Chapter Twenty

As soon as his twin’s newly affluent and exceedingly pleased household staff had been dismissed, Daniel boarded a coach, not caring one whit that he would arrive several days before the scheduled rendezvous. He couldn’t stand being in London even a moment longer. Heart-sore and exhausted, all he wanted was to put this whole disastrous business behind him.

Every waking moment of the long journey was spent on his knees in the rocking conveyance, confessing his many sins, begging for forgiveness, and praying for heavenly mercy and divine guidance. He prayed until his throat was hoarse and his knees raw. Still, he knew no peace.

It crossed his mind that perhaps he never would.

Peace was the reward of the truthful, not of deceivers. It was also the reward of the forgiven, but though he’d asked the Lord’s forgiveness, he craved earthly forgiveness from the one he’d harmed. Without it, he’d never be free of the burden of guilt that settled over his heart each time his mind conjured up Olivia’s image.

By the time he arrived in Woodshire and took a room in his brother’s name at the Swan, he felt utterly drained. No longer desiring to be alone with his thoughts, he decided to sit in the common room for a while.

It was comforting, listening to the locals chatting amongst themselves about their farms and families, their simple lives. One thing was certain—he’d been truly humbled. Never again would he look at his parishioners from the vantage point of a pedestal.

The Lord works in mysterious ways indeed. His experience would certainly make him a better, more sympathetic counselor, but the price paid for that wisdom had been altogether too high. A familiar voice made him turn, and he spied his mirror image talking to the innkeeper, who looked distinctly befuddled.

“You’re ahead of schedule, too, I see,” he called out, feeling the corners of his mouth lift in a smile for the first time in days.

Turning, Devlin embraced him. “Thank God you’re here early. The thought of sitting idle for four more days was almost more than I could take.” A chagrined look crossed his face. “Sorry. It’s been a rather trying week.”

Indeed. Daniel peered at him in concern. “Come. You can tell me all about it upstairs. I’ve already procured a room for us.” He paused to address the innkeeper. “If you will please be so kind as to send up food and a bottle of wine?”

So anxious was he to know what had happened during his absence—and avoid telling his own tale for as long as possible—that the door had hardly closed before he began the interrogation. Relief washed over him with every new revelation, and at last he began to relax a little. “I must admit I had my doubts exchanging places would work, but you were right. No one was the wiser. Now all I have to do is limp a little for the next few weeks and then everything will be back to normal again.”

A shadow crossed his heart as the lie passed his lips. Life would never be “normal” for him again. He suddenly felt a lot more compassion for Miss Tomblin’s wounds and wished it hadn’t been necessary to cause her any pain, and said as much.

His brother’s answer was grim. “Mark my words—had I not done it, her next move would have been entrapment.”

Daniel felt the blood leave his face, but he nodded. “Then you did the right thing—what I ought to have done right from the beginning. She’d have been miserable as my wife.”

The bitterness he’d been unable to conceal didn’t go unnoticed, and Devlin peered at him intently. “Aside from the objections you’ve already expressed, what other faults did you find in Miss Tomblin that convinced you she was so ill a match?”

Daniel gave a sheepish shrug and proceeded to lie yet again, this time giving out platitudes about how his future wife would have to be someone of like mind and temperament to himself. The falsehoods rolled off his tongue with alarming ease. He had wanted all those things, but that was before London. Before Olivia. Now, like Dev, he intended to remain a bachelor for the remainder of his life.

“I wish you did not have to go back,” Daniel murmured. “I wish you would settle somewhere wholesome instead of living in that cesspool. What an awful place London is! So many people all around, yet it’s so lonely.” More lonely than was good for any man.

His twin ignored the hint. “So, St. Peters signed the contract securing our partnership. Excellent! What of his daughter? Was she any trouble?”

Daniel’s face was going to catch fire at any moment. “A bit, now that you mention it. Her interest in you was somewhat greater than you led me to believe,” he groused, pain twisting in his gut. “Dissuading her without earning her father’s enmity was a challenge, but she understands now that I—or you, rather—are unequivocally uninterested.”

“Out of curiosity, how did you dissuade her?”

The beginnings of panic brushed against his thoughts. Clamping down on it, he dissembled. “I’d rather not discuss it—it was not my finest moment. Oh, and you’ll have to hire new staff on your return. I felt it wise to dismiss everyone so there would be no suspicions raised concerning your again altered demeanor. They were paid well and will be paid again in six months provided they keep quiet.”

“Good thinking.” Devlin grinned. “And nice attempt to change the subject. Got your hands dirty, did you? Come on. Out with it.”

