Chapter Five
Bloody hell. Every nerve between Daniel’s fingers and his groin had come alive. Tension fairly crackled between them as he stared into thick-lashed green eyes that held just as much surprise as his own. He missed a step as they parted to make the first turn and had to elongate his stride to correct the error.
Concentrate!
He glanced back at Miss St. Peters to see if she’d noticed his misstep, but she didn’t appear to have done. Even so, he couldn’t relax.
Anticipation buzzed inside him as they came together again for the first promenade, as he stretched out his hand to take hers. Her fingertips slid into his palm, their touch an electric jolt along raw nerve endings, and again he bit back a curse as he met her gaze.
Pure, physical desire tightened its coils around him as her lids lowered halfway over darkening eyes that had gone from wide and flustered to drugged and sultry.
Heaven help me. This was no idle thought, but a very real prayer made in absolute earnest. Desperate, he tried to come up with something to say to deflect, to take his mind off what was going on in his breeches, but his tongue seemed to have cleaved to the roof of his mouth. All he could do was stare.
The lady, however, appeared to handle things with a bit more equanimity. A spark of what could only be termed triumph flickered in her eyes, and one side of her lush mouth curled upward as they finally separated again.
The vixen knew the effect she was having on him! And she was clearly intent on using it to her advantage.
This knowledge did nothing whatsoever to stop the hum in his veins as he waited across the aisle from her while the other couples promenaded between them. In fact, it sent a thrill tripping down his spine…along with a growing sense of dread.
Had Devlin felt this same sort of attraction to her? Worse, had he revealed it? Is that why she’s so hell-bent on having him? Until now, he’d assumed Dev’s predicament to be similar to his own with Miss Tomblin, and that Miss St. Peters’s sentiments had been completely unreciprocated.
His brother’s entire motivation for coming home was suddenly suspect. Oh, he was sure Dev had missed him and the rest of their family something awful, but if his twin’s reaction to Miss St. Peters was anything at all like what he was experiencing now, then there was much more going on here than he’d been led to believe.
Daniel’s pulse quickened with righteous anger, not only at the idea of his potentially having been used to evade the consequences of an indiscretion on his twin’s part, but at the pain she would experience at his hands as a result of it. Because no matter what happened from here on out, she would be hurt, and he, complicit in Dev’s scheme, would bear an equal amount of guilt for it.
Wrath achieved what his self-discipline could not, burning away all desirous thoughts, save one. So help me, if I have been deceived, when I get home I’ll take off my collar and give him the thrashing of his life!
Regret came crashing in on the heels of his anger. He’d made a terrible mistake in looking on her with ill-concealed desire while in his brother’s stead. And he knew she’d seen it. Even if he were to leave and return to Harper’s Grove this instant, the damage was done. She’d still think there was hope.
There was nothing for it now but to brazen it out, to convince her he didn’t feel anything for her other than base lust. Which should be easy, considering he both wanted her and knew next to nothing of her save hearsay.
I must conquer this unfortunate attraction. Find her faults. Concentrate on those.
The most expedient way to expose someone’s flaws and learn their weaknesses was to make them angry. It was one of Dev’s favorite battle tactics, learned through countless disputes with their father. He’d watched them argue back and forth so many times, observing how his brother purposely chipped away at their father’s icy reserve until the man lost his temper and proved that he was indeed merely human and not impervious.
Daniel had never cared to provoke anyone to that point, preferring to instead coax them into a willing state of vulnerability from which they could then work together to bring about healing and change. But that path required familiarity and trust and was therefore too dangerous. His brother was a natural at the more forceful approach and had become a master at it. He wasn’t so sure he could bring himself to take that route with Miss St. Peters.
It was their turn to fold back into the line again. The look she gave him as they came together sent another pulse of want roaring through him, and he knew he had to try. Silently, he begged the Lord for strength of will and then, clearing his throat, addressed her in a cool tone that Dev would’ve been proud to hear come out of his mouth: “Was it a success, then?”
The heat in her eyes faded, replaced by confusion. “I beg your pardon? Was what a success?”
“That…thing you were wearing when we last met,” he said, punctuating it with a wince. “I can only surmise you wore it to discourage a particularly odious suitor. Were you successful?”
Color bloomed in her cheeks even as her mouth dropped open in an outraged gasp.
