Chapter Eight

Another coincidence of fate.

That errant thought drifted lazily through Devlin’s mind as he stood at the window of the bookstore, discreetly looking at the ladies walking along Piccadilly. Only one had arrested his attention, however. He would know the curve of her lips, that pointed chin, and her delectably petite shape anywhere. He had a well-stocked library at home and often walked along Piccadilly to visit the bookstore to peruse their latest intake. This was the first time he had ever encountered Fifi.

She strolled along with two ladies, laughing gaily, uncaring that she did so publicly with her whole face. She appeared quite exquisite in a fetching dark yellow pelisse and a walking dress a shade lighter. Her fetching bonnet was titled rakishly atop her raven-black curls, with several tendrils bouncing about her forehead and cheeks. One of the ladies said something to her, and she covered her mouth with her gloved hand, hiding her obvious delight.

A young lad ran up to them, and when one of the ladies attempted to run him away, Fifi placed a restraining hand on her arm. Dipping into the pocket of her reticule, she withdrew a coin purse. Devlin tensed and, gripping his umbrella, moved toward the bookstore’s entrance. The boy, who could be no more than eight years, grabbed the coin purse and darted away. How shocked and befuddled she appeared, then, to his surprise, she laughed, as if she had not been robbed. One of her elegant companions waved a parasol at the young thief and gave chase with two footmen following at her heels.

From the quick movements Fifi made with her hands and the insufferable arrogance writ large upon her other companion’s face, he discerned she was not pleased with Fifi’s reaction. Devlin smiled. In his experience, nobs never took lightly someone robbing them. In truth, they could be merciless about it. That Fifi remained unaffected showed her generosity of spirit.

With a smile, he went to the small counter and collected his order. Over the years, once he’d learn how to read, it had become one of Devlin’s favorite pastimes. Fifi had instilled in him a love of the written word, and to date, his favorite pleasures were the Brothers Grimm folklore stories.

The proprietor eyed Conan a bit skeptically but did not order the dog to leave the bookstore. A few of the patrons had also sent them arched looks, but Devlin ignored them. His dog was well-behaved and would never cause a ruckus inside the establishment.

Taking his wrapped package, he hurried outside, noting that it had started to rain. The sky hung dark overhead, the clouds a deep blue gray that threatened rain. Fifi looked skyward, and so did her friend. The other who had chased the pickpocket had yet to return. Thunder rumbled distantly, and the ladies hurried their walking. Devlin held back, wondering if she would notice him. Without warning, the sky opened, and the rain fell in earnest.

Fifi’s lady friend, a woman of refined elegance, dashed in a mad run toward the large store beside the bookshop. Several other pedestrians hurried for cover, and a few even hopped into their parked carriages, which rumbled away. A footman dropped some packages he carried for his lady and was met with a severe rebuke. His lady employer did not pause to help the footman but hurried out of the rain.

Fifi did not rush from the rain but stooped to help the harried-looking footman collect the packages with a smile.

Devlin admired her independent nature, kindness, and utter loveliness. But the thing he still loved most was her incredible smile. As a boy, he had thought it felt like sunshine.

It still bloody did.

With quick strides, he went over and picked up a few packages and handed them to the man.

“Thank you, milord,” he said, bobbing to Devlin.

He did not correct the man’s assumption that he belonged to that set. Many merchants made the same error, given his wealth and the understated elegance of his tailoring. The footman hastened away.

“Oh, dear, I am awfully wet!”

“Allow me to offer some shelter from the rain,” he said, opening the large umbrella over her head.

She stilled and slowly lifted her head to meet his regard.

“Oh!”

Devlin was intensely aware of Fifi’s scent and the lush diminutive form of her body when she stood this close to him. A slight tremor of response went through her, suggesting she sensed the raw need pulsing through him. He reined in his response and shifted the umbrella closer.

“May I walk you to your carriage?”

Her throat worked on a swallow. “It is parked some distance away.”

Glancing up and down the street, she noted it was very empty. They were the only ones standing there in the wide, empty street, the rain pelting the heavy umbrella. Devlin saw that she was worried for her reputation, and despite the heaviness in his gut, he understood. He bowed slightly. “I will bid you a good day, Lady Ophelia. However, please allow me to leave my umbrella with you.”

…

Ophelia faltered in the act of dashing toward the bookstore’s awning, where several maids and footmen lingered. All the ladies and gentlemen had ducked into the various shops along Piccadilly to avoid the sudden downpour. She noted that Cousin Effie had run into Fortnum & Mason and would not likely come out soon.

