Chapter Eighteen

They had been sitting in the carriage outside a large cottage in Aston-on-Trent for at least thirty minutes. The carriage was parked in the small graveled driveaway leading up to the main house. In the distance, Ophelia saw someone walking about the yard—a servant, perhaps. She did not understand her nervousness, for she was alone with only Devlin as her company. Early that morning, she had driven away without Effie as a hovering chaperone. Ophelia had left her a note, explaining she had to do something important and very private and regretted that she had to leave her behind for this trip.

Lowering the carriage curtains with shaking fingers, she stared at Devlin.

He sat on the seat facing her, his expression unreadable.

“You must think me a ninny,” she said shakily.

“Never that. I believe it is normal to be nervous.” He dipped his hand into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a flask. Uncapping it, he handed it to her.

“Liquid courage?” she asked with a light laugh. She was aware of a restless dissatisfaction, though she was not at all sure the reason for the discontent.

“Yes.”

Ophelia took several healthy sips, the whisky burning a hot trail from her throat to her belly, unknotting the icy doubt. “I do not know what I am doing, Devlin.”

“Come here, Fifi.”

The ice loosened even more, and warmth flooded her limbs. Pushing from her seat, she went over to him but before she could sit beside Devlin, he pulled her into his lap.

“You wanted to know if she lived. She does. In that house right there. Only she is not Sally Martin anymore. She is Mrs. Sally Kent. She has a husband and three children.”

Shock tore through Ophelia’s heart. “She…she has more children.”

“Yes.”

Oh! She did not know what to feel or think. She swayed and he rested a hand at her lower back, rubbing his thumb in soothing circles. “Do you want to know about the children?”

“Yes.”

“Two daughters. The eldest is one and twenty, and her name is Marianne. The other girl is seventeen and is called Jenny. The lad is thirteen and he is called Oliver.”

Fifi pressed a hand over her chest. “Do you think she ever told them about me?”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “That I cannot tell.”

“What if they hate me?”

“I’ll gut them for it.”

A shaky laugh escaped her. “I never knew you were this blood-thirsty.”

“Multifaceted, my sweet,” he said, kissing her nose. “Multifaceted. Now let’s go outside.”

Ophelia allowed him to assist her down. Her gloved hand clasped in his, they strolled a few steps from the carriage. Her steps faltered and she stopped and simply stared at the cottage. Inside lived people who were a part of her, yet she did not belong to them, and might never do. Ophelia could not impose and bring any sort of discord or unhappiness to their home. She might introduce worries and past pain Sally had not shared with her husband and children. It shook her badly that she had not thought about that in her drive to find the lady who had birthed her.

I have been selfish, and impetuous, and imprudent as usual. Taking a deep breath, she calmed the disquiet in her heart. Perhaps she should start by sending Sally Martin a discreet letter.

“I cannot go in there,” Ophelia whispered, gripping his fingers tightly, yet he did not complain. “I might bring more pain than anything else.”

“I understand, Fifi.”

She nodded wordlessly and simply stared at the cottage for several long minutes. Devlin merely stood beside her, a silent protective force that she leaned against.

“Tell me, is her husband, Mr. Kent, is he good to her?” For she knew Devlin would have found out everything he could about this family before he told her about them.

“Yes. They do appear contented with each other.”

Relief swelled in her heart. “I am glad. She deserves happiness after what happened to her.”

Devlin’s hair lifted in the slight breeze, and she had to curl her fingers to fight the temptation to touch.

“I wonder if she ever thinks of me.”

“I believe she does.”

“Then why do you think she has never tried to find me?” Ophelia whispered. “She knew who had me.”

“He is a powerful man. It would have been foolhardy and dangerous for her to do so.”

She nodded wordlessly, lifting her fingers to brush aside a swath of wavy hair curling on his forehead. “Thank you for doing this for me, Devlin.”

“Thank you for allowing me the imposition.”

Tipping onto her toes, she kissed the underside of his jaw in thanks. He closed his eyes, and his large frame shuddered. Stepping away, she smiled up at him. “I am ready to leave.”

Arm in arm, they turned around, only for her to stumble to a halt at a gentleman who stood some yards away, staring at them. When he saw Ophelia, he removed his spectacles, polished the lenses with a handkerchief, then slipped them back on his face. He took a few tentative steps closer, his light blue eyes wide with disbelief.

“Are you…” He cleared his throat. “Are you Phelia?”

…

Devlin rubbed a thumb on Fifi’s lower back, through the layer of her dress and pelisse. From the way her body relaxed and curved into him, he knew she felt his touch.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“I…am Mr. Kent.”

Fifi’s face turned heartbreakingly fragile. “I…I…” She blew out a harsh breath. “I am not Phelia.”

