Chapter Fourteen

Devlin rolled to the side of her, and they lay beside each other, breathing raggedly and staring at the night sky. His mouth curved faintly with lazy satisfaction. Ophelia never dreamed coupling could be so ravaging and beautiful. Now she understood why so many ladies flung themselves over the abyss, embracing ruination. For this.

It struck her forcibly that she would now be considered ruined by others while she simply felt as if she had made a blissful choice for herself.

“I feel wet and sticky,” she whispered, aware of the rivulets of sweat trickling between her breasts.

The night air suddenly felt balmy and suffocating. She pushed to her feet, watching the distant ripples of the lake. Without thinking about it, she dashed off toward the lake.

“Bloody hell!”

Laughing at that curse, she turned around to see Devlin loping after her. Ophelia laughed, hurrying her gait, aware of her hair flying behind her and into her eyes and mouth. He grabbed her about the waist just as she reached the edge; however, he did not draw her back or tumble them into the lush grass but allowed their momentum to take them forward into the terrifying darkness of the water. It was a cross between a scream and laughter that slipped from Ophelia, which was quickly cut off as they splashed into the lake. And not once did he release her. They sank, and she fancied the silvery moonlight perfectly sliced the surface of the lake, allowing her to see his expression as he securely held her to him.

I am cherished.

The thought rocked through her, and she clasped his shoulders as they kicked in unison to the top. Once they surfaced, the laugh rippled from her, and Ophelia laughed until he dipped his head and kissed her.

“You seemed frightened just now.”

“I believe the enormity of our interlude had just sunk into my bones,” she whispered.

The light cast from the moonlight shadowed the hard, savage contours of his jawline. His gaze slid over her face, serious and searching. “I protected you from pregnancy.”

Oh, God! She had been so far gone it never occurred to her. Ophelia stared at him, something warm and sweet tumbling over inside her. He could have done it—gotten her with child, irrevocably forcing them together. Yet despite his cravings, he still thought of her first.

He was pure strength, pure heart.

A whisper of sensation moved through her, and it felt suspiciously like she was falling…endlessly.

“Thank you, Niall.”

Her words and her mouth trembled. He lowered his head, so now his forehead touched hers, and they were eye to eye. “Is this the harsh bite of regret?”

“Never.” The fingers that touched his jaw also trembled. “People with regrets in their hearts will forever be lonely. I wanted you…I still want you; and months…years from now, I will feel no regret that I’ve been with you. Only pleasure and happiness, for this was my choice.”

He chucked Ophelia under her chin and said, “Good.”

She splashed water in his face and hurriedly swam away, knowing he would give chase. He easily caught her, and when he tugged her to him, she wrapped her legs high around his waist, shamelessly aware of her core pressed against the muscles of his lower stomach. “It is very dark,” she murmured.

“Afraid?”

“There might be creatures we do not know at the bottom of this lake. That hide in the day but come out at night.”

“Creatures other than fishes?”

“Yes, ones with tentacles, perhaps—snakes where their hair should be and maybe two heads.”

“I do not believe you are jesting. Where has your good sense gone?”

“You, my good sir, lack imagination.”

“I do not think—”

Something tickled beneath her left foot, sliding between her toes. Ophelia shrieked, cutting him off. It was the deviltry glinting in his eyes that warned her he was the culprit. “You beast!” she cried. “You odious, odious beast! You are beyond reproach. You might not know this, but I live for revenge. I could have died from your ill-chosen—”

His hands were suddenly buried in her wet tangled hair, his mouth devouring hers. In retaliation for her fright, she bit his lower lip. Ophelia gasped to find herself slung over his shoulders, her rump in the air.

“Are you a barbarian?” she groused, yet she was absurdly pleased at how they frolicked.

To her shock, he lightly slapped her derriere before tugging her down into his arms. Ophelia spluttered, and he laughed, the sound rich and masculine. The sensations that powered through her were fierce and intoxicating. It was sweet and gentle. It was hunger and satiation. Her hand rose of its own accord to smooth his brow, the hollow of his cheek. She kissed his lips, twining her hands around his nape. He waded with her to the steps leading out of the lake. Once they were on land, he laced their fingers together and strolled toward the blanket.

A sound of amusement escaped her. “We are casually walking across open lawns, naked. We are terribly outrageous!”

His finger stroked over her knuckle, and she looked down at their joined hands, wondering how he managed to infuse such sensuality into a mere touch.

“Go wrap yourself in a blanket. I’ll be right back,” he said, running off toward the cottage.