“I cannot take your umbrella,” she said softly. Tendrils of water ran from the brim of her hat onto her cheeks. “I have a sturdy constitution. A little rain would not harm me.”

His mouth curved, and he dipped into a slight bow. “Then I bid you good day.”

When he made to move off, she said, “Where is your carriage parked?”

God. She really did not want him to leave.

“I walked.”

“From your home?”

“I enjoy walking.”

Swallowing, she stared at Devlin, painfully aware they were the only ones now standing in the streets. “Perhaps you should walk me to my carriage. My maid was determined to chase a little boy who took off with my coin purse, and my cousin is inside a shop sheltering.”

“You do not wish to shelter in place with your cousin?”

Propriety and the expectations of her parents dictated that she should. “It is more palatable to be in my carriage’s warm confines than a store that is surely packed with those hiding from the rain.”

Do you want to start a scandal? was the errant thought that floated through Ophelia’s awareness before she dismissed it. There was no one about, and the umbrella was large enough to hide their features should anyone try to look at them through the sleeting rain.

He nodded, and they walked toward her carriage in the distance, the rain muddying her boots and the hem of her pelisse. Today he was dressed elegantly in a coat of blue superfine, a waistcoat of silver with darker gray trousers over shining boots. He was the perfect picture of a gentleman until one glanced at his face. Despite his arresting handsome visage, there was a hardness in his eyes, a permanent cynical curve to his mouth, and a proud, arrogant tilt to his head, as if he stood in judgment of the world he stared at.

Ophelia shuffled closer under the umbrella and was instantly overwhelmed by the solid, unyielding strength in him. Desperately aware of him, she glanced at the package he held close to his chest.

“You collected books from Hatchards,” she said, smiling, recalling a time when she attempted to teach him his letters.

“Yes.”

She snaked another sideways glance at him before hopping over a puddle. “What titles?”

“The Village of Mariendorpt and Travels into Several Remote Nations of the World. In Four Parts. By Lemuel Gulliver, First a Surgeon, and then a Captain of Several Ships.”

“My friend Fanny wants to read The Village of Mariendorpt. It is not in the circulating library as yet. I intend to purchase her a copy for the outrageous sum of three pounds!”

“I once heard a nob say it is a good thing that books are expensive, for it prevents those in the lower classes from becoming infected with unsuitable ideas for their station,” Devlin replied caustically.

“How outrageous,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

“It is. One day, however, it will change, and reading will be available to all.”

“Do you believe so?”

“Yes.”

She liked his self-assurance and thought that men like Devlin should have a voice in making laws. Not only titled lords. Conan rushed forward, jumping into several puddles, streaking his wonderful coat with mud. Something about the dog’s obvious happiness with the rain delighted Ophelia, and she laughed. “Conan is incorrigible and such a beautiful beast,” she murmured, watching the dog frolic in the rain. “What breed is he?”

“He is a Bullmastiff.”

“Has he been with you long?”

“Five years.”

“He is happy.”

“And very dirty. We shall have a hot bath together.”

“You take baths with your dog?” she asked, aghast and also amused. She dearly tried not to imagine a naked Devlin in a large copper tub.

“My tub is rather large.”

Ophelia laughed, then hurriedly covered her mouth with her gloved hand. “Surely I cannot believe you.”

“It is such a shame to cover your smile,” he said.

“Ah, but you do not realize the scandal it would cause should I dare laugh in so unfettered a manner.” She shuddered mockingly. “The vulgarity of it would see me as the main topic of conversation for a week.” Ophelia peeked up at him again. “What happened to the duke’s son?”

“Young Lord Henry Forsythe arrived home safely without any bruises.”

“Thank you.”

His gaze skipped over her lips before he looked away. “Did you know that Herodotus was coined the father of history by Cicero?”

“I did very poorly with my Greek lessons,” she said, staring at him and noting the way his gaze dropped to her mouth, then glanced away. “I suspect because you want to kiss me, you spewed a random fact. How was it as a distraction tactic?” Ophelia had meant her words to be teasing, but they came out a touch too breathless.

“Did I?”

“Yes. It is particularly charming.”

“I admit I have grown hungry for a taste of your mouth. Exercise in restraint is not my strong point.”

Ophelia was unprepared for his provocative words and the sensual quirk to his lips. Heat flushed her entire body, and she glared at him. Or attempted it but ruined it by grinning. “There is something very wicked about you, isn’t there?”

His eyes were bright with wry humor. “Do you want to explore it?” he asked silkily.

Temptation slid against her skin like a honeyed blade. Forbidden lovers…

“Do you hear the music in the raindrops?” she asked, employing distraction. “I hear it against the umbrella…and how it falls against the ground. Even in the clip-clop of our shoes, I hear a melody.”

