Chapter Ten

Jocelyn stood watching from her door into the hall until at last she spied Devon returning to his room. From a glance she perceived that he looked to be in a forbidding mood, not at all his usual self. She decided to give him time to restore his temper before she approached him in private.

She thought it possible that he and Gabriel had been warring today over a certain widow. But the fact remained that he had fought for her today. She understood that it had only been a mock battle, and mockery seemed to describe the marriage that loomed before her. But all the same Devon had taken a stand and fought without hesitation. It seemed to be the Boscastle way.

She had never been much of a fighter herself, but then she’d had little to fight for. It was easy for a shy young woman to find herself shoved into a corner. Her mother had been a quiet mouse who had never dared to gainsay anyone. Her father had believed it his duty to squelch what determination dared break through his only daughter’s obedient demeanor.

For better or worse that determination was breaking through now, and Jocelyn did not have an inkling how to stop it. Apparently she was not the obedient young lady she had believed herself to be.

Emboldened by the behavior of her reluctant champion, she decided for the first time in her life that she would fight for what she wanted.

And she wanted to be Devon Boscastle’s wife, although not just in name, because that meant nothing. She wanted to become the wife of his heart so completely that it mattered not whether women like Lily Cranleigh even existed. And surely, if he could be prompted to battle a friend on Jocelyn’s behalf today, couldn’t he be made to love her? She suspected this conclusion did not derive from a rational progress in thought, but neither was it entirely beyond the realm of human reason.

The immediate problem, however, was that she possessed no idea whatsoever of how to bring a challenging man like Devon to heel. He was an uncouth male animal who’d lived as he pleased until he’d gotten caught trysting with her.

A pair of chattering maidservants bustled past her door, lugging heavy buckets of hot water down the hall. Both entered Devon’s room, but only one exited, her shoulders drooping in disappointment.

Suddenly Jocelyn found herself walking down the hall, only to hesitate outside his door. She could not simply barge into his bedchamber, engaged to the man or not. And then she reminded herself that a woman like Lily Cranleigh would have no such reservations. Besides, there was a maidservant within.

She knocked.

         

Devon opened one eye to see the chattering maidservant studying the broadsword he’d used to defeat Adam at the tournament. “Be careful touching that, poppet.”

“Goodness, I didn’t know blades came that big nowadays,” the cheeky maidservant announced as she glanced saucily at Devon’s naked figure. “Present company excluded.”

He laughed. “You may leave now, you impudent wench.”

“Observant is all.”

He closed his eyes. “I’d wager there’s quite a lot to observe at a party like this.”

She knelt at the side of the tub to soap his shoulder. “You aren’t half-joking. Secret meetings with someone else’s spouse. Romps up and down the stairs, on the stairs—”

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard who might have sent me an invitation to tryst in the tower?”

“No one knows,” she said somberly. “And that’s the truth.”

“And the coffin?” He reached up to firmly remove her hand from his body. “I’ll manage on my own, thank you.”

She stood with a deep sigh. “Some people thought it was Sir Gabriel who brought the coffin to the castle. Isn’t that why you gave him a thrashing today?”

He frowned. “We thrashed each other, and I can only hope that he’s as sore as I am at this moment. He did not, however, have anything to do with that coffin.”

“Gives a girl the chills, a thing like that.”

Devon ground his jaw, remembering the pain in Jocelyn’s eyes when she had been confronted by that grim effigy, and how she had endured the rest of the evening with grace.

But then perhaps she was not unaccustomed to enduring at all. Growing up with Sir Gideon could not have been pleasant for a young woman whose natural inclinations would have most likely aroused his disapproval.

And if Devon learned that Jocelyn had endured anything unpleasant in her past, he would take it upon himself to erase whatever dark memories might haunt her. Once they were married, Sir Gideon would be welcome in her life only when or if she desired to see him.

He shook his head. He didn’t know what the hell had come over him.

