In Your Arms Again by Kathryn Smith Page B

all, and he was the one among the four of them who would have the most reason to do so, after all he had seen in the war.
    But Devlin was in Devonshire now, happily married to a woman who suited him perfectly. North missed Devlin. Even though Dev was much happier where he was, North missed his steadiness, his naive notions of right and wrong. Things were always much simpler with Dev around. Not so gray as with himself and the other two—in fact, with Wynthrope, things were sometimes just plain black.
    But enough about his brothers. He had something much more pressing to think about at the moment.
    “Let me ask you something.”
    Wyn eyed him suspiciously. “I despise it when you take that tone. It usually means I am about to incriminate myself in some way.”
    North smiled. His brother wasn’t stupid—or gullible—enough to get himself involved in something unsavory again.
    “If someone were to say to you, I have not read Shelley yet , would you take that to believe that they were planning to read his work, or that they had no intention of reading him?”
    Wyn’s eyes widened. Obviously North sounded as idiotic as he felt. But Octavia had said that Spinton wasn’t her fiancé yet , and he needed to know what she had meant by that.
    “I assume you mean other than the fact that this person is obviously a complete idiot, uneducated and unrefined?”
    North nodded, fighting a grin. “Yes.”
    “Well,” Wyn thought for a moment, swirling his brandy in the bowl of the snifter. “I suppose I would take that as an indication that reading Shelley was not that important to this person, else they would have already read one of his works.”
    “Exactly.” How smug that sounded, but Wyn had confirmed North’s own thoughts—that Octavia couldn’t be that eager to marry Spinton, or she would have already. Why that satisfied him so, North wasn’t quite prepared to investigate, other than he would hate to see such a dear friend unhappy in her marriage.
    “On the other hand,” Wyn added after a swallow of brandy. “The very use of the word ‘yet’ indicates that the person is simply waiting for the right moment.”
    “Yes, but if they have not read it yet there is some indecisiveness there, do not you think? They may not read it at all.”
    Wynthrope’s brows rose at the peevishness in his tone. “What are we really talking about? Call me dubious, but I have a suspicion we are not talking about poetry.”
    “Nothing.” He was surly and foul and really didn’t want to discuss it anymore. Wyn would no doubt howl with laughter to discover that all these silly questions had to do with a woman whom he had not spoken to in over a decade.
    Though when he finally had spoken to her, it didn’t seem that many years had passed between them.
    “Well, if we are discussing nothing, can we change the topic?” That was Wyn. He never asked questions, never pried. To some it would appear callous and uncaring, but it wasn’t. He simply knew that if North wanted to talk about it, he would.
    “What did you think of the play?” North asked, taking a drink. They had been to the theater before going to the club.
    Wynthrope grinned. “I think you should introduce me to that charming little Juliet.”
    And that was how the rest of their conversation went—filled with jests and meaningless banter until North almost forgot about Octavia. Almost. Fate had brought her back into his life, and he wasn’t ready to face the ramifications, or the feelings her appearance brought with it.
    Not yet.
     
    Guilt was not a stranger to Octavia. Over the thirty years of her life she had felt the stifling emotion many times. It usually accompanied the realization that she had done something wrong—either in her estimation or in someone else’s.As she sat beside Spinton in his carriage, silent in the dark as he and Beatrice discussed the evening, feelings of guilt tightened her chest.
    And it wasn’t because she had enjoyed seeing North. No, that