He hesitated. “It is shortened from Lady Ophelia. Is that you?”

They stared at each other, and Devlin could hear Fifi thinking.

“I am,” she finally said.

The man closed his eyes in relief. “I never thought I would live to see this wound heal for my Sally,” he said gruffly. “May I invite you inside?”

Her breath lifted on a harsh breath. “No. I must leave.”

“Please, I beg of you to stay and meet her…meet your siblings.”

Her hand pressed against her lower stomach as she breathed in roughly. “They know about me?”

“Yes, to a small extent. It would mean more to my Sally if she could meet you and see that you are alive and happy. It would mean so much to her if she knew that you know of her.”

Ophelia looked up at him, and Devlin kissed the fierce frown from her brow. Her lashes fluttered close for a long moment, and he waited patiently while she gathered her courage.

“Yes,” she murmured. “I would like to meet Sally Martin.”

…

Ophelia muted all the chaotic emotions in her heart as Mr. Kent ushered them into a small but cozy parlor where a fire roared in the hearth, shaving away the evening chill. As he’d led them down the hallway, chatter and the clinks of utensils could be heard coming from a distant part of the cottage.

It had taken immense willpower to not turn and investigate. To see immediately for herself the brother and sisters she had.

Once they were comfortably seated, Mr. Kent excused himself. She rested her head on Devlin’s shoulder with a sigh, thankful that he always seemed to be there whenever she needed him. The anxiety slowly leeched from her, and when Mr. Kent returned with a lady, Ophelia had little reaction.

The lady appeared younger than Ophelia had anticipated and was quite lovely. She entered the room laughing and chattering, and with a painful jolt, Ophelia realized Mr. Kent had not warned his wife to soften the blow.

“Now, Thomas, what is all the mystery about, and why must—”

She faltered sharply at seeing Ophelia and Devlin sitting on the sofa by the fire.

“I was not aware visitors had called,” she said, glancing at the clock by the mantel.

Ophelia slowly stood, aware of the sudden fierceness of her heartbeat. This woman was Sally Martin. Her birth mother…who had yet to recognize her. “Hello, I—”

Sally Kent’s eyes widened, and she swayed. Her husband rushed to her and gently clasped her from behind.

“Forgive me,” he murmured. “I thought it best this way, but now I see I should have prepared you.”

“Thomas,” she gasped, sounding frightened. “Who is this?”

Before her husband could reply, she started to cry, great heaving sobs that rendered Ophelia motionless. Mrs. Kent pushed away from her husband and rushed to stand in front of her. Reaching out with a trembling hand, she attempted to touch her, but Ophelia stepped back.

Mrs. Kent flinched.

“I… Forgive me,” Ophelia began hoarsely. “I…” With a dazed sense of shock, she realized her entire body trembled, and it felt as if she was sinking.

“Easy,” Devlin soothed in a low voice. “I am here.”

“You are my daughter,” Sally Kent said faintly. “My daughter.”

Ophelia stared at her for so long without blinking that her eyes began to burn. “Yes.”

Sally gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking on silent sobs. Such emotions glowed in her eyes—ones Ophelia could not understand and might perhaps never do.

“Did he tell you? Does he know you are here?” Sally asked.

“My father thought he was dying, and he told me your name. When he recovered, he would not tell me more and did not want me to find you, but I searched because I needed to see you,” Ophelia said. “I am sorry for all the pain you endured.”

Sally’s lips trembled, and she firmed them. “Please, may I hug you?” she whispered. “Just for a moment…to see that you are real.”

With a sense of bewilderment, Ophelia realized she did not want to hug her, simply because she did not understand how she was supposed to feel at this moment. There was relief that Sally Kent lived, relief that she was seeing her birth mother, but an absence of love and familiarity made her feel unmoored. The desperate pleading in Sally’s voice propelled Ophelia forward, though, and she held out her arms.

It was Ophelia who hugged Sally Kent and murmured soothing nonsense to the heavily crying lady. Ophelia held her breath against her own emotions and offered whatever comfort she could give.

A few minutes later, they were seated on the sofa, Devlin and Mr. Kent departing the parlor to grant them a measure of privacy. Ophelia slowly told her of the journey it took to find her.

“Thank you for looking for me,” Sally said, smiling tremulously.

Silence fell in the room as they stared at each other. Ophelia tentatively smiled. “I understand I have sisters.”

“Yes, and also a brother.”

“Do they know of me?” Ophelia asked.

“They do, but they do not know the story of how you were taken from me. They would love to know you; I am sure of it…as I would love to know you.” Her eyes were shadowed when she asked, “Were…were you happy? Were you treated well?”

“My mother loves me, and my father indulges me greatly.”