For a moment, she stood, admiring the perfectness of his well-sculpted buttocks and thighs bathed in moonlight. Who knew I was so lascivious? Another quality she possibly got from Sally Martin, considering how delicately proper her mother was. That tight, awful feeling that normally came when she thought of Miss Martin lodged low in her belly. Exhaling a shaky breath, Ophelia hastened to their mound, grabbed one of the blankets, and wrapped it around her body. Immediately, she was warmed. Devlin returned with another blanket, a comb, and a soft towel. He dried her hair with brisk movements, then helped her to redress in her drawers, stays, and chemisette.

He donned his trousers, and now they reposed on the padded carpet, his back flush against the stone, and she snuggled in front of his parted thighs. The pose was casual and indolent. Ophelia grinned, thinking how scandalous they must appear. With infinite care, Devlin pulled the comb through her hair, the faintest of tugs at her scalp. He worked her hair and fanned it open, so it formed a cloak around her.

Covering an indelicate yawn with her palm, she leaned back more into his warmth. “I am sitting in the open, dressed in only my drawers and chemise, with a man combing my hair. I daresay my friends will not believe a word of it.”

“You plan to tell them this?”

She laughed. “Why not? Everyone is frightfully curious about what goes on between a man and a woman. It is a bit silly that most men know but we ladies are ignorant.”

He tugged the blanket around her neck, and she snuggled down, leaning back in the crook of his neck, and stared up at him.

“I want to know all the secrets that go on between a man and woman.”

He gave her a long, unblinking look before dipping slightly to kiss her nose.

A loud bark had them looking around to see his large dog bounding over. Conan planted his paw on his master’s shoulder and licked his chin. Devlin drew one of his hands from the blanket and scratched behind his ears. “I missed you, too, boy.”

The large body bounced off hers, as if he wanted her away from his master. Acting on impulse, she tossed her hand over his neck and hugged him, ruffling his hair. This was an invitation for the big brute to play, and with one shake of his body she was tumbled over onto the blanket. Ophelia laughed gaily, and Conan woofed his reply.

She shifted so she could lean against the large rock, not minding that some of the edges dug slightly into her back. Man and beast romped for several minutes, and she watched them, hoarding the lovely picture they made. Devlin’s laugh was beautiful, and she saw how much he loved his dog. Conan was more than a companion; he was family. Conan licked his master’s chin before prowling away to sprawl on the lower end of the carpet, closing his eyes.

Devlin didn’t hesitate to move closer, to rest his head on her thigh, his large body also splayed on the blanket.

“I see where Conan gets it from.” Bending over, Ophelia kissed the tip of his nose. “I cannot imagine why I did that,” she whispered.

A roguish smile creased his mouth. “It is because I am adorable.”

His response startled a soft laugh from her. “Cats are adorable.” She glanced at his large bullmastiff. “Maybe even Conan. But not you…you are something entirely different.”

You are unquestionably dangerous to my heart.

His eyes locked with hers, offering a carnal promise she desperately wanted to accept.

“Tell me about you, Niall. I want to know you.”

“What?” he murmured with sleepy amusement.

She traced her fingers over each scar: one in his brow, one right at the edge of his lip, two below his chin. “How did you get these?”

“Fighting.”

“And why were you fighting?”

A fine tension entered his frame, and she wondered if he realized it.

She coasted her thumb along his eyebrow and cheekbone, her fingers trailing along his jaw. “Are you afraid to tell me?”

“No.”

He said nothing else, and she feathered her fingertip over his brow, then kissed the scar.

“You should have told me you were paying in kisses. I would have been more amenable. That one came because another lad tried to steal my bread. I was hungry and damned cold. I did not want to give it up, though it was moldy, so I fought.”

Her heart wrenched. She kissed his mouth in reward, and he growled his pleasure. After lifting her lips from his, she touched that scar once more. She could not imagine a life where she had to fight for food. Devlin had lived like this. Perhaps for weeks or years. It forcibly struck her how little she knew about this man who was now her love. How intimate they had been yet so far apart. “Someone stealing your food. Did this happen when you were in Newgate?”

The silence suddenly seethed with a tension that rattled Ophelia.

“How did you know about that, Fifi?”

Why did he suddenly have to sound so foreboding? His entire body was also locked in rigidity. “You do not want me to know this about you?”

“Answer me, Fifi.”

How ice dripped from his tone.

She stared down into his face, which had become perfectly composed into nothing. “It was a fleeting mention from your mother. It does not make me think less of you,” she whispered. “And I would never tell anyone.”

A mocking curve lifted his mouth. “You believe I need your discretion?”

“I know no society paper has ever mentioned that you are an ex-convict,” she said softly. “They do mention how shrouded your past is; they would not have given up the opportunity to tear into you like rabid wolves with the information.”