One moment he was planning to ravish her; the next he was assuming the role of her protector. Well, he couldn’t deny his Boscastle heritage. He’d witnessed his brothers suffer the same bittersweet torment. He just hadn’t realized it was his turn to suffer.

The maidservant’s impish voice ended his musings. “I could wash you all over, if you like,” she offered. “I’d have to use the towel, though. The cloth isn’t large enough for a man your—”

She glanced around as the door gave a hesitant creak. Devon heard, but did not bestir a muscle. If the intruder proved to be his cousin Gabriel, hoping to even the score by barging in when Devon was naked, he was going to drown the bastard in the bathwater.

The maidservant edged away from the tub, noticeably silent.

Devon kept his eyes closed as he became attuned to the other presence in the room; the intruder was definitely not Gabriel, he thought in amusement. His blood stirred as he heard the evocative swish of silk drawing closer to the bath.

“Well, come on, girl,” he said impatiently, smiling to himself. “Go ahead and wash me then. The water won’t stay warm forever, and my muscles are tied in knots.”

He heard the door close quietly, and he assumed that the maidservant had slipped outside. His chest tightened in pleasant surprise as he felt the hesitant touch of another woman’s hand on his shoulder, then across the tight muscles of his chest. With arousing delicacy she soaped his well-muscled bicep.

Refined, gently questing fingers. He inhaled in anticipation and pretended not to notice the difference. His body noticed, though, with a rampant erection that broke the surface of the bathwater and tested his skills at playacting.

“Lovely,” he murmured, reaching up to grasp his silent attendant’s elbow, “but would you mind washing me a bit lower?”

He opened his eyes at her soft gasp and grinned. Jocelyn threw the cloth down on his throbbing penis and rocked back onto her heels. “You are the devil incarnate, Devon Boscastle.”

“Jocelyn!” he exclaimed in mock surprise. “It’s you. Isn’t this a surprise? You’re the last woman in the world I would expect to find washing my private parts. Is that what you came here for?”

         

Jocelyn had decided upon entering Devon’s bedchamber that it was time to take the bull by the horns. She received quite a shock, however, when she discovered how big her bull was, and that she had caught him unclothed but, thankfully, not in an actual indiscretion with the girl who was attending him.

The maidservant standing at the tub had glanced up at her with a startled look. Jocelyn put her finger to her lips to shush her.

The girl grinned in understanding, silently offering Jocelyn the soap ball. Devon himself appeared to be relaxing in his bath with his eyes closed. She stared for an unguarded moment at his naked form, or what she could see of it. Her skin tingled with illicit pleasure at the beauty she beheld.

His thick black hair curled wetly against his strong nape. The deeply engraved muscles of his bare shoulders shone with moisture as did the steel-hard plane of his chest. Clutching the soap, she ventured a step closer to the bath only to drop the washcloth on his turgid organ, which he’d unabashedly asked her to wash when it was obvious that he’d known it was her all the time.

Was that what she’d come here for, indeed.

He surged up suddenly like a sea deity during a storm, sending wavelets everywhere as he shook water off his long, hard body.

And stepped in front of her before she could retreat to the door. The devil lurked in the grin he gave her. He blinked, his astonishment a blatant mockery. “By God, you gave me a turn,” he exclaimed. “I didn’t hear you come in. Did you knock?”

He took three steps and threw the bolt on the door, water dripping from his thick rod onto his tautly muscled thighs. She spun blindly, throwing him the towel laid across a stool. When enough time had elapsed for him to remember modesty and cover his nakedness, she glanced at his reflection in the looking glass.

He was still disconcertingly in nature’s garb, modesty apparently not one of his priorities. The towel hung over his neck. It might have been a handkerchief for all it covered the broad contours of his chest and sculptured flanks. And that flagrant part of his lower body that protruded from a dark apex of hair…it defied description, although the adjective well-favored came to mind before she closed her eyes.

“Please put something on,” she said in a faint voice.

“Give us a minute. I wasn’t expecting company.”

