Devlin had never considered that Alex might be a young lady. He shook his head in exasperation. Unexpected complications were not his strong suit. Yet hell and damnation, his whole world shifted when that waterfall of shimmering hair fell down her back. He clenched his teeth and finished dressing in an effort to drive the inappropriate observation from his brain. Mourning clothes would not be a problem. He always dressed in black. Fending off a case of self-loathing, he raked his fingers through his hair and a palm over his face. He knew how he appeared. A chinstrap beard outlined his sharp jaw, the ebony hair emphasizing the severity of his features. Eyes dark as pitch, an angular nose set off by prominent cheekbones, and dark slashed eyebrows, all gave the appearance of a villain or, at least, a man up to no good. He’d heard his appearance referred to as wicked. Right now he certainly fit the part, most especially in consideration of the news he planned to impart. He approached the dinner table while a litany of self-condemnation played through his mind.