“Then sing a song to it.”

“Do you plan to sing with me?”

“God, no. I still sound like a croaking frog.”

“You were not that bad.”

Unexpectedly, he waved a hand and did this quick tap with his feet in a dance and warbled a few lines. Ophelia was astonished, and then she was delighted. Grinning like a loon, she hurried to keep pace with his outrageous tapping and singing in the rain. She repeated his lines in a song that quivered to the beat of the slashing rain, shocked to discover how free and simply wonderful she felt in the moment.

He faltered, and when she met his eyes, her song died.

“Do not look at me so,” she begged. “Please.”

Devlin had been fashioned by Lucifer to tempt her. All the warnings from her mother about gentlemen of his ilk who seduced and discarded maidens roiled in her mind. But that seemed too unsavory a way to look at their situation, unlike the mutual satisfaction hinted at by “forbidden lovers.”

Her carriage came into sight, and she paused, slowing, not wanting to reach it so soon.

“Is that your carriage?” he pointed out to her.

“I’m afraid so. Is it wicked of me to wish I did not have to return to my gilded cage?”

“Very, but I am glad you do not want to rush away from me, Fifi. Do not worry—we will meet again.”

As they neared the carriage, he opened the door and kicked down the step for her to enter. Their eyes met, and he doffed his hat and bowed slightly to her as she climbed aboard. A footman had rushed to help and closed the door, sealing her inside.

Devlin smiled and then turned and walked on with Conan at his heels.

…

A kiss from you to me.

The shock of those words almost sent Ophelia straight into a faint. The damn scoundrel.

After not hearing from him for almost a week, was this truly the note he sent her? It also did not escape her attention that she had teased him in the rain about kissing. The man had clearly pondered upon it and came up with this. She opened the second envelope with trembling fingers to see what he believed a kiss from her was worth. Everything else before had been ten thousand pounds, extraordinary sums by any standard. But she had not thought he would have dared overstep the tentative bonds of friendship that had rekindled.

Memories of how he had held her when they danced, the intensity of his stare, and the dreams…those silly, persistent dreams that came to her nightly. She fooled herself into thinking only a peculiar friendship lingered in the air. There was so much more, and Ophelia was not afraid to face that he attracted her in a manner no other gentleman had ever done before.

I would have kissed you without an incentive.

Flushing, she tossed down the note, hating to look at the amount of money offered. Rubbing her chest, she padded over to the fireplace and held out her hands, wanting to warm the icy chill that had encased her body. Was this how he conducted all his relationships? Something had to be offered to receive something in return. Did he only perform transactions? Was nothing driven by impulse, and want, and desire?

Annoyed with herself for wanting to look at the bank draft, she marched to the music room and sat before the pianoforte. She started to play, closing her eyes. A deep study of the estate and the ledgers every day for the last week showed extraordinary loans that Papa had taken out over the years. Forty-five thousand pounds in one instance, then six years ago another fifty-eight thousand pounds. Their estate pulled in a generous income, and most went to pay these loans with little going toward the upkeep of the mills and country estates that relied on tenant farmers.

Clearly, Papa’s heart illness for the last several months had done him no favors. Ophelia had observed they were still unable to make the accounts in the black, but in the ledgers and letters, she saw no plans to show how her father would rectify the matter. She had tried several times to total their indebtedness and, whenever she thought she had discovered the whole, found another debt or loan that needed to be paid. And her father continually refused to discuss it with her despite her attempts.

A kiss from you to me.

In the secret recesses of her dreams where wanton wickedness lurked, she had thought more than once about kissing Devlin Byrne. But not like this. Not for money!

Blowing out a frustrated breath, she continued playing with vigor and passion, losing herself in the piece. As a lover of music, she found the sound of songs in almost everything—the swaying of the trees as the wind whispered through the leaves, the gentle babbling of a brook, the chirping of birds, the ping of rain against the windows, the clatter and clip-clop of heels on cobbled surfaces and parquet floors. Everything had its own rhythms and melodies.

Sometimes even as she lay in bed unable to sleep, Ophelia would find the notes of a melody in the stillness of the night. She would hum, and words and musical notes would dance on the bed canopy and in the air, so vivid was her imagination. Whenever she thought of Niall…Devlin Byrne, the sensations that cascaded through her were like a song thrumming through her soul, aching to escape its confines.