He didn’t want to lie any more than he already had. Which meant he had to resort to omission. “The more I tried to show her that I—you—were not the sort of man she wanted, the more determined she seemed to have me—you. It was most vexing. I’m afraid I resorted to deliberately provoking her into a public show of temper. Her father has sent her to stay with his sister in Leeds.”

Devlin blinked in surprise. “Well, well. I commend you on your fortitude and resourcefulness.” He raised his glass and toasted their mutual success.

Daniel’s face remained uncomfortably hot as he drained his glass.

“Clear your conscience, brother mine,” his brother told him. “I knew you were equal to the task. Whereas you’ve the strong morals necessary to resist temptation, I’m far too weak-willed to withstand carnal enticements.”

Oh, God. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Instead, he adopted a brisk manner. “So, that’s that, and there’s an end of our respective troubles. I’ll go back to Harper’s Grove with a temporary limp, and you’ll go back to London with what, a sprained ankle?”

“Something like that,” grumbled his brother just as there was a knock at their door. The food had arrived. “It will be good to get back to proper civilization.”

Daniel didn’t care if he never set foot in “proper civilization” again.

The following day, the two left with Daniel once again wearing a simple vicar’s garb and his twin in silk and velvet. He’d donned his clerical vestments with deep misgivings, feeling more unworthy than ever, but feigned good cheer as they said their goodbyes and parted.

The closer he got to home, the better he felt. He’d missed the village, his parishioners, and his wee country church. Staying busy, helping his parishioners, steering clear of temptation—those things would never return him to his previous state, but they would surely help put him closer to it than he was now.

In time, recall of his time spent in London would fade. Olivia, like Anne, however, would live evergreen in his thoughts no matter how much he might wish otherwise. Pain had etched those memories indelibly on his heart and soul.

Her face. Her voice. The feel of her body pressed against his own with nothing between them. Those things would forever haunt him. And he’d deserve every moment of torment they gave him. Twice now, he’d loved. And twice, he’d lost that love.

Clearly, like his twin, he was meant to be neither a husband nor a father. All that remained was for him to submit to his penance and bear his guilt and pain in silence, as he should. He prayed that it would serve only to mold him into a better shepherd to his flock.

Just when he began to feel somewhat normal again and had finally set aside the cane he’d been hobbling around with, all hell broke loose. Miss Tomblin, who’d spent weeks favoring him with baleful glares and avoiding him, stormed into the rectory with her father looking for Devlin.

Apparently, during his brief stint as a vicar, his twin had gotten her with child. Devlin had fallen prey to the same temptation as had he. His brother’s awkward manner and evasive speech when they’d met for the exchange now made sense.

His world again fell into chaos as David attempted to contact Devlin, who’d been suspiciously silent and hadn’t answered Daniel’s last letter, only to discover their brother had liquidated his London assets and vanished.

Certain that this was his true penance for succumbing to the devil’s wiles, Daniel offered to marry Miss Tomblin—in name only—so the child wouldn’t be fatherless.

It was anything but a happy prospect for either of them, but with no viable alternative, it was what had to be done for the sake of the mother and babe. Quietly, they planned to be married in a private ceremony and surprise the village with the announcement the following Sunday. As the days counted down to his wedding, all Daniel could think about was Olivia and how she’d never know the truth: that he did indeed love her. Deeply. His only consolation was the hope that she’d find a good man and eventually be happy.

Then the winds of fate changed direction again.

Devlin turned up at Winterbourne completely ignorant of the tempest he’d caused and, learning of the situation, confessed his love for Miss Tomblin and convinced her to accept him instead, removing the onus of matrimony to his own shoulders, where it belonged.

In the weeks that followed, during which his twin very publicly courted her and “won” her heart, Daniel felt both intensely relieved and cast adrift. As he performed the ceremony making his former bête noire his sister-in-law, he couldn’t help thinking Devlin didn’t deserve such a miracle.

And yet it had happened. Glad as he was for their sake, he was also envious—another sin to add to his ever-growing list. But he had no illusions about his own situation.

Olivia was lost to him forever.

…

After her long sabbatical in dreary Leeds, Olivia now sat in her father’s study in a state of utter shock. Papa’s anxious eyes peered at her, and distantly, she felt his palms frame her face. Finally, it registered that he was kneeling on the carpet at her feet.

“Married,” she croaked, her throat dry as a desert.

“I chose not to inform you while you were away because I did not wish to ruin whatever peace you had attained,” he replied gently. “Please understand—”

“Lord Devlin Wayward is married,” she whispered, the numbness slowly beginning to wear off, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. Tears rose unbidden, wrung from the very flesh of her beating heart. “Married to some woman nobody has ever heard of…” Her throat closed, and she fell silent, suddenly unable to form words.