“I spent two years, four months, and sixteen days in Newgate.”

Said so casually without any of the horrors he might have suffered. Ophelia had read the arguments for calling for prison reform. The place they described in desperate need of change was hell, a place of despair and hopelessness. She stroked her fingers through his hair. “Permit me to ask the reason.”

“I beat a toff with my fists. He raced his carriage down the street of Haymarket without any care in the world, and he crashed. A young girl’s foot was stuck under one of his carriage wheels. We worked to free her, and the man…an earl took his whip to her in blame. She dared cross the street when he needed to race his curricle to win a bet. Nobs believe people like Poppy…me…children on the streets, the working class, are gutter slime they can use and abuse. I took the whip for her across my back…”

Ophelia recalled the vague knotted flesh on his lower back when she had clutched at him in ecstasy. “Then what happened?”

“I turned and slammed my fist into his mouth with all the anger and disgust fueling me. He toppled over into the dirt. A few other nobs held on to me until a constable arrived. I was arrested and sentenced to ten years in prison for daring to hit a lord. That earl went home, and Poppy lost her foot.”

Oh, God. “Is she… How did she live after?”

“My friend Riordan took care of her and her family until I was out of Newgate. Poppy is like a sister to me, and we are still great friends today. One day you shall meet her.”

“I would love to,” she said with a smile. “How did you get out before your time?”

“Rhys Tremayne. He…he has an arsenal of secrets that he trades. It is the bedrock of his power and wealth in the underworld, where he is known as The Broker. He traded a precious secret for my release.”

Unexpectedly, her heart thumped. Such a man existed. Might he be able to gather her information on Sally Martin? Renewed hope blasted through her. Pushing that aside, she directed her thoughts to this moment. “Was it after your release Niall was reinvented as Devlin Byrne?”

“A slight but necessary change.”

“I see.” She thought about the other rumors attached to his name, hungry to know truth from fiction. “I have heard whispers that you’ve fought duels.”

“Four of them,” he murmured.

“Why?”

“Some gentlemen believed my winning streak in the gambling den was achieved by cheating.”

She was surprised they had actually met him on the field of honor when many in the ton believed only gentlemen had the right to defend themselves. “Did you kill them?”

A rough chuckle sounded. “I know I would have been hanged for it, even if the meeting was supposed to be about honor. I merely wounded their pride.”

Those men must resent him for it. An odd sense of foreboding wrapped itself around her. “Many say that you have tried to penetrate the ton. Offering bribes and loans to secure invitations to tonnish events. But they keep you out.”

“You are remarkably informed.”

This was conversation overheard between her father and his cronies. “Is it true?”

“Yes,” he said with dry humor.

“You do not seem to like or respect them.”

“Some are decent gentlemen with honor. Many are like rabid wolves that viciously devour any sheep that stumbles. Most times the sheep are those more unfortunate than they are.”

“Whyever would you want to be a part of the ton?”

“It is where you reside. For a long time that was important.”

She stared at him with a keen sense of awestruck incredulity. She believed him, absolutely without question. A dangerous idea visited Ophelia, sinking like talons into her thoughts—what if Niall still wants forever? She shook her head, trying to clear the sensual haziness that still lingered and that ridiculous notion. They were only meant to be lovers for a time; nothing more. The things his mother spoke about were years ago. When he was a young lad, barely on the cusp of manhood.

Am I still at the end of your long, dark, painful walk, Niall?

Ophelia couldn’t give in to the rush of yearning, the sensation his words aroused so instantly. She was aware of nothing but him. The beat of his heart underneath her palm, his masculine scent, the possessive…yet tender way he stared up at her.

Inexplicably, it took heart-thudding, breath-stopping courage to ask him, “Do you love me, Niall?”

Her voice had been a mere whisper, and she wanted to snatch back the words until she better understood why she needed the answer.

“No,” he replied, his voice just as low.

Those words cut, deep and revealing.

Then he said, “Not yet.”

Not yet. An indication that he allowed for the possibility of falling in love with her. Yet the possibility lingered that he might also never love her. But what do I need his love for? We are not from the same world, and this must eventually end.

The eyes that peered up at her were intent, soul searching. If possible, her heart thudded even faster. He smiled so faintly that it was barely visible. “Do you love me, Fifi?”

“Not yet,” she whispered. Inside, she crumbled a little, for she was tumbling headlong into something she did not understand but craved with every part of her being.

“So we are in agreement. Not yet.”

“Yes.” The word was tremulous.

“Should we kiss on it?”

“You find all sorts of excuses to put your mouth on mine, I see,” she said, tenderly brushing a lock of hair from his forehead.