“I am glad to hear it.” Sally plucked nervously at a bracelet at her arm. “I almost do not know what to say to you. I’ve missed you so much. Every day I thought of you. Every day.”

Her throat aching, Ophelia nodded wordlessly, looking around the tidy parlor, unable to escape the sense that she did not belong there…with them, in their happy space. “Perhaps from time to time I could visit,” she offered softly. “We might get to know each other.”

“Please, I…I would love that,” Sally said, sounding extremely relieved.

There was a loud commotion in the hallway, the door was pushed open, and three people spilled into the room. Mr. Kent had clearly told them of the matter, for they stared at her with varying degrees of shock.

They were lovely, and within their features, she saw a bit of herself. Over their heads, she saw Devlin, his eyes gleaming fiercely in the shadows and his face set in stark, inscrutable lines. If she wished it, he would whisk her away, uncaring of anyone else’s wants. The tight knot in her chest simply disappeared, and she felt inexplicably safe.

Ophelia slowly rose to her feet.

“Hullo…I am Fifi.”

…

Several hours after supping with Sally Kent and her family, Devlin’s carriage rumbled away with Fifi to their cottage in Rochester. Once they had entered the equipage, she had laughed and then cried, and now she was in his lap, her face buried against his throat, muttering nonsensical apologies about crying all over him.

He held her like that until she fell asleep. She felt deeply conflicted about Sally Kent and her siblings; he could see it in her expression, in her tears. In the soft hitch in her breathing as she slept against him. He did not shift or move her, even when his shoulders burned and his arm deadened from her soft weight. None of that mattered. The only thing of importance was that she felt safe and comforted and that she was in his arms.

Leaning his head against the squabs, Devlin slept holding her close to his chest, only to rouse when the carriage drew to a halt. A quick look outside the carriage windows showed a night dark with rain clouds with barely any stars dotting the sky. They were also in Rochester, but the coachman had done as instructed and taken them to the cottage path and not the main house. He roused her briefly so they could safely exit the carriage. Once outside, he lifted her into his arms and started up the path. “I can walk,” she murmured.

“I know.” He simply wanted her in his arms.

“I am sorry, Devlin.”

He slowed his steps and looked down at her. “Why?”

Guilt and some other emotion he could not decipher darkened her eyes. “At Hampstead Heath. I…”

He kissed her, stealing the words he did not want to hear. He already knew them, for they had haunted his soul that night as he slept. To be seen with him would be a stain against her reputation, and it had made itself evident under the harsh rays of sunlight atop that grassy knoll. What they had was a closely guarded secret, and he had known from the beginning it would be that way.

Could she give anything else to a man of his background and consequence? Devlin stared at her, knowing he would take Fifi in any way that he could. Swallowing the virulent curse that rose to his thoughts, he looked away. He had taught himself years ago to never settle. If he wanted something, he worked for it, achieving his needs at all costs necessary. Yet he did not feel as if he could apply the same principles to winning Fifi’s love.

And why not? the ruthless heart of him whispered.

Slipping her hands around his neck, she kissed him back with sweet fervor. Their lips parted, and they did not speak until he reached the inside of their cottage. Setting her down on her feet, he watched as she faced him. Fifi did not speak but lifted a hand to her hair and started to remove the pins. Devlin felt like there was so much to say, yet his heart started to hammer inside his chest.

“Is this goodbye, Fifi?”

Her lashes swept down across her cheekbones, and her fingers hesitated on the string of her pelisse. Finally, she lifted her eyes to his, and it rocked him on his heels to see those beautiful golden orbs bright with unshed tears. He took a single step closer to her, lifted his thumb, and swiped a drop away.

“Are those tears for me…for us?”

Her breath caught, her hand pressing tighter to her stomach. “Yes. I keep…I keep wondering how long we can really remain lovers. Every moment I am with you, there is the threat of discovery.”

There was a sadness in Fifi’s eyes, one he did not feel he could touch or erase. She had held a similar expression that day on the grassy hills of Hampstead Heath. Ah, fuck. “I see. If you wish to end our affair, Fifi, do it. I always knew it would end.”

“Would you let me go?” she asked brokenly.

“Yes.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. What a fucking lie. “No. I would more likely kidnap you and whisk you to somewhere far from England.”

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted with her alarm.

Devlin felt with bone-deep certainty this was their last time together. He fought against the jagged feelings of doubt. “Fifi, we do not have to stop being lovers. We have weeks, months, years left to us. I will protect your reputation, and I swear no one will ever discover us unless we want it. I know we are from different walks of life and—”

“I am falling in love with you,” she whispered.

