Chapter Three

Devon rested his shoulder against the enormous marble sculpture of a lion-drawn chariot that dominated the upper gallery. It was a secluded spot. He could stare down at the activity in the main salon all he wanted without being seen. A grin deepened the faint grooves that bracketed his mouth. He could even laugh out loud if he felt like it. And there was quite a bit to laugh about, actually.

Chiswick had just tripped backward onto his tailbone, the most inelegant Romeo in the history of amateur theatrics. Jocelyn had rushed down the stairs to his rescue. Devon’s gaze idly followed her graceful descent.

His brow arched in amusement.

She was reaching down to put right the footstool that Adam had overturned. Adam was reaching out for…Jocelyn’s rear end. Devon snorted as the man below gave her bum a covert pat. Well, well. Was Jocelyn going to slap him, shove him back onto the floor?

Devon leaned his forearms across the black-iron balustrade to watch. What would she do?

Nothing.

He shook his head. Perhaps she hadn’t even felt Adam’s sneaky pat. Perhaps it had been only an almost-fondling. A pat of the air, and not of Jocelyn’s roundly shaped rump. Perhaps, he mused, Adam had interpreted that ineffective gesture to be what Devon had meant by a firm hand.

You’ll never ride her at that rate, he thought woefully. And for an instant he indulged his imagination in what it would take to pleasure the aloof Jocelyn in bed. He’d wager he could find a way to make her take notice.

But could he make her forgive him, truly forgive him? Only now did it come back to him that the main reason he had refused that long-ago invitation was because he’d disliked her father and resented the man’s air of arrogant command. Devon hadn’t known Jocelyn well enough to say whether he’d enjoy her company or not.

He wondered how she managed to stand her ground in the face of Sir Gideon’s dictatorial self-assertion. The soldiers who’d served under him despised the man, which did not necessarily make him a poor leader. But there had been whispers of cruelty under Gideon’s command, suppressed, of course, before they could be substantiated.

It shouldn’t matter to Devon one way or the other. It didn’t really. Jocelyn appeared to be able to hold her own.

And hold Devon’s interest, dammit. Why now of all times did that Boscastle instinct to both seduce and protect have to emerge and threaten to spoil the decadent fun he had planned? If Jocelyn needed protection at all, it was probably from men like himself.

He was wild at heart and thought it was too late to change.

He of all the Boscastle siblings had suffered the most from their mother’s death and their father’s shifting moods. Drake had borne the brunt of Royden Boscastle’s physical outbursts. Devon had learned to play peacemaker at an early age, and if it had not been for the overpowering support of his brothers and sisters, he could easily have drifted through life without anchor, without attachment.

His soul had wandered afar for so long he did not hold hope it could be redeemed.

“Spying on something interesting?”

He glanced off to his side at Lily ascending the staircase, answering her with a grin. “The unplanned performance within the scheduled performance is one of the evening’s memorable moments.” He allowed his gaze to travel over her silk-swathed figure. “At least so far. I’m open to private play.”

Lily came to stand beside him at the balustrade. “Why are you going out of your way to show Chiswick in a poor light? It’s not like you. Or am I mistaken?”

His grin deepened. “I don’t have anything against old Chinny. I’m only making mock of him to vex Jocelyn.”

She raised her fan and, like a duelist, directed it at his shoulder. “Why? What has she done to offend you?”

He deflected the fan with a flick of his wrist. “I don’t know. Nothing, really, although her family has let it be well known that I’ve offended them.”

“Is this a story I would enjoy?”

“I was asked to dinner years ago by Sir Gideon Lydbury in an obvious invitation to a courtship. Not only did I have the bad grace to fail to appear, but I completely forgot to send either an excuse or apology afterward. In fact, I went away.”

“She did not appeal to you?” Lily asked with a skeptical smile.

“Marriage didn’t appeal to me,” he replied. “Nor does it to this day.”

He moved away from the balustrade and began to walk down the corridor that connected the two staircases. He didn’t feel like discussing his private life with Lily when he had not been able to understand it himself.

“So the two of you share a past,” she mused, strolling a few steps behind his tall shadow. “A secret, hmm?”