“Wouldn’t you do the same if a certain lush mouth was the best thing you had ever tasted?”

Pleasure warmed her cheeks. “I am a firm supporter of the delight of kisses, but I daresay you’ve never drank sweetened chocolate or ate pineapple cake glazed with icing.”

He caught her around the waist and pulled her against him, burying his face in her throat. He reached between their tightly fitted bodies. His hot, rough palm slid up her thigh, found her wet folds, and parted them.

“Hurry,” she moaned. “I need you, Devlin.”

With one long finger, he penetrated her. The shock of the sensation caused her to jerk. She was delightfully sore, but she was also soft and dewy. Ophelia gasped when his finger vanished and his cock pressed against her aching sex, and with an inexorable push, Devlin thrust his cock until he was buried deep inside of her. A low, rough sound came from the mouth still buried at her throat. A whisper of pleasure from her.

How long might I have this for?

…

Fifi slumbered deeply, her chest rising on even breaths. Devlin couldn’t have slept well, even if he’d wished to surrender to the deep torpor pulling at him. He’d became gradually aware that there was a toe in his mouth and at least three more resting somewhere on his chin and lips.

Good God, what is this?

And such delicate little toes, too. With slow ease, he shifted his head, causing the toe to slip from his mouth, then sat up. Ophelia lay on her side, hugging his legs as if they were a lifeline. Her hip and thighs were slung over his lower body, with one of her knees pressing into his navel and her toes now resting somewhere in the crook of his neck.

He looked around, bemused. It should be impossible, given that after their last bout of tupping they had fallen asleep under the blankets with her snuggled into his side, her head rested comfortably on his arms. When had she moved her whole body, and where was the bloody blanket? The night had been unusually warm, but now there was a decided nip in the air. Spying the blanket at his feet, he reached down for it, careful not to jostle her awake. Devlin froze when she muttered and flung her body, her foot kicking him in the throat.

“Bloody hell,” he growled.

Astonished, he stared as she scrambled up, her eyes still closed, shifted around, and flung herself on top of his chest, knocking his chin, slamming his teeth together.

“Mercy,” he muttered, his teeth aching.

Pushing his tongue against them, he tested that none had been shaken loose with her tough head. She pushed a hand around his neck and wrapped around him like a vine. “Cold,” she whispered in the crook of his neck.

Conan’s eyes were open and staring at them, and he made a low chuffing sound deep in his throat, pushed to his paws, and padded off. Devlin chuckled, tugging the blanket up over her. She stirred, rousing halfway from sleep, then rolled toward him, nestling close and throwing her arm over his chest. At least thirty minutes passed before he gave up on sleeping. Fifi had shifted at least three more times, and now was in a position where her legs were flung over his waist, her upper body twisted away from him and one of her hands over his face. Surely that was her elbow stuffed in his mouth.

Devlin chuckled, untangled himself, bundled her in the blanket, and lifted her in his arms. He turned around and faltered. Fuck. Her cousin Lady Effie stood there, her eyes wide and her cheeks frightfully red. Clearly, she had come looking for her charge, and what did she find but a scene of blatant debauchery?

How had she found them? The path was not an easy one, and his family knew not to divulge it. They stared at each other for a long time.

She cleared her throat, squared her shoulders, and said, “I will not tell anyone about this.”

Devlin knew of situations where a man was caught alone with a young lady in a conservatory, and within a few days they were wed. Of course, the man concerned had been a lord. And here he was, with a half-naked beauty wrapped in a blanket, and Devlin barefoot and only in trousers. But this…this did not warrant any conversation with her father? A dark amusement rushed through him, and his mouth twitched.

“No demands for our immediate marriage?” he asked mockingly. “Your discretion is appreciated.”

Lady Effie flushed, her eyes skittering from his to look beyond his shoulder. “The marquess would not consent to your union…and though Ophelia seems to have irrevocably lost all sense of herself, she would not marry without her parents’ blessing and approval. Not that I believe she would go so far as to even request it of them.”

Why did everyone see it fit to tell him that? Still, the words cut deep into his belly. “If that is her decision,” he said flatly, holding her a little closer to his chest.

“I assure you, Mr. Byrne, you are merely a dalliance for my cousin, a rebellion… Crudely put, she is slumming.”

He had just gotten a piece of her, and the world already wanted to take her from him. The denial bubbling inside him was violent and primal. She made a soft sound in her sleep, and he relaxed his hold around her body.

“I was charged with her safety, and I…I allowed her to convince me for a brief moment alone with you. When that moment turned into a few hours, your mother was kind enough to alleviate my distress by giving me the direction to this cottage.”