Fuck. Devlin stepped back three paces, as if he had been shoved. A shocking, insurmountable degree of emotions almost felled him to his knees. “Fifi—”

She tipped her head slightly to the side. “My ‘not yet’ is cracking at an alarming rate, Devlin, so it is time we ask ourselves the necessary questions. I am falling. And it’s all the love. The one where my heart trembles upon seeing you, the one that makes me want to walk through a storm together, and the kind that is honest and loyal and is filled with laughter. I feel it growing with each moment with you, and it is frightening because the world I live in will roar at the very idea of us together. And while I might be able to live without that world, my parents, whom I also love, will never accept us being together.”

He went to her and cupped her cheeks, then lifted her face and pressed his mouth to hers. Her lips parted to the incredible gentleness of his touch, the sweet yet fiery stroke of his tongue.

“I love you,” he said roughly against her mouth. She gasped, and he caught the sound with his lips. “Never stopped, Fifi. Can never stop. I love you with every breath in me.”

“It would be hard,” she whispered.

Lifting her chin with two of his fingers, he saw the fright that she would crumple under the pressure of societal demands. “Sail away with me.”

She clutched frantically at his jacket. “Elope? Are you mad?”

“Wonderfully mad. We established that some time ago, remember?”

She chuckled, but that uncertainty remained in her eyes, and she thumped his chest. “I cannot run away with you, Devlin, and you most certainly will not kidnap me!”

Well, hell. That was a massive wrench in all his plotting. Then… “I will speak with your father. That is the first step.”

She looked almost ready to faint, and then her lush lips curved into a wide smile. “Marriage, then?”

“Is there any other way forward?”

“No.”

“Then we agree. We will get married.”

“How terribly romantic,” she drawled, yet the sadness had faded from her eyes. Now they glittered with delight.

The tightness around his chest dissolved. “Should I recite a poem or sing a song?”

She lightly laughed. “Do you have it in you?”

He glanced at her, momentarily amused. “Once you need it, I’ll find the words.”

She held him tightly for a long time. “The only thing I need is you.”

“Good answer. I was fretting you would have said yes.”

Fifi laughed before she sobered. “If my father refuses you?”

Something dark moved through Devlin. “I’ll come up with a notorious scheme to ensure his compliance.”

“Devlin!” She gasped. “They…they are very important to me. No schemes or blackmail.”

He stilled inside. After a moment, he said, not very easily, “So their approval is necessary?”

“Yes.” She searched his eyes. “Do you blame me?”

It was in the highest unlikely degree that the marquess would ever accept his offer. What, then? “Never,” he said, before taking her lips once more with his. “I am a fighter. Once you hold my hand and step forward, I will never let you go.”

“I have dear friends who would never cut me from their lives for being with you. One is a duchess and the other a marchioness. That is enough connection, should I ever need it, and I doubt I will. There is more to life, and I want to reach for it…with you, Niall.”

This time he did not allow her to step back but ruthlessly seduced her with one deep kiss after the other until she whimpered. Breaking off that tumultuous embrace, he kissed her brow, her eyelids, the tip of her nose, her cheeks, and finally her lips. Soft, slow, undemanding. He wanted to ravage her, yet also adore and worship her.

They removed their clothes in between kisses and whispering sighs until they stood naked before each other. Her wide eyes skipped over his body, stopped at his cock, then traveled down to his toes.

Her color considerably heightened, Fifi traced his lips with a single finger. “You are beautifully formed, Niall.”

Sweeping her into his embrace, he kissed her while he walked her over to the small bed in the corner. Bearing her down, he trailed his fingers reverently over her quivering belly to her slit and found it wet with wanting.

“You are already wet for me, Fifi.”

She gave him a brief, wondering look. “I cannot help it; with just a kiss you burn me alive.”

“God, the taste of you,” he whispered. “Sweeter than anything I’ve ever had.”

Nudging her thighs wide, he settled between them while bracing his weight atop his other forearm. Dropping his forehead to hers, Devlin watched her eyes while he gripped his cock and pressed the tip against her quim. He tormented them both by rubbing the sensitive head of his cock over the slickness of her folds. Pressing hard against her sex, he started moving his hips in slow circles, then up and down he stroked, dragging along her clitoris with the head of his cock and then down where he wanted to sink deep. Her body reacted, going soft and pliant, her sex wetter. It was more pleasure than he could bear.

Fifi whimpered, hugging around his neck tightly, arching her hips to his.

“You are the devil,” she murmured huskily, “to be teasing me so.”

His eyes held hers as he split her legs even wider. “No more teasing,” he said, thrusting deep inside her clenching tightness.

Instantly, Devlin felt the pleasure ripple through her, and it was enough to have him fighting his own release. With one hand curved around her back, the other holding her buttocks, he held her to him and chased their pleasure in a driving, sensual rhythm.