Onward he plunged, keeping his tone light, playful even, just as Dev would do. “Not an unwanted suitor, then? Well, I cannot imagine anyone capable of forcing you to wear such a ridiculous garment. Certainly not your father, who dotes on you like no other parent I’ve ever seen. Were you perhaps attempting to make a statement of some kind? I must confess to being deeply curious as to what inspired you to abandon all dignity and—”
“You don’t wish to know the answer, Lord Devlin,” she snapped, whirling away to follow the steps of the dance.
Now that was interesting. Evidently, that gown had had something to do with him. Or with Dev, rather. He went right back to it the instant they rejoined. “Oh, but I simply must know, Miss St. Peters,” he persisted, sweeping her around the turn. “Come now. Do tell!”
She glared at him, positively seething.
That red hair is no lie!
For a moment, he thought he’d gone too far and dreaded the onset of tears that often accompanied feminine ire, but to her credit, she remained dry-eyed. In fact, as he watched her glower transform into a saccharine smile that went no further than her lips, he decided he’d underestimated her.
“Would you have me reveal all my secrets, sir?” she simpered as they again turned. “Are not we women supposed to be mysterious creatures? Is that not part of our allure?”
Wary of a trap, he weighed his next words carefully, flavoring them with a liberal sprinkling of cynicism. “Women are no mystery to me, Miss St. Peters.” The lie rolled smoothly off his tongue as they moved to circle in the opposite direction. “I sensed you were uncomfortable with me during our previous encounter this evening and was merely attempting to put you at your ease.”
One fiery brow lifted. “By insulting me?”
“I insulted the gown, not you,” he drawled in his best impression of Dev, hoping—praying—she was convinced. “If you recall, I also said I assumed you had a good reason for wearing it. I know that you, like most ladies, take great stock in being fashionable.” Her increasingly incredulous expression told him he was on the right track. “It’s not as if I’d never laid eyes on you before that moment, you know,” he lied yet again.
But it had come out sounding annoyed rather than teasing, and her other brow rose to join its mate in an expression of disapproval. Stopping as the music drew to its final flourish, she stared, silent, expectant.
He tried for a bit less prickly. “I just meant that I should hope you think better of me than to imagine one ill wardrobe selection enough to alter my impression of you.”
From the way her brows all but collided, it was immediately clear that had come out wrong, too. “And what, pray, is your impression of me, Lord Devlin?”
Images assaulted his mind’s eye—all of them inappropriate—and Daniel blinked at her stupidly as heat built beneath the layers of linen, silk, and velvet encasing him. He’d surely sweat through them all in a moment.
Think! He tried to recall everything Dev had said about her but drew a complete blank. “I, ah…well…” He couldn’t exactly say, You’re insanely beautiful and you have a terrible temper. “You’re quite…spirited, and, ah…and—”
“Miss St. Peters?” a man’s voice interrupted smoothly. “I believe I have the honor of your next dance?”
Daniel silently blessed his unknown rescuer, but his smile of greeting quickly faded as he turned to see the gentleman waiting to claim Miss St. Peters. Standing before him was his secondary school’s biggest bully, Lord Lovelace—or, simply, “Victor” when they’d been boys. And Daniel had been his favorite target.
But you’re not “Daniel” today, he reminded himself. A grim smile curved his mouth as recognition dawned in Victor’s eyes. That’s right, you horrid toad. Today, I’m Devlin.
After suffering six months of increasingly brutal treatment in stoic silence during first year, Devlin had discovered Victor’s two cronies holding him down while the boy pummeled him with his fists.
Devlin, who’d come looking for him when he failed to show up for dinner, had taken on all three boys at once, and not one of them had remained standing at the end of the fight. Victor had been bloodied to the point he’d had to be carried away by his friends. They’d never spoken of it, and Victor had steered clear of them both after that.
That was the year Dev had insisted he learn how to throw a proper punch. He’d learned well enough under his twin’s tutelage but thankfully had never had occasion to put the knowledge to practical use, nor had he had any desire to do so.
Until now. Ice edged his voice as he addressed the bastard. “Lord Lovelace.”
The wariness in the other man’s eyes gave way to sullen hatred. “Lord Devlin.”
He could feel Miss St. Peters’s gaze flicking between them and knew her interest had been piqued. Of a certainty, he also knew Victor wouldn’t be the one to satisfy her curiosity.