Whatever her father said after that fell on deaf ears.

Footmen brought a chair and carried her upstairs to her bed. Olivia stared blankly at the ceiling and let Marie undress and pat her down with damp cloths before tucking her in. A doctor arrived, and she let the man bleed her without protest. Uncaring, she swallowed the spoonful of bitter liquid he tipped between her lips and meekly took a mouthful of water to chase it.

“She’s in shock,” she overheard him murmur to Papa, as if from a long way away. “I’ve seen it many times. It should pass by morning, but I would not allow her to leave the house for a few days, nor receive any visitors. She needs rest and quiet, but someone should keep watch over her at all times until she behaves normally again. If she wants to eat tomorrow, let her, but not too much at once, and plain foods only. If there is no change by tomorrow afternoon, send for me again.”

A soft, feathery haze settled over her mind, blurring his words, and her eyes drifted shut. Cool fingers touched her wrist, checking her pulse again, and then she heard footsteps and unintelligible whispers, and finally, the click of a door closing. Blissful oblivion took her in its gentle arms then, and she neither felt nor heard anything more.

Olivia awakened in a state of confusion with a face-full of purring feline and a mouth as dry as a desert. Then it all came flooding back. Devlin had fled London to escape her and then after a brief return had sold everything and disappeared, only to marry someone else a mere month later. And now he’d resettled in the countryside with his new bride.

Unexpectedly, though this painful information repeated itself in her mind over and over, her eyes remained as dry as her mouth. She seemed incapable of crying anymore. Instead, cold, implacable logic, devoid of all emotion, asserted itself.

He must have gotten her with child. It was the only way such a man could be persuaded to marry. He’d hidden himself at Winterbourne and while there had doubtless availed himself of the local offerings only to be run aground.

A grim smile pressed her lips together. The chit who’d “trammeled” him was a clever creature indeed, but she’d find no joy in her groom. For the girl’s sake, Olivia hoped she’d be satisfied with money in lieu of love.

Rolling over, she stretched and hugged her pillow, sending Marie scurrying out of the room to call for her master and inform him that her mistress had awakened.

It was over. Truly over. With any luck, she’d never see the bastard again.

Fortune favored her in that regard for only little more than a month.

When Angela told her that Lord Devlin and his new bride had arrived in London to shop for furnishings, Olivia found herself unable to quell her curiosity.

Bond Street. It was the only place a duke’s son would go for furnishings. Papa was out, so she offered to escort Angela home.

“I know what you’re thinking, Olivia, but you must not do anything foolish,” her dearest friend warned.

“I just want to see her,” she replied coolly. Taking up Angela’s hands, she gave them a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t you understand? I need to see her.”

Mournful eyes stared back at her. “I do understand. But I also know it won’t bring you any joy.”

“I know, but curiosity must be satisfied.”

“Then I’ll go with you,” said Angela firmly. “Someone has to make certain you don’t make a spectacle of yourself.”

Hugging Angela, she reassured her she wouldn’t do anything stupid, and together they left for Bond Street.

Finding her quarry was easy—his carriage was still just as conspicuous as ever. The newlyweds were in a café taking refreshment. Entering quietly, she put her fan up and covered all but her eyes. At last she spied Devlin and his bride seated at a table off to the side.

He was looking at his lady wife with most ridiculously adoring eyes—which made Olivia positively seethe. But the woman was facing the wrong way, and Olivia couldn’t see anything but a shapely back and curls the color of pale honey peeking out from beneath her hat.

Steeling herself, she pulled away from Angela, who hissed a futile warning, and made a beeline for their table.

He saw her coming. The sight of his eyes widening in panic was one of the most satisfying of her entire life. She leveled a vicious smile at the man and came around to the side of the table between them. Angela, hissing admonitions the whole way, trotted behind and then came in close beside her, her sharp elbow already digging at Olivia’s ribs.

She ignored it. “Good afternoon, Lord Devlin,” she said, pouring every drop of saccharine sweetness into the greeting. Her eyes took in his appearance, marking every detail. He’d seen some sun of late, and his face was slightly fuller. The shadows were gone from beneath his blue eyes, too. He looked well rested, the wretch.

It only added fuel to her ire. “How lovely to see you again—and your new bride.” She looked now to the woman who’d stolen her place at the altar…and felt the blood drain from her face.

Lady Devlin was undeniably beautiful. She was also undeniably pregnant.

