Chapter Fourteen
Damn and blast! It was all Daniel could do not to clench his fists and punch the seat. He’d just made things ten times worse.
Oh, he’d thought it so clever to speak of their childhood from his brother’s perspective! All he’d had to do was switch their names and omit the fact that they were twins—they’d done everything together, after all. But then he’d gotten overconfident, and his mishandling of the situation had elicited the wrong reaction entirely.
He’d told the truth of it—Dev had made that exact threat—but while he was fairly certain of his brother’s motive for keeping him out of London, he didn’t know for sure, and to share his supposition about his brother’s feelings as if it were the absolute truth had been both wrong and a mistake. It had only encouraged her and added fuel to the fire of her hope, and the idea that she might ever chance to speak of it to anyone, much less the real Devlin, made him shudder with mortification.
He needed to start distancing himself. Immediately. Before he could make any more grave errors in judgment. Lovelace is no longer a threat now that she knows something of his true character. It’s time to begin proving Devlin to be a poor choice for a husband.
The next day when he showed up at St. Peters’s house to look at the hiring lists for both the new club and their other joint venture, he made it a point to engage with her only when it would have been overtly rude to do otherwise. Then, right in front of her, he suggested to St. Peters that they should privately review the new burlesque act slated to play at their gaming hall before allowing public consumption.
Olivia’s face openly reflected her surprise, but he pretended not to notice.
St. Peters, to his credit, hesitated only the barest fraction of an instant before nonchalantly agreeing and moving on.
The moment her father stepped away to send word to the troupe, she planted herself in front of Daniel, arms akimbo. “I thought you were no longer going to dirty your hands with such matters?”
Adopting his brother’s coolest smile, he faced her down. “I’m a businessman, Miss St. Peters. I cannot simply leave everything in the hands of managers. Your father clearly agrees. Worry not; Diana will never even hear of it. It’s not as if I’m planning to be seen there in public on opening night.”
For a long moment, she stood in slack-jawed shock as he brushed past her on the way to the brandy decanter. Finally, once she’d managed to collect her apparently scattered wits, she rounded on him. “What has happened to effect this distinctly disagreeable change in your demeanor toward me?”
He pretended blank confusion as he poured himself a glass.
Color bloomed high in her cheeks, brightening her eyes. “Don’t play the fool with me, Lord Devlin. We were having a perfectly pleasant conversation last night, and then you abruptly cut it off in a fit of inexplicable foul temper before practically throwing me out at my doorstep. I demand to know why.”
“I did no such thing,” he scoffed. “It was quite late, and I simply had no desire to keep either you or, if he was home, your father from the comfort of your beds, especially considering we were to see each other again so soon.”
An unladylike snort erupted from the redhead, and she sauntered right back around and into his space to fix him with a piercing green stare. “I know what this is about. You confided in me, and now you’re afraid—of what, exactly? Do you think so little of me that you believe I would tell anyone what you shared with me?”
That was exactly what he feared—and that it would be used against his brother. “I will admit I spoke somewhat too freely last night.” Time to cover his mistake. “Not that you are likely to ever meet my brother, but his feelings are his own, and I had no right to discuss them with a perfect stranger. My anger was not directed at you, but rather at myself. I betrayed his trust.”
Relief was clear in the relaxing of her shoulders, but she wasn’t through. “A perfect stranger?” She lifted a brow, plainly offended. “Is that what I am?”
“To him, yes.”
She drifted closer, her expression still challenging, and alarm bells pealed in his mind. “But not to you. You named me a friend.”
He had to start somewhere, and she’d just provided the perfect opening. “Yes. I consider you a friend, but only inasmuch as friendship is possible between such as us.”
A fine line appeared between her brows as she considered this, but he didn’t give her a chance to ask what he meant.
“Already you are privy to more information than you should be with regards to my family’s situation, but that may be overlooked as my problem requires a female perspective. As for the rest, however, I should never have burdened you with such intimate knowledge. I should not have even hinted at Lovelace’s private affairs, much less exposed my brother with neither his knowledge nor his consent.”
“I gave you my word I would not reveal what you told me about Lovelace,” she said, clearly offended by his apparent distrust. “As for your brother’s concerns, who would I tell when our circles are so far removed from one another? Who here would care about some out-of-the-way village vicar?”
Irritation made his reply somewhat sharp. “That’s not the point.”
If she was daunted by his brusque manner, she gave no indication of it. “Then pray tell what is.”
Why must she make this so difficult? Downing a finger of brandy for courage, he took the plunge. “The point is that I should have spoken more openly with your father about Lovelace, but I was concerned he might take my interest in your personal affairs as an indication of more attachment to you than exists.”
She favored him with an open-mouthed look of utter shock and dismay.
How he hated doing this! But it was necessary. “I did not stop to imagine that in telling you directly, you might think the same thing and labor under a misimpression about my intentions toward you. I realized my mistake in allowing us to become too familiar when you started waxing sentimental about my brother’s dogged persistence—about him loving me ‘despite rejection.’ I don’t want you thinking there is more between us than there is.”