She opened her eyes and frowned. “You had company.”

“She works here, darling.” He toweled himself off with exasperating slowness. Jocelyn stole a peek at his lean tight buttocks as he bent to dry off his feet. Her throat closed at the sight.

“Don’t mind me,” she said under her breath.

He came up behind her, bare-chested, his hips snugly encased in…in nothing. He was still nude, his damp body a breath from hers. “Excuse me.”

“I should think so,” she murmured, her blood thrumming alarmingly.

He smiled at her in the mirror. “Do you mind?”

“Do I mind what?” she asked, swallowing drily.

“If I reach under your leg.”

Her eyes flew to his. “Why on earth—”

“You’re standing on my shirt.”

She exhaled and quickly stepped aside for him to retrieve his shirt. He didn’t put it on, though. Instead, he slipped his arms around her shoulders and turned her toward him. Her head swam at the chiseled magnificence of his male body. She felt a sudden need to recline on a sofa with a strong vinaigrette.

“Jocelyn?” he asked in all his undraped amusement. “I’m sorry for teasing you. I couldn’t help myself. But I have to ask, what are you doing in my room?”

It was a fair question. She wondered the same thing herself before she finally recovered her wits. She had come to thank him for championing her today at the tournament, although she most certainly had not envisioned expressing her gratitude with him standing there in the raw.

“I wanted to—” She made the mistake of looking at his mouth. Those firm sensual lips that had given her her first taste of sin. And made her ache to sample more. “On second thought, what I meant to say can wait. At least until you are in a decent state.”

“What is it you wanted?” he queried softly, tracing his long fingers down her shoulder with shivering gentleness.

“This may come as a shock to you, but I’m not in the habit of conducting conversations with the other party in the nude.”

“I could undress you if you feel at a disadvantage.” He bent his head to bite a most sensitive spot on her neck. His tongue instantly soothed the pleasant sting she felt.

She moaned, her breasts suddenly swollen inside the bodice of her gown. “I meant that you should dress, you demon, as you are well aware.”

“Why? I’ve nothing to be ashamed of. This is my room and I’m not about to pretend I am a monk.”

She shivered as his teeth nipped a wanton trail down her shoulder. “I doubt anyone would mistake you for a holy man, Devon Boscastle.”

He raised his head and smiled. “You didn’t come here to save me, did you?”

She decided she would not let either his virility or licentious charm put her at a disadvantage. She had braved this visit to have her say, and nothing, not a promiscuous maidservant nor her husband-to-be’s utter absence of inhibitions, not to mention apparel, would distract her from that duty. If she was not going to marry the man, she would have to be able to resist him. Of course, resisting him and discouraging his behavior were two different matters.

“I came here to express my appreciation for what you did today.”

He walked her backward with the loose-hipped stride of a master horseman. “I like the sound of that.”

“Well, I can’t say I like that look in your eye.”

“What look would that be?”

She wasn’t sure if he lowered her to the bed, or if she simply collapsed from an attack of overstimulated nerves. All she knew was that she was sinking quite helplessly under the weight of his hard male body and that her breasts, perhaps the heart that raced wildly beneath them, lay crushed to his strong wet chest.

Yet when he kissed her, it seemed somehow natural, perhaps even imperative, that she submit. The imprisoning power of his position wrung the resistance from her bones. He slid his tongue deeply into her mouth and groaned as she lifted her arms to his neck.

“I came here to say…that no one has ever championed me before,” she whispered. “I was moved by the honor you paid me today.”

“I find myself rather moved at the moment, too, but I couldn’t say that it has anything to do with honor.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I was talking about what you did at the tournament.”

“You mean when I walloped Chinny?” he asked with a grin.

“I don’t mean that I enjoyed seeing him beaten, but I was grateful that you stood up for me.”

“I could stand up for you now if you’ll let me.”

“Devon.”

“How grateful are you?”

“Grateful enough that I disregarded convention and came to your room.”

“And you wish to reward my valor?”

