Chapter Nineteen

Daniel froze. The haze of lust and emotion that had clouded his mind vanished in an instant as he heard her speak his brother’s name, the euphoria of the moment overtaken by horror and self-loathing. It paralyzed him, leaving only his thoughts to race, flitting back and forth like panicked birds trapped in a cage, while the rest of him remained as motionless as stone.

He’d failed. He’d failed the test his Lord had set for him, this second chance to make the right choice and prove he’d learned from his prior mistake. But in his weakness, he’d again given in to temptation—to lust!—and done irreparable harm to the woman he loved.

It didn’t matter that he hadn’t breached her maidenhead, though it was some small comfort to know he’d at least had that much self-control. He’d still allowed her to do…that. It didn’t matter that he’d never intended for it or indeed any of this to happen. He—a sworn servant of the Lord!—had shown her the Primrose Path, set her feet upon it, and then had taken her hand and led her down it by setting the example.

He’d broken her father’s and his brother’s trust. More importantly, he’d broken her trust.

What am I to do?

Any love she felt now would become hatred if he revealed himself, and any resulting nuptials—if her father didn’t see him sent to prison, maybe even hanged—would surely occur only under the most tragic duress. He could picture her response on learning the truth: that she’d been in the company of a complete stranger for weeks on end, that she’d given that stranger her heart, and that he’d taken both it and—if not her virginity, then at least her innocence—under false pretenses. She’d be rightfully enraged, and she’d never forgive him.

It mattered not that he’d given her his heart in exchange. She wouldn’t want it. Still, he knew he’d be leaving it with her when he left London.

Leaving was his only choice, and he must do it in a way that guaranteed her silence about what had happened tonight, because if word of it ever made it beyond the walls of this room, everything would be over. He’d be forced to confess his deceit, and then he would reap the bitter fruits of his ill labors. But he wouldn’t be the only one to suffer. Olivia herself would not only be emotionally devastated, but ruined in every sense of the word. His sister’s prospects would be completely destroyed, Devlin would likely be sent to prison for fraud, and St. Peters would lose the respect of his rivals, partners, and customers, making him a laughingstock for having had the wool pulled over his eyes.

It would ruin them all.

For one very brief moment, he entertained the idea of telling Devlin what had happened and persuading him to ask for Olivia’s hand and make certain she never discovered the truth. The thought was instantly dismissed. His twin might have launched this disaster, but that had been an accident.

I chose to continue on this path to its end, and I’ll not make Devlin pay the price for my sins.

Not only that, but the thought of seeing Olivia married to his brother made him physically ill. It was selfish, but he simply couldn’t bear it. Not only because he loved her, but because Devlin didn’t. And once Dev knew what they’d done, he’d never love her. He’d never be able to look at her without remembering that she’d been with his brother. Eventually she’d realize he didn’t love her, and it would break her heart. Better for her to suffer the pain and humiliation of a rejection now and still have the chance of making a happy future for herself with someone else—someone better, better than them both—than to endure that.

He couldn’t tell her the truth. He couldn’t be or give her the man she truly loved. He could only lie to her—again—and leave.

One lie begets another, and another…and another. Hell on earth. That’s my destiny. To craft his own cage, his own fiery pit of pain and anguish to live in for the remainder of his days. Because while he might eventually ask for and receive the Lord’s forgiveness, he’d never be able to forgive himself for what he was about to do. And she’d never forgive “Devlin.”

It must be done.

Thoughts and feelings raged like a tempest as he contemplated how best to do this, all while he lay there beside the woman he loved. His heart ached so that he could hardly draw breath. As his thoughts raced, his body memorized the weight of her head on his shoulder, the warm silk of her hair splayed across his arm and chest, the texture of her velvety soft skin. He breathed in her scent and, while sleep held her in blissful oblivion, kissed her hair.

Eventually, he decided on a course. There would be some collateral damage. It couldn’t be helped, but he’d keep it to a minimum as best he could. Again, his heart ached to the point of agony as he savored the feeling of Olivia in his arms.

Delaying the inevitable will only make it hurt worse.