So, I was right. Though her bitterness remained, Olivia’s wrath faded. She’d spent a lot of the last several months cursing the man who’d broken her heart and planning her revenge. But now, faced with this woman’s open, sunny smile, guileless eyes, and round middle, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bring herself to diminish her obvious happiness and thus punish her for his sins.

She’s just another victim of his charm. One who’d had the means to force him to do the honorable thing.

And yet the way he was looking at her earlier suggested there was more to it than that. Her chest tightened painfully at the thought that he might actually love her. That he might whisper the endearment he’d spoken that night into her ear when they—

Stop it. They are married, and the circumstances of it matter not. She is his wife. He is her husband. It is done.

“Won’t you join us?” the lady kindly offered, gesturing to the seats beside her.

Prudence told her to refuse, but curiosity again won out. “How gracious of you. I would be delighted.” She slid into the chair, casting Devlin a warning glance. The man had paled several shades, which mollified her, somewhat. “Lord Devlin and my father were business partners before he moved away from London—we’re all wonderful friends, and we’ve missed him a great deal,” she lied sweetly. “But come, I must know the tale of how you two met.”

The story that came from Lady Devlin’s lips rang false in several places, but Olivia didn’t question it. Instead, every time she heard something she either knew or suspected was a lie, she flicked a knowing glance at Devlin.

They’d met over the holiday.

That, she believed to be true.

They’d become enamored of each other quite quickly.

Quite obviously, given the size of Lady Devlin’s swollen belly.

He’d been unable to forget her and had come back to Harper’s Grove specifically in the hope of winning her heart.

While Angela cooed over that, Olivia met Devlin’s eyes and held them long enough to make him visibly squirm as his wife blithely continued talking.

A waiter came and took their order, and then Lady Devlin excused herself to visit the powder room.

Olivia saw her chance. “I’ll—”

“I’ll go with you,” Angela said over her, casting Olivia a warning look as she rose. “While you keep Lord Devlin company.”

The two ladies rose and left the table, leaving her with her nemesis. As soon as they were out of earshot, Olivia came for him with all cannons ablaze. “I won’t humiliate your wife, who is innocent in all of this, by exposing your perfidy. But I sincerely hope you burn in eternal hellfire for what you did—for what you’ve undoubtedly done to many others besides me.”

His look of startled confusion was perfection worthy of London’s finest stages. It was almost as if another man looked out from those blue eyes. But she knew better. She knew the devil’s disguise and how skilled a liar he truly was.

Devlin’s eyes slowly filled with wary comprehension. “I regret the offense I committed against you, Miss St. Peters,” he said carefully. “I won’t ask for your forgiveness. I know I’m unworthy of it. That said, you have my deepest gratitude for preserving my wife’s dignity and happiness.”

Oh, how she hated him! The thoughtfulness he now displayed toward his wife compared to how he’d so casually destroyed her heart was enough to make the bile rise. “Pretty words,” she sneered. “But I don’t need your gratitude. I restrain my anger for her sake and to preserve my own reputation. Being seen on amicable terms with both you and your wife will help mitigate untoward gossip.”

A grim little smile curved one side of his mouth. “Point taken, Miss St. Peters.”

Unable to bear the sight of him any longer, Olivia excused herself and went to the counter to pretend to peruse the dessert offerings.

Angela returned, and taking her arm, Olivia practically dragged her from the establishment.

“Good heavens—she must be carrying twins,” muttered Angela as they made their way to the carriage.

That, or someone had gotten their dates wrong. Or perhaps the mother-to-be had turned the tables on the bastard and had cozened him. Now that would be justice!

She dropped Angela off and continued homeward, replaying the encounter in her mind. Something about it left her uneasy. It took her the remainder of the afternoon and most of the evening to puzzle out the cause.

Even when she’d been furious with Devlin, as on the night he’d taken liberties with her and then denied her, she’d desired him. Desperately. Every inch of her skin had craved his touch. But just now? Nothing. No racing heart, no flush of heat in unmentionable places. It was as if he were a marble statue, pretty to look at, but unexciting.

And it wasn’t simply that there’d been no desire in his eyes when he’d looked at her—though that was something, as well. When she’d looked at him, she’d felt nothing. No pull of longing, no sadness or even a sense of loss.

Had her anger erased the love she’d felt? She thought about it for several minutes.

No. That had been real, and the pain of it had forever marked her heart. But she felt nothing now save contempt for the man she’d left at that café.

Lord Devlin Wayward was dead to her.

It’s done. I’m over him. I’m free.

The vise constricting her heart loosened and fell away. He’d hurt her, but he’d not broken her. She’d escaped that fate, but only barely.

Never again will I allow any man that kind of power over me.