He halted to laugh in mild amusement. “I’m more interested in present pleasures, such as who will be sharing my bed this weekend, and I don’t think I’ve made a secret of that.”

She made a languid half-turn, torchlight gilding her voluptuous form. Her posture suggested a calm indifference to his confession.

But he knew better.

She glanced up at the tiger skin stretched across the wall. “Do you like hunting?” she asked in a curious voice.

“Only when the game is wild and a match for my skill,” he answered wryly.

She traced a tapered fingertip across the edge of her ivory fan. “That sounds positively…”

“Yes?”

“Fascinating.”

“Does it?” he murmured, his gaze hooded.

For a moment neither of them said anything. Devon allowed the silence to expand before he added, “I believe this is the first uninterrupted conversation we’ve had since we met.”

Her mouth lifted at the corners, and he noticed the fine lines etched on her flawless skin. She was said to be selective in her choice of lovers, highly sought after as a mistress by many titled men; and, as rumor went, was a woman who lost all her inhibitions under the sheets. The fact that neither of them were liable to fall in love with the other made her even more attractive.

“The first time I saw you,” she said, her tone sultry and teasing, “was at a picnic. I asked our hostess for an introduction, but you mysteriously disappeared before it could be made. I was told only that you were Drake Boscastle’s little brother, and that this fact alone should serve as my warning to pursue you at my peril.”

“Then you should also have been warned that there’s nothing little about me,” he said with an engagingly honest smile.

Her lips parted. Her full breasts lifted beneath the bodice of her high-waisted gray silk gown. Before either of them could speak again, the thud of footsteps on the stairs spoiled the mood.

Devon exhaled in irritation, not only because he’d been interrupted at a provocative moment, but because the intruder was Jocelyn’s older brother, Colonel Jason Lydbury. His thin lips curled into a faint sneer as he recognized Devon. He was a broad-chested, attractive man in military uniform who favored his bullish father in appearance.

And, apparently, in his dislike of Devon. God, the Lydbury family was even worse for holding grudges than the wild Boscastle brood.

“Well, isn’t this a shock?” Jason said as he glanced from Devon to Lily. “A Boscastle brother cornering the prettiest lady at the party.”

Devon’s eyes darkened in warning.

Lily’s gaze kindled with wicked humor. “If only I had thought to bring my aunt.”

“She would most likely not be safe from seduction either, madam,” Jason said in a dry voice. He gave Devon a look of subdued disapproval. “You see, there appear to exist even among the aristocracy certain noblemen who do not think twice about giving a lady personal insult.”

Ah, another reminder of how Devon had slighted Jason’s sister. He released a sigh and offered Lily his arm. “It seems I have forgotten my manners again. May I escort you to the refreshment room?”

“Very well.” She lowered her gaze in demure acceptance only to look up again in alarm as another woman hurriedly arose from the stairs to enter the hall. “Goodness,” she murmured in resignation. “I believe the party has come to meet us.”

This time the interloper was Jocelyn, her cheeks faintly pink, her eyes dark with an unreadable array of emotions. Except for the glance of naked reproach she threw Devon’s way.

He grinned back at her. He didn’t know why, but he seemed suddenly compelled to prove that her low opinion of him was well-deserved. Or to prove to himself that he was not only lethal to a young lady like her, but that he’d done her a great service by staying out of her life.

“Is there a matter of urgency?” Jason asked her, his mouth tight with censure.

Jocelyn cast a curious look at Lily. Devon could have sworn it was an age-old assessment of female rivalry, even though there was no comparison between them. Lily was a fleeting pleasure. Jocelyn was, well, too sweet and unsophisticated for him to spoil. “I was wondering if anyone had seen Lord Chiswick,” she said.

“Why?” Devon asked, unable to resist teasing her. “Is his mother looking for him?”

Jocelyn refused to acknowledge the remark. “Adam and I were supposed to play Devil’s bones upstairs. We were just together and then he disappeared.”

“Oh, dicing.” Lily straightened, her lush body brushing Devon’s hip with a lingering pressure he knew was no accident. “How fun. I do love to play.”