She hesitated. “I’m not going to ask what you mean.”

“I’d have flattened him if I’d known it would please you.”

“That isn’t exactly what pleased me.”

“Why don’t we find out what does please you?”

She swallowed at the dark seduction in his eyes. “I don’t think I should answer that question, either.”

“I don’t think you need to,” he said softly, showing her why with another deep, greedy kiss that left her head reeling and her body wanting more.

He ground his hips against her belly so that his rock-hard arousal rubbed the tender mound above her clenched thighs. Shocked, she twisted to dislodge his weight; he merely flexed his back and oh-so-slowly rotated his hips, his muscular body holding her immobile.

She moistened her lips, struggled for breath. “This is—”

“What a man and a wife do,” he whispered thickly.

“Except that we have not exchanged vows yet.”

“What do a few days matter?” he asked quietly.

She couldn’t help laughing. “This from a man who swore he would never make the walk to the altar?”

“If I’m making the walk, I’ll damn well enjoy what comes after.”

She was losing the battle, not to control him as much as herself. How could she have known a man’s body could evoke in her such unadulterated enjoyment? And need. Heaven help her, the friction of his overlarge organ had her woman’s place weeping with need. She felt her nether folds near flooded with warm fluid at his rhythmic stimulation.

She clutched at his shoulders in a desperate bid to distract him. “Aren’t you expected to be recognized at the feast in a short while?” she asked, her back arching involuntarily, her breasts feeling ripe and tender.

He laughed low. “I’ve a mind to feast on something else tonight. Something succulent and sweet.”

She had little time to ponder that shameful if surprisingly arousing statement, for suddenly he had untied her bodice and exposed her breasts to his hungry scrutiny.

His eyes danced wickedly while his fingers pinched one tender nipple into a hard peak. “It did please you to watch me fight for you,” he said amusedly, lowering his mouth to her aching breast.

“I thought you behaved bravely and, yes, it pleased me to watch you,” she whispered. “I realize you practiced great restraint in what you did, or rather did not do, to Adam at the tournament.”

“I’m practicing more restraint now, believe me.”

“Devon, for heaven’s sake,” she said in an unsteady voice. “How would we explain this if we were caught again? You’re lying naked atop me.”

“At least you can’t say I’ve deceived you with a disguise this time,” he said wryly.

“Don’t you think you should get dressed for the banquet?”

“I’d rather undress you.”

“It would appear you almost have.”

“Then I might as well finish.”

Convinced he meant what he said, she turned onto her side to slide off the bed, but somehow the movement placed her in an unexpectantly stimulating position of sexual vulnerability with his knee thrust between her thighs. His strong arm shot out to encircle her ribs; his hand cupped the breasts he had unbound from her bodice.

“To hell with the banquet.” He exhaled against her neck. “What is this annoying contraption that binds your waist?”

“It’s called a girdle,” she heard herself reply. “And it wouldn’t have been a bad idea if I’d asked for the ancient chastity belt that accompanies the costume.”

His free hand stroked down her side and slipped between her legs to casually part her plump nether folds. As she caught her breath, he whispered, “I daresay if I can get in and out of mail armor, I can unfasten whatever garment you wear.”

And as proof of this dubious skill, he unfastened the gold-linked girdle and drew the thin skirt of her bliaud up around her hips, leaving her throbbing sex open to his pleasure.

She made one final attempt to rise only to find herself flush against his body.

“That’s better,” he said quietly, playing with the damp curls above her cleft.

“Devon…”

His warm breath teased her ear. The dominant warmth of his hard-muscled body stole over her senses. She felt herself soften, ache, her sex pulsing unbearably. She bit her lip to stifle a groan.

He whispered, “That’s even better. Spread your legs for me a little more.”

“What…what for?”

“This.”

She gasped as he gently pressed one long finger between her dewy pink lips. Her muscles gripped him, her belly tightened, and if she had not been lying on the bed, she would have folded bonelessly to the floor.

