He’d been out of his mind to invite her out for Friday, and here he was, two days early. Knowing already that he wouldn’t stay away that long.
She betrayed you, idiot. Turned her back and chose the life she has. The message had been clear years ago. Marlowes were not good enough for DeMilles.
But the more he saw of Lacey, the more his instincts stirred. The woman he was learning to know had a tender heart. The boy Dev had been wounded to the core that she hadn’t chosen him, but that boy had been proud and too ready to leap at the first offense. He’d expected a lot from a sheltered girl.
His plan to even the score with Charles DeMille by seducing the perfect daughter had backfired in his face.
She’d walked away from him, and he’d wound up on the next bus out of town, determined to come back and take his family away from Houston—and Charles DeMille—forever.
He’d done it, put his siblings through college, bought his mother a house, built a lucrative business. Now that he’d become successful, plenty of women considered him only too suitable. He wondered if they would be around if he’d still been poor.
But none of them had been a woman who wanted to take on three kids and an alcoholic mother. Nor one who understood his drive to climb up from poverty and become so successful that no one would ever again say he wasn’t good enough.
Lacey wouldn’t be any different, would she? She’d cut and run before. He’d made it out of the cesspool, on his own terms. So why the devil was he racing back toward the woman who had been part and parcel of the most painful period of his life?
Dev didn’t have an answer that made any sense. So he simply drove.
“Lacey, darling, are you feeling well?” her mother asked that night at dinner.
It had been a hard week. She’d just found out from Christina’s social worker that an unknown aunt had popped up, wanting custody. The social worker suspected that state aid money was the aunt’s real goal, and Christina’s distress at the news had made Lacey wish she could take the child away and hide her so that no one would ever hurt her again.
On top of that, Lacey hadn’t yet had the chance to discuss Philip with her parents, and she’d been dreading it. Nonetheless, she finished her bite and nodded. “Yes, I’m just fine.”
“Sure nothing’s wrong, Princess?” her father inquired.
“No, I…” She took a deep breath to settle herself. Christina’s plight had made her resolve to do this before they delved into the painful subject of Philip. “I wanted to thank you both.”
Her parents looked startled. “For what?”
“I simply wanted to tell you that I appreciate how lucky I am to have grown up here, to have been born to two people who love me, to—” She was going to cry if she didn’t watch out.
Her mother looked uneasy. Her father set his napkin aside, frowning. “What brought this on?”
Lacey looked away, blinking rapidly. With effort, her voice brightened. “I’m fine, Daddy.”
“It’s that volunteer work, isn’t it?” Her mother’s incisive gaze sharpened. “I told you, Lacey, that world is not where you need to be. There are better places for you to put your efforts.”
Her father nodded agreement. “Princess, I know you want to help those who need it, but isn’t there something easier you could do?”
Remembering the little blonde girl who’d fallen asleep holding her hand, rebellious words rose to Lacey’s lips. Carefully, she drew a deep breath before answering.
“I’m almost thirty-six years old. When am I going to make my life count, if not now?”
“You could make your life count. You could have children by now, Lacey darling, if you would just say yes to Philip,” Margaret chided.
“I don’t love Philip.”
“Bah—” Her father waved it away. “You can grow to love him. That’s romantic folderol. You’re very well-suited. Know the same people, like the same things.”
A sharp retort rose to her lips, but a lifetime’s habits didn’t vanish in an instant. Lacey rubbed one hand across her stomach and took another deep breath. She had come here to thank them for caring for her so well. They were simply trying to do the same thing now.
But though Philip had apparently not told them anything, she couldn’t put this off any longer.
“I’m not going to marry Philip, Daddy. I’ve already told him that.”
“What?” Her parents exchanged sharp glances.
“Lacey, how could you? What more could you want?” her mother asked.
I want more. I want—
What did she want?
Someone who would love her if she were poor and in rags. The vine-covered cottage, maybe, much as it was maligned.