“So do I,” he said very softly so that only she could hear him. “But at a private table. Name the time and place.”

And then, he didn’t know why he did it, but he glanced past her to where Jocelyn stood watching the exchange with an expression of barely veiled scorn in her wide brown eyes. She couldn’t possibly have heard him, although by her look she appeared to have guessed he was not discussing throwing dice with Lily. It made him want to laugh.

Mrs. Cranleigh herself did not deign to respond to his remark. There was no need. Her acceptance had been understood the moment he’d laid eyes on her. He had only to wait for her to summon him. And he felt confident he would not be waiting long.

Sir Gabriel Boscastle, officer and self-confessed imperfect gentleman, arrived at the party during the late supper-dance. It was his first invitation to Lord Fernshaw’s affair, although his more sought-after Boscastle cousins topped the guest list every year.

Alas, his dark nemesis Drake Boscastle would not be here for Gabriel to provoke. Drake and his governess bride apparently planned to enjoy their marriage bed for an indefinite period. Not that Gabriel blamed his cousin. Resent him, yes. But not having Drake to wheedle did take the fun out of bedevilment.

In light of Drake’s retirement from the wicked life, however, Gabriel had no choice but to compete and sin with the remaining unmarried Boscastles. Oddly enough he was finally beginning to relish his role as the rival outsider. His entrée into the London world of his notorious family had unlocked endless avenues of entertainments previously denied him.

And he intended to enjoy them, one hedonistic pleasure at a time.

His demeanor detached, he allowed a maidservant to draw his black woolen coat off his shoulders. The lingering approval in her eyes assured him he would not have to spend the night alone. He gave her a beguiling smile that promised everything and nothing at the same time.

“Will that be all, sir?” she asked.

“For now.”

As he strode from the vast entry hall, she stood clutching his coat while another maid hurried to her side to pepper her with questions about the party’s latest handsome arrival.

“Two Boscastle men at the same time,” one of them whispered, loud enough for him to hear. “It’s too much for my heart to bear.”

Gabriel laughed.

Certainly he had nothing against sleeping with a maid, but he had not driven all the way to Essex to tumble his host’s servants. His sights were set on a rather more challenging goal: the seduction of Lily Cranleigh. The fair widow had made it known that she desired sex, and protection, but not within the bondage of marriage. Nor did she require wealth. Her late husband had left her material needs well-satisfied. She bestowed the same sexual legacy on her lovers.

Of course, the fact that Devon Boscastle was known to desire her only heightened her appeal in Gabriel’s view. He might not have even been interested in bedding her had Devon not announced his intentions to make her his mistress. Gabriel sometimes thought he needed rivalry to survive.

He did not even bother to glance back to see if the maidservant had followed him; his gaze had sharpened on another woman’s lusciously curved silhouette and spill of brown-gold hair. Not Lily, but definitely a possibility for the next few days. This young lady had an inborn air of the unattainable that challenged him; he’d bet his miserable soul they’d never met. And who was the stiff-lipped behemoth of a man she kept stealing peeps at? God help him. It wasn’t Chiswick, was it? The cavalry officer who looked like a veritable caveman, but who faithfully visited his grandmama every other Sunday.

“The widow is mine, by the way. How are you, Gabriel?”

He half-turned to acknowledge the deep-voiced greeting that drifted over his shoulder. He was not at all surprised to see that it had been issued by his cousin Devon Boscastle. Could it be that Drake’s younger brother had picked up the gauntlet of friendly rivalry that had fallen between Gabriel and Drake? They insulted each other to no end. They competed for the same ladies. But God help the man who threatened a Boscastle.

He lifted his shoulders in a guileless shrug. “Have you staked a claim?” he asked innocently, knowing full well that he had. Everyone in London had been talking about Devon and Lily when he’d left.

“Ask her,” Devon said, grinning.

A smile of arrogant self-assurance settled on his cleanly sculpted features; it occurred to Gabriel that Devon might be the youngest male in the immediate line, but he was every bit as full of the devil as his brothers.

Playful, mischievous Devon always ensnared in one scandal or another, known for his peacemaking charm and sexual prowess. It really wouldn’t be wise for a man to underestimate a rival. And Gabriel had learned early in his life to watch his back.