“You’re so very wet,” he said, his mouth still pressed to her ear. “And tight as a bud.” He slipped another finger into her aching passage and groaned his approval.

She opened her mouth and cried softly as he thrust his fingers even deeper, probing until he reached a part of her body that resisted the invasion.

“Sweet Jocelyn,” he murmured. “I’ll try to be gentle when the time comes.”

When the time comes. And what was this? she wondered in bewilderment.

Her muscles tightened around his fingers, and she might have sobbed aloud had he not turned her swiftly and his mouth captured hers in another lustful kiss. He pulled her tighter to his body. His fingers quickened between the drenched folds of her woman’s place, bringing her to a climax so intense that it seemed her heart would cease to beat.

Dazed, she buried her face in his shoulder and listened to the rapid pounding of his heart. Whatever wondrous devastation he had inflicted on her had not left him wholly unaffected. His breathing was uneven. His large hand stroked her in idle pleasure. She quivered again in his arms. And smiled inwardly at the thought of moments like this to come. She’d never guessed, but now that she’d been introduced to Devon’s world, she had to experience more.

“Perhaps I should fight more battles as your champion,” he mused, his voice drowsy with desire. “I—”

An abrupt knock on the door interrupted him. “May I come in, Devon?” a loud male voice asked. “It’s me, Adam. I should very much like a man-to-man.”

“As in combat?” Devon murmured, a scowl settling on his brow. “Jesus, I should have killed him when I had the chance.”

Jocelyn raised her head in horror. Her body felt heavy and weighed down with…Devon. “He can’t find us like this. Make him go away,” she whispered, springing up at the waist.

Devon swore under his breath and threw his arms across her midriff to arrest her flight. His blue eyes burned with frustration. “Go away,” he ground out. “You’ve caught me bare-arsed in the bath.”

“Are you in any pain?” Adam asked in concern.

Devon sighed and looked down in unabashed lust at the woman lying beside him. “Bloody agony. You aren’t helping, by the way.”

“I didn’t mean to lose my temper today,” Adam explained awkwardly. “I didn’t even mean to challenge you if the truth be told.”

Jocelyn reached covertly to pull down her tunic, but Devon caught her hand and laced his fingers in hers. “Don’t move,” he ordered her in a low voice. “No one is coming into this room.”

“You can’t even move?” Adam asked in alarm. “I must not know my own strength. Is it your back that pains you?”

“Somewhere in the vicinity,” Devon answered wryly. “More a little muscle stiffness than anything else.”

“Should I try to stretch it out?” Adam asked in hesitation.

Devon sat up, his face dark with irritation. “Is that what you came to ask?”

“Er, no,” Adam replied. “As a matter of fact, I was possessed of the idea that it would be a good show of chivalry if all three of us appeared at the feast as friends. Having fought each other earlier in the day, that is.”

Devon leaned down to kiss Jocelyn while drawing her dress back around those parts of her body he had stimulated and satisfied with such consummate skill. “All three of us?” he inquired absently, motioning her to sit forward so he could relace her bodice. “I assume that the third-party you refer to is Jocelyn?”

Poor unsuspecting Adam. He sounded completely disconcerted as he replied, “No. I meant that you, me, and Gabriel should muster a show of unity much like the Three Musketeers, if you will.”

“I won’t,” Devon muttered darkly, then raised his voice. “Hell’s bloody bells—did you say Gabriel?”

“He’s standing right here beside me, if you can believe it.”

Devon grunted. “What a coincidence. Don’t tell me he just so happened to be strolling by my room the same time as you?”

“How did you guess?” Adam said in surprise, then hesitated. “I don’t suppose you know where Jocelyn might have gone?”

Gabriel cleared his throat. “Adam is afraid that our fighting today might have frightened her off. She’s gone missing again.”

Devon leaned back on his elbows and smiled.

“Do you think we should seek her out?” Adam asked in an anxious tone.