Or anything else having to do with her, if I have any say at all.
This thought caught him by surprise, as did the violent impulse that made him clench his fists at his sides.
Lovelace’s eyes widened, and paling, he took an involuntary half step backward before seemingly catching himself. The color returned to his face quickly as his chest puffed out and he lifted his chin, defiant. “Miss St. Peters has—”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Daniel cut in, tilting his head in acquiescence, effectively relinquishing his claim on her. Turning, he bowed deeply to Miss St. Peters. “Madam, it has been an honor and a pleasure. I bid you good evening.”
He couldn’t resist one final glare at Lovelace before he gave them both his back.
Shame pricked him hard. Yes, Lovelace was still an unpleasant sort—he’d heard all about the man from Dev, who to this day loathed the fellow—but they were grown gentlemen now, and grown gentlemen did not come to fisticuffs over childhood rivalries. Especially not at a ball, and especially not when one of them was, in reality, a vicar.
Still, it had felt awfully good to see the man’s face go white with fear at the sight of him.
It must have been one hell of a beating! He really ought not to be proud of his twin’s impetuosity and proclivity for trouble, but he couldn’t help it. Dev had always been quick to defend those he loved…by any means necessary.
Despite his gentle nature and abhorrence of violence, Daniel knew he’d have done the same for his brother, though likely without as much success. He wondered how their encounter might have ended tonight, had Lovelace known it was him instead of Devlin. Fortunately, his old nemesis had been none the wiser.
He stopped in his tracks as it occurred to him that the man he was now need not fear the reactions of any boyhood bully. While he might not possess Dev’s skill with a blade or pistol, he was as strong as his twin and probably a good deal fitter. He performed most of his own chores, as a humble village vicar ought to do. In addition, he hauled and chopped wood for himself as well as for many of his elderly parishioners, cheerfully helped the poorer farmers bring in the harvest, and spent a good deal of time keeping both the church and rectory in good repair.
In fact, over the holiday, he’d noticed he was a bit broader in the shoulders than Dev. In comparison, Lovelace was rail thin and from the look of him had about as much muscle as Miss St. Peters.
A smile, a real one, now lifted the corners of his mouth as he glanced back at the dance floor. No, he didn’t like Lovelace. He never would. But the man was nobody to fear. Not anymore.
The thought of that bully putting his hands on Miss St. Peters, however, wiped the smile right back off his face. She, of course, had no idea what sort of fellow he really was.
And it’s not my place to warn her. If she wants to play with fire, it’s none of my concern.
And yet…
Frustratingly, he couldn’t stop it from overtaking every other thought in his mind. Perhaps it wasn’t any of his business, but there had to be a way to gently guide her away from that path.
…
It was all Olivia could do to conceal her glee and pay attention to Lovelace while they danced. The look Devlin had given the man should by all rights have speared him to the nearest wall. Clearly, the two hated each other with a passion.
Perfect!
Jealousy was a powerful weapon, but it must be used judiciously. Devlin couldn’t know she was pitting them against each other. Neither of them could. Lovelace would just have to fall in love with her, as well. She didn’t fancy him, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d have little trouble consoling himself when he lost her hand to the man she truly desired.
Ah, and such desire! It had weakened her knees and practically sucked the air from her lungs. Time, it seemed, had only increased the man’s effect on her. The day they’d met, she’d been mesmerized by his sheer presence and raw, masculine appeal.
She pictured him as she walked at her father’s side to their carriage.
Tall and solid…
Hair like pitch and eyes like the sky just before the stars come out…
That deeply shadowed, angular jaw and cleft chin…
Those high cheekbones and straight, narrow nose…
Plush, sensual lips that were almost—almost—too full for a man. A mouth made for sin…
He reminded her of some pagan god.
Saturn. Because he never smiles. That thing he did where one side of his mouth tilted up didn’t count. She’d never heard him laugh, either. Not a real laugh. His close-mouthed, laden-with-cynicism chuckle could hardly be considered laughter.
Why does he never smile or laugh? What sadness entered his life that he should be so taciturn? Did he lose a great love to tragedy in his youth?
The idea was ridiculously romantic, and she knew it. Despite that knowledge, she hoped it was so, because that would mean she could reawaken his heart. Restarting a fire from an ember was far easier than starting a new one in a hearth that had never before held a flame.