Crimson crept up from her neck to stain her whole face. “You presume to know a great deal about what I think and feel,” she stammered, clearly attempting to salvage her dignity.
And just like that, he knew he’d hit the nail on the head. Steeling himself, he remembered he was speaking as Devlin, the jade and hedonist, and hardened his voice further. “In the interest of preserving our friendship, Miss St. Peters, I’m going to be blunt and spare you any ambiguity on the subject. I may wish to salvage my relationship with my siblings, but that is the extent of my familial goals. I’m simply not cut out for matrimony.”
Whatever he’d anticipated her reaction to this announcement might be, it wasn’t what resulted. After a moment of what looked like the beginnings of an apoplectic fit—which elicited the first stirrings of panic in his own breast—she burst into hysterical…laughter.
Loud and full, the sound filled the room.
That was the moment St. Peters returned. The man cast him a look of startled inquiry as they both watched his offspring cover her mouth and attempt to compose herself, waving a hand to dismiss any questions.
All Daniel could do was shrug helplessly and accept that he was completely out of his depth. He would mark the next hour as one of the more uncomfortable in memory. Conversation about the clubs continued as though nothing were amiss, but every time he caught Olivia’s eye, a faint smile slanted her quivering mouth, as if she could barely contain her merriment.
His spirits sank further and further as the seconds ticked by and she seemed completely unaffected. Doubts crept in like shadows to plague him.
In reaffirming both their “friendship” and Devlin’s intent to remain a dedicated bachelor in such general terms, he’d meant to forestall any foolish expression of tender sentiments that would necessitate a direct rejection. It was the same tactic he’d used on some of the more aggressive of his female parishioners.
But instead of quietly backing off to reconsider her burgeoning infatuation, Olivia had quite literally laughed in his face. And now the looks she was casting him appeared a mixture of amusement and, to his dismay, pity.
He felt a complete ass—doubtless her intent. Again, he’d made the mistake of underestimating her. That she’d become emotionally attached to him-as-Devlin was something he firmly believed. That she’d managed to sever that attachment was something he wasn’t prepared to buy wholesale—no matter her current nonchalance. But he’d made a start.
Tonight, he’d write Dev and let him know progress had been made and that things were well underway. Lord willing, they’d maintain course in that direction until he could extricate his brother from the mess he’d made.
…
Olivia didn’t know what had possessed her to laugh, but she counted herself fortunate. That involuntary, irrepressible laughter, elicited by a combination of profound embarrassment and bitter irony, had saved her.
It was clear that Devlin thought himself the target of her levity. He was wrong. It was aimed entirely at herself. She’d encouraged familiarity between them last night, and to her delight he’d opened up, only to withdraw from her again today.
Fool! I ought to have been more prudent and less eager. Tears of disappointment threatened. The only thing that staved them off was her pride. By George, it wasn’t her fault he’d spoken too freely and caused himself to question how intimate they’d become! It wasn’t her fault he was now suffering a bout of bachelor’s panic!
I’ll be damned before letting him see me cry over his rejection! That’s what it was, no matter how he’d phrased it. The arrogance of his assumption concerning her feelings—even though he’d been right—filled her with anger. She welcomed it, as it helped her maintain composure.
Friends. Ha! She knew better. But if he wanted to pretend that’s all it was, so be it. For now.
She’d surprised him with her laughter almost as much as she’d surprised herself, and he’d clearly been unsettled by it. Now she would cheerfully use the atmosphere she’d created to keep him off-balance. As the three of them continued their discussions about the club, she threw him an occasional smirk and pitying look to add spice to the pot and was gratified to see how it further flustered him.
It bolstered her courage and her determination to appear as if his words hadn’t utterly demoralized her. I’ll come back from this blow. He’s here, after all, and we’ll continue to work together on the Saint’s project until it’s complete. Time is in my favor.
In retrospect, she wished she hadn’t promised him she’d be shot of Lovelace. The man was scum, but he inspired Devlin’s protective and possessive instincts. As she fumed inwardly, it occurred to her that she hadn’t actually set a deadline for ridding herself of him. Oh, she fully intended to be indisposed during the Worthington affair—if nothing else, Lovelace deserved that much for his high-handed manner with her last night.
But what if, rather than immediately severing ties, I keep Lovelace loosely tethered? She’d have to be careful, of course. It would be a bit like baiting a bear, but she was confident. And it would be satisfying to see a man who used others find himself on the receiving end, even if he never knew it.
Would it get under Devlin’s skin? Make him see the error in his decision to abandon ship?
It would only work until he spoke to her father—which she knew he would, eventually. Once Papa was made aware of Lovelace’s true depravity, there’d be an end to his suit and no mistake. Likely, she’d only get one, maybe two more interactions with him before the hammer came down.