“Would you be so kind?” Devon replied, placing his hand upon Jocelyn’s knee. “I am quite worn out from the thrashing you gave me.”

“I understand,” Adam said with such gravity that Devon could only shake his head in amused chagrin. “You must be incapacitated. I put up quite a fight, didn’t I?”

“I can only hope to recover,” Devon replied quietly. “I have rarely fought such a challenging battle before.”

“If I do find Jocelyn before you, shall I give her a message?” Adam asked after an awkward pause.

Devon hesitated, his expression so perplexed that Jocelyn feared he was about to give her away. Instead, he leaned forward and brushed her lips with a kiss that hinted of banked sensuality.

“I think I should best deliver my message in person, Adam,” he murmured.

“But you harbor no hard feelings?” Adam inquired again in a feverish voice.

To which Devon wickedly answered in an undertone that only Jocelyn could hear, “What say you to that question? Are my feelings hard or not?”

         

Twenty minutes later he had dressed in formal evening attire and stood guard in the hallway so that Jocelyn could sneak back up the stairs to her own room. She escaped just in time.

The castle was beginning to fill again as guests returned to their chambers to change out of their medieval attire for the sumptuous banquet in the great hall. Servants hastened to deliver clean water for washing, freshly pressed clothes, and scented billets-doux.

Lord Fernshaw’s feast marked the final event of the house party. Guests were known to stay up until the small hours and doze fitfully on the journey back to London. It was a night to flirt, to dine, to dance, to say farewell to a lover, to arrange future assignations.

And to contemplate the future.

Devon sat at the massive banquet table and sipped his wine, laughing at the jibes and ribald toasts that his presence had inspired. None of the taunts, however, touched upon his betrothal. No one at the party would openly offend Jocelyn after today. He had not only made his loyalty clear, he had proven that he would fight to defend her.

But if anyone had told him a week ago that he would leave this party engaged to be married, he would have denounced that person as a liar and trounced him on the spot.

Married.

To Jocelyn Lydbury.

The young lady whose dinner invitation he’d ignored four years ago, and look at him now. That neglected offer had come back manifold in the form of a whirlwind marriage. Lord help him. It would have been easier all the way around if he’d attended the original meal.

As it turned out, he’d be eating dinner with her for the rest of his life.

He watched her with unwilling interest, reminding himself that his country wallflower’s composed demeanor concealed quite a passionate nature. Her soft, willowy body heated his blood; the warmth and subtle charm she revealed each time they met proved perhaps even more attractive. He wondered how he was supposed to sleep beside her every night and pretend indifference to his needs.

It wasn’t possible. Nor did he intend to deny himself the pleasure of their wedding bed. But as for what else either of them could expect after they exchanged vows, he could not predict.

Their eyes met. He raised his goblet to her and drank deeply, swallowing a laugh at her faintly reproachful frown.

Yet when another toast was made in his honor, hers was the first goblet lifted in the air.

It was as if the sheer meanness of social criticism had forced them into an alliance. Complain of their plight as they may to each other, they seemed to have made an unspoken pact to put on a good show in front of their peers.

The cruel-minded or merely curious who waited to see a crack in the veneer of the scandalous couple quit the table that night disappointed. For all his appearance of negligent noblesse, Devon’s backbone had been forged of Boscastle steel—and strengthened by his father’s cane. The cavalry had made a man of him. His sisters had made sure he knew how to treat a lady in public.

Let him and Jocelyn battle out their arrangement in the privacy of their bedchamber when the time came. There was no reason for anyone to know by his behavior his true feelings.

Nor did he have full knowledge of them himself, to be quite honest.

As for Jocelyn, well, her quiet, English country charm stood her in good stead. She smiled, said little, and gave second thought to those who wondered how long it would be before her Boscastle strayed.

All in all, the majority of guests agreed that Devon and Jocelyn not only made a handsome couple, but that the unfoldment of their secret romance had elevated Alton’s annual house party to the status of the best affair they had ever attended.