Texas Heroes_ Volume 1(153)

She looked delicate and ethereal, once again unapproachable and remote. Dev could make a king’s ransom worth of money, and he’d still be the kid from the wrong side of the tracks. Wrong for her.

He’d tail them, just to make sure she was all right, but he’d nip foolish fancies in the bud. She was the princess. He was the peasant. She might not have the blue blood that she thought, but she belonged in this world in a way he never would.

And he still had a job to do, blasting her world apart as gently as possible. Jaw rigid, Dev pulled away from the curb, wondering again what the hell kind of magician he thought he was.



Alighting from Philip’s car, Lacey spared a quick glance for the wide porch of her parents’ home. She’d had childhood tea parties there, gotten her first kiss behind one wide column. This house had been her refuge for all of her life, an existence so sheltered, so different from Christina’s.

Before they reached the door, Murphy opened it. “Well, Miss Lacey, haven’t seen you in a while,” he nodded. The gentle reproof made her feel right at home. Murphy had been delivering lectures since she was tiny. “Dr. Forrester.” Murphy’s eyes were cooler, looking at Philip. For the first time in years, she remembered that he’d had a soft spot for the young, rebellious Dev.

“Hello, Murphy.” She bussed his cheek, knowing it would unsettle him—and horrify her mother.

It did.

“Hello, Lacey.” Margaret DeMille’s brows drew together less than a millimeter, but it was enough to convey the message. She stood near the doorway, greeting her guests, trim and straight as ever. She flicked a glance over Lacey’s demure little black dress, and her frown eased…at least a little.

“Hello, Mother.” Lacey crossed the foyer and exchanged air kisses.

Her father turned from another guest, and she was pulled into strong arms. Charles was aging, but he still had the vigor of a younger man. “Princess, you look beautiful, as always. Philip, glad to see you.” He shook Philip’s hand, then leaned closer to Lacey. “When are you going to let him make an honest woman of you?”

“Daddy…” she protested.

Guests nearby chuckled.

“As soon as she’ll say yes, Charles,” Philip responded. “Your daughter has a mind of her own, it seems.” His eyes broadcast anger she hoped no one else saw.

She cast a glance over his shoulder. “Mother’s waiting for me to help her, Daddy. I’d better go.”

“All right, Princess.” Her father hugged her and kissed her cheek. She wanted to lean against his strength and let him tell her what to do.

But he’d urge her to marry Philip, and she’d put off dealing with that too long.

“I’ll catch up with you soon, darling.” Philip’s tone said that the subject was far from ended.

Philip was much like her mother. He would never violate their contract of good breeding by making a scene. He, like Margaret, would simply expect Lacey to see the light and behave accordingly. Lacey would be dutiful. Her mother would be proud. Philip was counting on that.

It was so much more than a little eight-year-old girl had tonight.

Lacey put on her hostess face and began to mingle.

It must have been three hours later before she could seize a moment to sit down. Her face was ready to crack from the effort of constant smiling, and her feet hurt as though she’d walked on sharp stones. But Lacey had been raised in a tradition that denied physical discomfort. Beauty knows no pain, her mother always said.

It was another lie, just like many Lacey was beginning to despise.

“There you are,” Philip said, drawing her out of one set of the French doors that opened onto the expansive front porch.

Lacey stifled a groan. Here it came. “Hello, Philip. Having fun?”

He cocked one sandy eyebrow, his composure, as ever, unruffled. Nothing about Philip ever got ruffled. His hair was razor cut and wouldn’t dare misbehave. He never got a speck of anything on his clothes. And his blue eyes were cold as ice.

She’d never realized that until she’d seen green fire again.

“Lacey, it’s time we settled this. There’s no reason to delay any longer. It’s time for us to marry. You’ll be too old soon to have the family we want.”

She wouldn’t get angry. A lady didn’t lose her temper. “Too old?” She kept her face carefully composed. “I don’t think thirty-five is exactly ancient, Philip.”

“Of course not,” he soothed. “You’re still very beautiful.” His eyes narrowed. “Not quite ready for a little eye job, even. Soon, though.”

Wrinkles show you’ve lived. Dev’s viewpoint strengthened her resolve.