Carefully, so as not to wake her, he maneuvered from beneath her and rose. In slumber, her beautiful face was utterly at peace. How he hated to shatter both that peace and her heart!

Drawing on his trousers, he quietly went to his room, dressed himself, and then assembled every member of the household staff present. Once all were accounted for, he took another step on the path of wickedness and bought their silence.

Exorbitant bribery would ensure Miss St. Peters’s presence here tonight went unmarked by Society. By the time he left London, every member of Devlin’s staff would have also left his employ—with enough money to live for several years without having to work so much as a day. And in six months’ time, if everyone kept their mouths shut, they would all be paid the same amount again.

Surely it would be enough incentive to stay quiet. He knew no London paper would pay nearly as much for a piece of salacious gossip concerning a peer, even—and perhaps especially—a disgraced one. His brother’s solicitor would draw up “severance contracts” so there would be no question of their being paid what was owed them, and when the time came, the man would disperse the payments to the claimants on Devlin’s behalf.

Of course once they’d been paid the final installment there was no guarantee of continued silence, but he had no control over that. His hope was that six months from now, should anyone decide to betray his trust, it would be looked upon as nothing more than unsubstantiated rumor, especially if the lady in question denied it.

And he would make sure she denied it.

As for Devlin, he’d lie yet again and say dismissing the staff before leaving was his way of being certain no one caught on to their ruse. Dev would have to hire new staff, but in light of the current situation, he considered it a minor inconvenience.

By the time he was done explaining and had obtained everyone’s enthusiastic agreement to the terms he’d laid out, it was nearly three o’clock in the morning. With dread, he first went to his study to fetch the pertinent papers and then returned to the salon to find Olivia still soundly asleep. He added a scoop of coal to the fire, deliberately making noise to waken her.

When she rolled over and opened her sleepy green eyes, the love that shone in them smote his heart, causing him such pain that he had no choice but to look away.

“Devlin?” She looked to the window, and a tiny frown marred her brow. “It’s still dark.” Her eyes roved over his form, and the frown deepened. “Why are you dressed?”

Devlin.

Suddenly, he wished it was his name. In that moment, he’d have given it all up. His parish, his calling, his home—all of it—to make it true, to be able to stay here with her and actually be the man she thought he was. That knowledge all but broke him. “There is something I must do,” he said gruffly.

And indeed he did. He must get out of this house and away from her as quickly as possible.

The sleep vanished from her eyes, and they lit with excitement. “You’re going to get a special license,” she whispered, sitting up, unheeding of her undressed state.

Another stab to the heart. “No, I’m not.” He watched the confusion set in. Watched as doubt took over. And then he could not bear to watch anymore, so he looked away. “I’m going to speak to my solicitor about ensuring payment for my staff’s silence,” he clarified in a clipped tone. “And you are going home.”

“But…”

Finally, he faced her. “I refuse to submit to this…this entrapment.”

“Entrapment? What trap? Devlin, I’m in love with you—and you’re in love with me.” Her voice hardened. “You cannot deny it. I heard you call me ‘your love.’”

Silently, he cursed himself. Forcing his features into a condescending sneer, he answered, “Do you really think you’re the first I’ve addressed using such a general endearment while in the throes of passion? I’ve loved many women.” Awful inspiration struck, and he pointed to the enormous nude hanging on the wall. “Including her.” Marking how his hands had begun to tremble, he folded them behind his back to keep her from seeing. “Many of my former amours, like her—like you—have sought to trammel me. None have succeeded. And none will. I’ve told you countless times I’m not the marrying sort.”

For a long moment, she simply stared at the painting, and then slowly her gaze swung back to him. “You would do such a thing—to me?”

His heart an ash pit, he put as much ice as he could manage to dredge up into his next words. “I regret having given in to temptation—there is no denying you are beautiful—but you came here, to my house, and threw yourself at me. You cannot blame me for taking what was so willingly and recklessly offered.”

Her face darkened. “I’ll have my father—”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” he snapped, panic making his voice harsh. “Oh, I know—you’re a spoiled little princess accustomed to your father giving you everything you want. But not this time.”