A melody would play inside her, at first a sweet hiss, a slight stutter as if there was uncertainty, but it never stayed in that low note. The melodies she felt were dark and slow, sultry, tempting. Her fingers danced over the keyboards, and the words of the song she had written for him hovered on her lips but did not fall. Ophelia closed her eyes, allowing the music drifting from the pianoforte to tug at the long-buried desires. Behind her closed eyelids, the notes she played danced and twisted as if truly alive. Right at that moment, she heard his voice in the darkness—the start of a gentle breeze.

A kiss from you to me…

A discordant sound startled her, and she snapped her eyes open.

“Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you,” a low voice said.

Ophelia stood and turned around to see Peter, the Earl of Langdon, his golden hair shining like a halo under the rays of the sunlight.

“Lord Langdon!” A quick glance behind him showed their door had been left ajar, but she saw no servant or her mother. “Did you call for me?”

“Your mother did not want to disturb your playing, and neither did I. She has left to hand the roses I brought over to a servant. I gather she will return soon.”

Ophelia felt a new wariness come over her. “I see.”

He came toward her, and she skirted around the bench to keep a respectable distance between them. He ran his fingers over the keys of the pianoforte, producing a lively tune.

“I do not see any music sheets. What piece did you play? I have never heard it before, and it was beyond lovely.”

“I wrote it.”

“You wrote it?”

She smiled at his surprise. “We ladies are an accomplished lot, you know.”

“I’ve also heard you have a more than pleasant singing voice.”

When she shot him a startled glance, he said, “Your performance at Lady Trumbell’s musicale was spoken about for weeks.”

“That musicale was last year, my lord.” The earl flushed and tugged at his cravat. Was he nervous? “Lord Langdon, I—”

He smiled in that charmingly boyish way of his. “Please, Ophelia. I daresay we are friends. I have asked you many times to call me Peter.”

“Peter,” she said softly, walking over to the large windows that faced the gardens. “I had no notion you would call upon me today.”

“I was driving my new curricle in the park, and I suddenly felt inspired to stop by and invite you to a drive out.”

Ophelia turned and leaned her back against the wall, pinning the billowing drapes in place. Peter had asked her to marry him last season, and she had gently declined. It had stunned him, for he was a most eligible catch, and he had clearly thought his suit would be acceptable to any lady he chose to honor with an offer.

This was the fourth time he had called on her within the last month, not to mention the dances he asked for at balls. She had walked out with him at Hyde Park last week, and they had spent a lively hour discussing horses. A very passionate topic for him, but admittedly she had not been bored. She enjoyed his amiable manners, and he was very handsome and kind. However, Ophelia did not want him to believe there was a chance she might accept his proposal should he renew his offer. She simply had no tender feelings for him.

“You are staring at me in a rather frank manner,” he said with a slight chuckle. “Is my cravat undone?”

“I am a frank sort of girl,” she said with a slight smile. “I was merely lost in thought for a moment.”

“And what thoughts were those, if I might be bold enough to inquire?”

She hesitated, and his gaze sharpened. “I thought this felt like it could be the beginning of a courtship,” she said candidly.

“And you object to the idea?”

“I still have no wish to marry at the moment. Your efforts would be in vain, my lord.”

“And if I wanted to wait on you, Ophelia?”

She stiffened, a stricken feeling stabbing at the heart of her.

Wait for me…

“Whyever would you say this? I have not given you any hope that I have any tendre for you. There are many ladies far lovelier and more accomplished than I am who would be thrilled to be your countess!”

The way he stared at her was baffling. His expression was tender and almost loving. To her thoughts, there had been nothing in their interaction to suggest any passionate feelings on her part. Or on his!

“You are not in the first blush of youth as others, but you are beautiful. You are agreeable, dignified, and quite lovely on the inside and out. Why would I not want you as my countess?”

“I am not sure what you have heard—”

“It is what I have observed,” he said with a charming wink.

Ophelia laughed. “I am not at all agreeable!”

“You also own the loveliest laugh I’ve ever heard. The thought of listening to it for the rest of my life is rather pleasing.”

She stared at him, stunned and discomfited. “Peter—” she began.

He held up a hand. “I swear I did not call on you today to unsettle you. Would you like to see my curricle?”

“I suppose I would,” she said kindly.

His eyes lit with pleasure, and as she collected her shawl and hat, she couldn’t help noting that Effie was conspicuously absent to act as a chaperone and the smile on her mother’s face was absurdly pleased.

Ophelia dancing with Devlin had really unsettled the wits of her parents. Her mother was matchmaking, clearly with the hopes her daughter might fall madly in love with the earl. Cousin Effie and perhaps Papa were in on the scheme. The freedom from their machinations she had enjoyed for so many seasons was coming to an end.

In her parents’ mind, a wolf had stepped into her path, and they must save her before she was devoured.

Bollocks!