Her father’s voice broke her reverie. “What think you of Lovelace?”
Not caring how it looked now that they were out of the public eye, she shrugged. “He was pleasant enough, I suppose.” Not really. He’d been too interested in her décolletage and not enough in what she’d had to say.
“Mmm. And wealthy, too.”
She refrained from rolling her eyes at his obvious inference, but only just. Yes, this was all part of her plan, but it still annoyed her. “And titled, yes, Papa. I know. But don’t draw up a wedding contract yet. I’ve only just met the man.” His responding huff of laughter told her he’d been considering just that. “I know you’re eager to see me gone, but—”
“Nonsense!” came his immediate, indignant answer, as expected. “If I had my way, we’d never be parted.” His tone softened, and he stopped to peer at her in the light of one of the lamps lining the drive. “You’re all I have left of my Beatrice, the only living testament to our love. And you’re so like her…” With a shaky sigh, he squared his shoulders and cleared his throat. “But I want to see my grandchildren, Livy. I want to pass my legacy on to one of your sons, and there is only one way that can happen.”
Well, only one acceptable way… But she could hardly point that out. “I understand, Papa. And I want to be a wife and a mother someday, too, but I won’t marry a man I cannot love.”
“And I have no wish for that, either,” he countered. “Let us hope Lovelace or some other gentleman you meet this Season can live up to your standard.” They resumed walking toward their waiting carriage. “You will give him a chance, won’t you?”
“Of course, Papa.” Lovelace wasn’t the man for her, but she’d at least let it seem like she was giving him a fair opportunity.
When he’d taken her hand tonight, she’d felt nothing, no reaction at all. Not like with Wayward. And Lovelace’s gaze was entirely too calculating. She’d seen that look over and over since coming of age. It was the look of a man who’d decided he wanted her before they’d ever exchanged a word. It was the look of a man after a fat purse.
“Miss St. Peters?” called an out-of-breath voice from behind just as their driver put out the step.
Turning, she saw a boy dressed in Aylesbury’s livery approaching at a fast trot.
Extending his hand, he proffered a folded missive as he paused for breath before elucidating, “From Lord Lovelace, Miss, with his lordship’s regards.” When she took it, he bowed and, mission complete, departed in haste, doubtless to report a successful delivery.
Seeing her father’s impatient look, she moved beneath the nearest lamppost, opened it, and read:
“Well, what does it say?” urged her father as she scanned the lines.
“He wishes to call on Wednesday.”
“And what will be your answer?”
The only one I can give without incurring an hour-long petition on that gentleman’s behalf, of course! She bit her tongue on the retort and answered meekly, “I shall reply in the morning and grant permission, naturally.”
Her papa’s pleased grin would’ve been adorable if she didn’t suspect he’d put Lovelace up to this “impulsive” act. She peered at him in the dark, wondering what promise he’d made to make that gentleman come to heel so quickly. It rankled to know her father was again attempting to arrange her life without her input.
But such was the way of the world. Still, it played into her hands. She boarded the carriage and dismissed Lovelace from her thoughts, preferring to instead review the night’s interactions with Devlin.
He seemed almost a different man. In the past, he’d been a bit of a peacock, calling attention to himself, often resulting in a rapt audience ringing him at every event. He hadn’t done anything like that tonight. In fact, she’d only seen him talk to a few people.
While his manner was just as self-possessed as before, he also seemed far less proud. Less aloof. Even his walk was a bit different. Less of a swagger, more of a stride.
Had something happened during his visit home? She realized she knew next to nothing of his family except that he had several siblings and his estranged father and oldest brother had died. But neither death was recent.
Perhaps something else occurred to account for his subdued behavior…
He’d shown more emotion tonight during his encounter with Lovelace than he had since the day he’d panicked upon learning her identity. She hadn’t missed Lovelace’s flinch back when he’d curled his fists, either. The man had been, much to her amusement, terrified and then wroth at having unwittingly revealed himself to be craven. The men had looked at each other with barely restrained hostility, and she burned with curiosity to know what had happened between them to result in such mutual enmity.
If possible, she’d find out—but not at the risk of alienating either man. She needed them both, at least for a little while.
Just long enough to make Devlin understand what he risks losing…