Devlin stared for a moment at the stubborn lift to Lady Effie’s chin before dipping his head in a nod. “Fifi will be with you within the hour.”

“Lady Ophelia,” she said tightly. “I am also not leaving here without her! I have already ordered your man to see the carriage ready. We will return to town post haste. If you wake her, I will see her into the cottage to get dre…dressed.”

“I will do it,” he said in a tone that brooked no refusal.

Devlin turned away and walked toward the steps of the cottage, Ophelia a comfortable weight in his arms. He had not meant for them to fall asleep under the stars. Hell, he had not even intended to ravish her so thoroughly. Not here, where anyone could come upon them. Yet it had happened, and he would not regret it.

Opening the cottage door, he entered. Devlin kissed her forehead, and she murmured sleepily. Another kiss to her nose, and then one to her mouth. She came awake smiling, and his heart trembled. Helping her down, he watched her wobble slightly, then glance around the cottage. The fire had died to embers, and he went over to the hearth, added a few logs, and quickly coaxed the fire to a blaze.

“Your cousin is outside.”

Ophelia gasped. “Effie?”

“Yes.”

She groaned but did not seem overly worried.

“Are you at all concerned she will speak of our…” The words to describe the best moments of his life eluded him.

“Indiscretion?” Ophelia murmured, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ears.

“Ah, is that what it was?”

“It was something wonderful,” she whispered with a soft smile, her lovely eyes tender with an emotion he could not identify.

The hardness encasing his heart eased. Only a little.

He returned her smile. “I will help you as best as possible to dress. There is nothing I can do about your hair.”

Several minutes later, she was buttoned up, stockings and slippers on. She stole through the door, no doubt to have a private word with her cousin before he joined them. Devlin took his time in making himself presentable before he killed the fire in the hearth and locked up the cottage. A quick sweep of the lawns outside only showed Fifi standing near the edge of the lake. The wind caught the skirt of her dress and blew it around her legs. It flung her hair from the loose chignon they had managed to cobble together and tumbled it to her shoulders and hips. A startled but delighted laugh came from her. She spread her hands wide from her body, lifted her face to the sky, and twirled.

She is happy.

Never-before-felt ripples undulated through Devlin’s heart. He had just pleasured her quite wickedly. Dark amusement rushed through him. Should he ask her to marry, what would she say? No doubt his Fifi would be just as horrified as her lady cousin. It was a damn good thing he had no hopes of her being more than his precious lover.

He walked toward her. “Fifi.”

She whirled to him, and he faltered. Her heart could be mine for the taking. He saw it in the soft, tender way she smiled at him. In the way hunger sparked in her eyes like a river of fire. The way she touched him just now, held him to her, opened herself to him.

From the first moment he had seen her again, he had wanted her in his life…in his bed. He would not dare demand more from her.

He was hardly invited to balls or political dinners. He lacked breeding and connections that were important to her family. He had understood at an early age that without money, there was no authority, no power, and most importantly, no choices in this world. He had money. But he also understood those belonging to high society were ruthless in treating those who did not belong to their circle like a cancerous cell—viciously cutting it away.

Devlin had barely penetrated the world she lived in, and he might never fully do so. Her world was glamorous and extravagant. His life was simple, and he worked hard. The people who were possibly friends of her family were the ones he blackmailed and dealt with ruthlessly to ensure certain bills that benefited the poorer class were passed. Devlin scrubbed a hand over his face, a spark of anger at himself burning in his chest. With a steady will, he drew on his cloak of indifference. It was dangerous to send his mind along the path to dreaming of more with Fifi. He was not that young fool anymore.

“What are you thinking that makes you scowl so frighteningly?” she asked, walking over to him.

“Where is your cousin?”

At his blatant sidestepping of her question, Ophelia canted her head, but she did not press him. “She is walking ahead of us. I asked her for privacy.”

He arched a brow. “I am surprised she acceded.”

Humor glinted in Fifi’s eyes. “I confessed I was the one to ravish you, and Cousin Effie will understand my choices are mine to make.”

He recalled the closeness he had observed between the two during the carriage ride and at dinner. Having nothing to say, he held out his hand to her, and, without hesitation, she took it. They started walking back through the woods toward the main estate. She glanced behind her and sighed wistfully.

“I do not wish to leave.”

Another incremental easing around his heart.

“We can visit whenever you want.”

“I would like that.”

A commitment for future liaisons. It was a step, and he would hold on to it with ruthless hands.

Conan bounded over to them, surprisingly prowling by her side. His massive dog reached her waist, and without any showing of fear, she ruffled his head. Conan purred, and Devlin smiled.

I like her, too, boy. I like her, too.