Why hurt?”