Going to where he’d stowed them, he took up the sheaf of papers and held them up. “I hold in my hand the key to your father’s—and your—ruination. Your father has been denying the Crown its fair share of his profits, my dear. For years. Should the Crown learn of it, your father will be imprisoned, his assets confiscated, and you will be left destitute.”

Her face blanched, but then she laughed. “How do I know that’s not simply your nightly journal?”

“Look at it and see for yourself.” Tossing them down beside her, he added, “Once a pirate, always a pirate.” His heart contracted with nearly unbearable agony as she began to read, as he destroyed her image of her father. “That’s one of many copies,” he murmured. “And know this, too, that should anything untoward befall me, measures are set in place to ensure my agents find, unseal, and circulate this incriminating evidence far and wide, with special emphasis on informing the Crown. So I suggest you let me go unhindered and keep quiet.”

The pain and betrayal in her eyes as she again looked at him was more than he could withstand. He looked away and focused on straightening his cuffs. “I never wanted this. I never wanted to hurt you. But you leave me no choice. I will not marry you, Olivia. Marriage is simply not for the likes of me.”

And in that moment, he meant it. As penance for his sins here in London, he was determined henceforth to deny his flesh and devote himself to serving the Lord in the same manner as the Catholic priests, with his whole being, both body and soul. He’d never allow himself to love again, and the instant his body experienced lust, he would extinguish it with the memory of this night and its terrible consequences.

When she spoke, her face was frighteningly impassive, but her voice shook with emotion. “So that’s it, then, I suppose. I gave my heart to the devil, and now the devil no longer wants it.”

“He never did,” he said, each word a dagger in his heart. “I did warn you.”

“You did,” she replied woodenly.

His heart shattered into countless pieces. Even so, he maintained an air of indifference. “I’ve paid my staff quite handsomely for their silence.” He didn’t bother telling her they’d all be gone by that evening. She’d find out soon enough. “No one else need know this ever happened.” The glimmer of tears on her lower lashes smote him like a physical blow, and he couldn’t help himself. “Forget about me, Olivia,” he said gently. “Your virtue remains intact. You can still marry. Find a man who will worship you as you deserve, and be happy.”

It took all his strength to turn away and leave her there with her father’s life in her hands.

“What will you tell Papa?” came the question, all businesslike, just as he made the threshold.

He paused and spoke over his shoulder. “I’m planning on absenting myself from London for a while. I’ll send him a note saying I felt compelled to visit my family again.”

“Will you ever come back?”

“I don’t know,” he lied, knowing full well that Dev would be returning to take his place in a matter of days.

“You’re going to burn for this, you know.” Her voice was like ice. “I’ll never forgive you.”

Perdition loomed in his afterlife—already he felt Hell’s fires licking at his heels—but in his heart he was already there, locked in its hottest kiln. “Neither will I,” he muttered and fled.

…

Devastated and furious, Olivia, cowl drawn low to hide her face in shadow, allowed herself to be escorted by the devil’s footman to an unmarked carriage. As it wended its way through the streets, she seethed in silence.

It’s my own fault. I did this to myself. I knew the sort of man he was. He told me the sort of man he was, and I, lovesick fool, failed to believe it.

Such self-castigations filled her thoughts. Yet even though she knew she was at least partly to blame, she couldn’t stop hating him. Every drop of blood in her veins sang with it. He’d been intimate with her, confessed his tender sentiments, and she’d known it was real. That his feelings for her were genuine wasn’t in question.

And then he’d cheapened it by lying and saying it was something he’d said to every woman he bedded. She knew it for a lie. No former amour of Lord Devlin Wayward had ever publicly claimed to hold his heart. In fact, they’d all quite publicly bemoaned their inability to sink their claws into that most elusive prey.

But she’d done it. As surely as the sun would rise in a few hours, she’d had him. He’d loved her. And then he’d denied it and rejected her.

Why? The justifications he’d given for denying her his surname had all the strength of tissue paper in a raging downpour, and had he not shown her the evidence of her father’s flagrant tax evasion, she’d have called him on it. She patted the inner pocket of her cloak, into which she’d secreted the damning evidence.

