Kathryn Smith by For the First Time Page A

tight against him,
    “is making the two of them see it.”
    She ran her hand up his chest. “Do not attempt matchmaking, Miles. You would not be good at it.”
    “What would you suggest I do?”
    Varya smiled, lifting her face for a kiss. “If it is meant to be they will figure out for themselves, just as we did.”
    “That is what I’m afraid of.”
    Her answering laughter was cut off as Miles lowered his head to hers. Then he kissed her, and even after three years Varya’s kiss was still able to make him forget everything else—even Blythe and Devlin.

Chapter 3
    T here was more to Devlin Ryland than Blythe had first thought.
    She had expected him to be more like Miles and Carny—talkative, arrogant even. She had expected him to expound upon his escapades during the war—people certainly asked him to enough—but he didn’t do that either. He was quiet and solitary. He avoided large groups, and consequently was on his way to becoming a great favorite among the wallflowers, the shy, and the elderly guests with whom he spent a great deal of time conversing.
    And one day, while walking through the garden, Blythe spotted him playing fetch with some of the estate dogs while other guests played at pall-mall. It was one of the few occasions since his arrival almost a week ago that he looked as though he was truly entertained.
    It wasn’t that she thought him distant, but rather that he enjoyed himself more when nothing but throwing a stick was expected of him, or when he could sit back and do the listening rather than the talking.
    So it was a bit of a surprise when he appeared in the ball-room the night of Varya’s formal ball dressed in evening wear and acting as though he actually intended to dance.
    A few heads turned as he entered the room. Several of them belonged to guests already swirling and gliding along the polished center of the dance floor. Why everyone didn’t simply stop what he was doing and stare, Blythe didn’t understand.
    Simply put, Devlin Ryland cut one hell of a figure. There were few men who didn’t look good in evening finery, but Devlin took “fine” to a whole new level. His dark coloring was the perfect complement to the austere black of his coat and trousers. The golden tan of his skin made the white of his collar and cravat seem that much whiter. His shoulders were broad—no padding in that coat, oh no. Incredibly long legs ate up the floor with every confident step.
    Perhaps that was the most amazing thing about Devlin Ryland—the way he moved. Blythe was used to men like her brother, men born to privilege and power. Miles walked like a man who knew his place in the world—on top of it—while Devlin walked like a man comfortable in his own skin. He was a man who knew what his body was capable of because it had been stretched to its limits in the past.
    Blythe envied him. She straightened her own shoulders as she watched him stop and greet two elderly ladies who tittered like schoolgirls at his attention. She stretched her spine and rose to the full reach of her height when two younger, unmarried women joined the group. Such tiny little girls, both of them together wouldn’t be woman enough for such a man.
    And what? She would be?
    It was a sad day when all she could name to recommend herself to a man was her size. Yes, she was freakishly tall. Yes, she was rounder than was the fashion, and she was willing to bet she could best half the men in the room at an arm wrestle, but that didn’t make her someone Devlin Ryland would want as a mate. Did it?
    Why was she even thinking it? Mr. Ryland hadn’t givenher any indication that he was interested in anything more than friendship, and even if he had, she knew better than to let her thoughts run away with her. She would not make a cake of herself again where a man was concerned.
    Besides, she’d watched Devlin Ryland enough over the past few days to know why these young things liked him. Everyone seemed to like him. He treated