But if she planned it right, it would nudge Devlin in the right direction.
If it went brilliantly, it might result in him coming up to scratch.
Optimism returned. She tempered it with prudence. Don’t get ahead of yourself now. One thing at a time.
With effort, she maintained her unaffected facade for the remainder of the visit, and by the time Devlin left, today’s incident felt like a mere wrinkle in a rug rather than a mountain.
A “mysterious malady of the stomach” claimed her two days prior to the Worthington party, necessitating the cancellation of all outings and the closing of the house to all callers save those with business matters.
True to his word, Devlin sent a “get well” gift. And, true to his word, unlike Lovelace’s offering, which sat on her mantelpiece alongside a vase filled with hothouse roses from Papa, it was not floral in nature.
When Marie entered bearing a covered basket from Lord Devlin Wayward from which issued a plaintive mewl, shock almost made Olivia drop the “sick” act. Opening the lid, she discovered a plump, fluffy gray kitten staring at her with wide, golden eyes…and a letter tied to the fat, blue satin bow around its neck.
Out clambered the wee beastie, dragging the letter along with it, only to flip onto its back and attack the encumbrance with clumsy paws and tiny teeth. Carefully, she untied the bow and removed the sealed parchment, leaving the kitten to pounce on its own tail instead.
Hesitating to open the missive in front of prying eyes, she dismissed the servant with instructions to bring back a dish of warm milk and whatever other supplies might be needed for the furry new addition to their family.
As soon as the door closed, she broke the seal.
No apology for his arrogant assumption—however accurate it had been. Not even a ridiculous attempt to explain it away and save face after her having laughed at him. Instead, it looked for all the world like a “thanks for all your help” dismissal…and a kitten.
An adorable menace of a kitten that was now attacking her feet. Reaching down, she grabbed the squirming feline and held him up to gaze into his big, amber eyes. “And what am I to do with you, now that you’re here?”
A surprisingly loud purr issued forth. Laughing in spite of herself, she cuddled him close beneath her chin. The charming little creature nuzzled her neck affectionately…and then promptly tried to eat her locket. Disentangling the pendant from those tenacious little teeth, she fixed the kitten with an impotent glare. “I know just what to name you. I hereby dub thee ‘Lucifer’.”
Lucifer meowed approval and then wriggled free to gambol across the coverlet and tumble off the bed, intent on exploring his new home.
Despite Devlin’s annoying lack of contrition, his gift fueled her optimism. Having already extracted a promise to dismiss Lovelace as a suitor, he’d hardly needed to send a present alongside his letter, much less something so conspicuous. Knowing how he disliked Lovelace, he’d likely done it only to irritate the man. Regardless of his motive, however, public perception of the act would be…interesting. She very much doubted anyone would think it an act of mere “friendship.”
Glee brought a grin to her lips, a grin she had to quickly suppress in favor of a listless expression befitting a convalescent when Marie returned.
In swept the girl, only to squawk in alarm as a gray ball of fur attacked her ankle and dashed away again with the speed of lightning. “Lawks, Miss! Tell me you don’t intend to keep it.”
“Of course I’m keeping him,” Olivia retorted, pouting in disapproval. “He’s a gift. I’ve already named him,” she said, forgetting her “illness” and grinning in anticipation. “Say hello to our new lord and master: Lucifer.”
Marie, who’d bent to place the milk on the floor, let out an audible gasp and turned horror-filled eyes on her mistress. “Oh, Miss!” she whispered, crossing herself. “You cannot give an innocent creature such a name. Surely you jest?”
“Not at all,” she replied without remorse. “He’s a mischievous devil, just like the man who sent him. But you can call him Luci, if it will make you less squeamish.”
Gulping, the girl nodded resignedly and set about tidying the room, occasionally eyeing the kitten with ambivalence as it leaped at her skirts and playfully did everything in its power to undo her work.
Olivia reflected that had she truly been ill, the whole affair would have cheered her immensely. Hale and hearty as she was, it lifted her spirits such that she decided her “illness” would be rather shorter than originally planned. A lady had no time to waste pretending to be sick when there was a gentleman’s heart to be conquered.
Indeed, she was feeling so much better by dinnertime that she rejected broth in bed in favor of joining Papa at table for a light repast. Alone, sadly. Though she would’ve loved to bring him with her, Lucifer was simply too rambunctious and must remain confined to her rooms for the time being until he calmed down enough to be given run of the house.
It was unsurprising to learn that word of the circumstances surrounding the kitten’s arrival had already reached her father. Like Marie, he objected to the name she’d given their new feline overlord but capitulated once assured he would be addressed only by the shortened version—unless he was being very naughty, of course.
Later, she marked that her papa was unusually pensive but did not inquire as to why. She cheerfully ignored the long, pointed stare he fixed upon her before making his nightly move on their chessboard and retiring. If Devlin was going to make himself appear a rival for her affections and not bother explaining himself to anyone, who was she to contradict the perception?