“She’s mine,” Devon added with a certainty that the rake in Gabriel could only admire. After all, he and Dev were blood relations, but—

“Do you care to wager whose bed the widow warms first?” he asked before he could stop the impulse.

Devon cut him a challenging glance that confirmed Gabriel’s suspicions. For all his reputation as a youthful proponent of Eros, Devon appeared more than ready to carry on his brothers’ infamy.

“I’m game if you wish to waste your bet.” Devon gave him a friendly clap on the shoulder that would have sent a weaker man staggering.

Gabriel held his ground, laughing in genuine anticipation. He had nothing to lose and, despite himself, he had always liked Devon, a fact that would not in any way deter him from doing everything in his power to win their wager. “You’re on.”

         

Devon had just dismissed his valet for the evening when he spied the note that had been slipped under his bedroom door. He debated going out in the hall to catch the messenger, then decided against it. Secret notes passed between admirers were not an unusual occurrence at a sophisticated Society affair.

Pranks and impromptu little parties within the main house party were the primary reason most of the haut ton guests attended in the first place, although no one would ever admit it.

He had tactfully declined a handful of discreet offers over the course of the supper-dance. His last conversation with Lily had left him with no doubt that her capitulation was at hand. The fact that Gabriel desired her did not matter one way or the other.

And it wasn’t as if either man were in love with her. Or that she loved either of them.

He’d thought, however, that she might withhold her surrender for at least another day. In Devon's experience, a slow prelude to sex usually made a lady’s surrender all the more enjoyable. He was a man who liked to savor his lover’s every sigh, and he valued friendship and trust as well as passion.

Still, he wasn’t about to offend Mrs. Cranleigh by playing coy when the following week promised such unbridled pleasure.

And yet to his surprise it wasn’t Lily’s obvious charm that came to his mind. Another unbidden temptation stirred, refusing to be ignored. A woman whose wide brown eyes had regarded him with amused distrust. A woman he had let slip through his fingers years ago and, tonight, ironically, had made his fingers ache for the chance to touch her.

Jocelyn Lydbury did not belong at a party like this, he thought. Adam was a poor excuse for a protector. In fact, if he’d been doing a proper job of guarding her, he would never have left her alone for even a minute with a rogue like Devon.

Crossing the room, he bent to pick up the folded paper and to break open the still-soft seal. The carefully worded message confirmed his belief that the lady was even more impatient for a night of lovemaking than her coquetry at the party had let on.

         

My dear Devil,

We are both old enough to admit and yet young enough to act upon our desires. Despite my reputation, I am a private woman at heart. If your pursuit of my attention is more than a fleeting temptation, meet me tonight at a quarter past midnight in the east tower where we shall enjoy privacy to reveal our true intentions.

I trust that I have not misread your interest.

Will you wear your infamous domino for me?

L

         

The paper bore the rather overpowering scent of lilies, her namesake fragrance, but oddly not a perfume that she had ever worn in his company. It seemed a little unsubtle to drench an invitation in cologne when she’d been leading him on a chase for over a month.

He dropped the letter on the desk on his way to the oak armoire. Casually he removed his long-tailed evening jacket in favor of the domino—the highwayman’s black hooded cloak and half-mask—that had rendered him one of London’s favorite scandals. He wasn’t sure whether Alton meant for a masquerade to be part of this year’s entertainment, but Devon had brought the costume along in case.

He should have expected that Lily Cranleigh would find his short-lived career as a highwayman an aphrodisiac. She had made several references to his past in their conversations. Still, who would have thought that a single regrettable interlude could ignite so many fantasies in the hearts of women scattered throughout England, most of whom he’d never met?

He shook his head in amused resignation. So much for impressing the ladies with his subtle wit and well-earned reputation for sexual inventiveness. It hardly seemed fair that he should reap continued profits for committing a crime he would prefer to forget.

But the fact remained. His masked counterpart had brought many an aloof lady to her knees, which only went to prove that there really was no rest unto the wicked.

Or unto the Boscastles if one chose to recognize the difference.