Never again will I allow myself to be so foolish as to love any man.

When she married, it would be a business transaction. Nothing more. She’d find and wed a gentleman suitable to produce children with, do so, and then live separately. There would be civility, but no sentiment between them.

And if she ever got the chance to take anonymous revenge on the blackguard who’d spurned her, she’d do it without hesitation.

That her father had been quietly cheating the Crown was of no concern to her as long as he didn’t get caught. Papa was indeed a pirate. Always had been. Rather than being ashamed, however, she was bloody proud of it. He’d been a complete nobody who’d made something of himself.

Papa should know his business partner has obtained incriminating evidence against him. If he knew, he might be able to quietly alter the records and thus negate that evidence, and then she was sure he’d sever ties with the awful man. As soon as I know for certain one way or another, I’ll share it with him—I’ll say I grew suspicious of his motives and had him investigated. She clenched her teeth to keep from venting her fury aloud. I’ll be damned if Lord Hell-bound Devlin continues to profit from any association with my family!

On arriving home, she immediately went up to her room and tore off her gown. She never wanted to see it again! Into the hearth it went with a vicious toss, the burning silk giving off a foul stench that brought Marie scrambling into the room in a panic.

Damn. I ought not to have done that. It wasn’t the first time her temper had gotten the better of her and put her in an awkward place.

“Oh, Miss!” mourned the maid. “Your beautiful new dress! It’s—”

“Ruined beyond repair,” she cut in from behind her screen as she drew on a wrapper. She caught sight of her naked self in the mirror, and the memory of the pleasure they’d shared, his strong body in her arms, his gentle touch and adoring gaze, all of it came flooding back, and with it came the danger of tears.

I must not cry. Not in front of the servants. They’ll tell Papa, and then there will be questions. “I want a bath,” she demanded briskly. “With lavender scent.” She waited for the sound of the door closing.

Instead: “Miss? Are you not well?”

Her mind raced. I told Angela I was feeling sick. “I was ill in the carriage on the way home, and it got on my clothes. It ruined the gown, and I still stink of it. Now for heaven’s sake, please bring hot water so I can bathe!”

The door quickly shut, followed by the sound of footsteps retreating in haste.

“Mrrrow?” It was Lucifer, come to investigate the smell and commotion.

She eyed the feline, another reminder of him, with ambivalence.

The kitten let out a rumbling purr and stretched up its paws to her knees beseechingly. “Mrrrrrow?”

At least he genuinely loves me. “It’s not your fault the one who gave you to me is a soulless bastard,” she murmured. Bending, she rubbed between his ears, earning her an unblinking, utterly adoring stare.

Her eyes filled. Angrily, she swiped at them and gazed into the fire, watching the silk as it continued to shrivel in the flames, wondering if she could manage to do this. Removing the papers from her cloak, she hid them away, then stared at the cloak in dismay. It was pristine. She’d burned the damned gown, which would definitely be reported to Papa, who’d then doubtless ask questions. She needed something to show Marie in case he inquired.

Heart racing, she cast about the room. Spying a vase filled with flowers from a few days past, she grabbed it and, pulling the stems out, sniffed at the water. Positively vile! She mourned the beautiful cloak for but a split second before splashing some of the fetid water down the front. Replacing the flowers, she cast the cloak onto the floor behind the screen.

When the servants returned with water and bathing accoutrements, she told Marie to see if the cloak might be saved by washing. “Only a very little got on it. I’d already expelled the worst of it on my gown.”

“Oh, poor dear!” tutted Marie as she took the pins out of her hair and eyed the cloak with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

“Yes,” agreed Olivia. “I’m certain the driver will not be happy when he discovers it, but I simply could not tell him. It would have been too humiliating.”

By the time she stepped into the bath, the offending garment had been removed—held gingerly at arm’s length—and she at last let herself heave a sigh of relief. She’d managed to pull it off. No one was the wiser. No one knew of the real humiliation she’d been dealt.

And, God willing, no one ever would.

Upon his return the following evening, Papa inquired of her about her illness, as expected. Olivia told him nothing more than what she’d told Angela and Marie. The look he gave her in return was one of blatant suspicion, but he did not question her story’s veracity.

Rather than wallowing in melancholy over her disappointment, she spent herself on activities that kept her awake late into the wee hours, driving herself until sheer exhaustion claimed her. It was that, or lie in the dark alone with her thoughts, which was unacceptable, because all she could think about was Devlin. Frustratingly, the blackguard occupied her mind even more now than he had before. There was simply no peace to be had.

Five days after her humiliation, she awakened in tears. Her dreams had been full of him. Pleasant dreams, from which she’d been forced to awaken and yet again face the reality of his rejection and abandonment. Weary in both spirit and body, she had no desire to see anyone, but last night her father had gone out and left her a note asking to speak with her today over breakfast—for which she also had no desire.

Putting on a morning gown, she left her hair in braids and went down, fully intending to come right back upstairs as soon as he was done. Going to their board, she contemplated his move for a bare second, picked up a chess piece, and viciously plunked it back down.

Papa cleared his throat and looked reproachfully at her over the top his papers. “You’ve been out of sorts for days, daughter. Please don’t take it out on the board.”

A flush rose in her cheeks, and her guilty eyes moved back to the board. The piece she’d abused had been a pawn. Like me… Shaking off the thought, she apologized. “Sorry, Papa.”

“Has something happened that I should know about?”

Fury bubbled up inside her, and she had to fight for mastery over it for a moment before speaking. She had no choice now but to play out the game, to tip her piece and concede. “He rejected me. Outright.”

He set down the paper and looked at her with cautious, expectant interest. “Did he now?”

You know he did! She forced a sad little smile, as of a girl disappointed rather than an angry, scorned woman. “I’m afraid I was imprudent and confessed my feelings for him. He made it quite clear he has no interest in marriage and considers us merely friends.” She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat.

“My dear, I warned—”

“Yes, Papa. I know you did,” she cut in, unable to bear hearing him attempt to placate and comfort her. “But it makes it no less painful.”

“Livy, my girl,” he said, sighing. “I know it’s hard, but you must accept that though most of the world is perfectly willing to bow at your feet, there are some mountains that simply won’t bend. Lord Devlin is such a one. I doubt the man will ever marry.”

Gritting her teeth, she faced the window, trembling with anger and pain as his words reiterated what she already knew all too well. “Please don’t, Papa. You know I cannot stand anyone’s pity. Least of all yours.” A frustrated sigh burst free. “The way everyone looks at me now—it’s…it’s humiliating. I need…” She arrived at a decision. “I need time away from it all. Away from everyone.”

Silence. Then: “I could send you to your aunt in Leeds,” offered her father gently.

It galled her to run away and hide like a coward, but she couldn’t bear the thought of encountering the man again. “Yes. I believe I would like that,” she murmured, unable to help the way her voice cracked. “The sooner the better.”

“You may leave this very afternoon, if you like.”

Indeed she would.

The house was all in an uproar with making preparations for her journey when Devlin’s solicitor came bearing several signed documents and the message that his employer would be leaving London tomorrow to visit his family at Winterbourne for a few days.

All the blood left her head in a rush on hearing this news, and she excused herself “to oversee the final preparations” for her trip to Leeds. When Papa came up to check on her, she was just gathering Lucifer into his travel basket. Surprisingly, the cat had been a great comfort to her, and she refused to be parted from him, insisting on taking him along to her aunt’s since she planned to be away for a long while.

“I’m so terribly sorry for how this all turned out,” said her father from the door.

His look of regret appeared perfectly genuine, but she knew he’d not wanted Devlin for a son-in-law. “Are you?”

A telltale flinch told her she’d hit her mark dead center. “I’m not sorry it is ended,” he confessed, to her surprise. “But I am sorry your heart was injured. It is for the best, Olivia. You were meant for better.”

Indeed I am. Her resolve crystalized. She’d go to Leeds and stay there for a few months to let the gossip die down—his rejection had ensured the London Season was over for her anyway—and then return in force to win the heart of the highest-ranking man possible. Devlin would come to regret his choice. She’d see to it.