Chapter Fifteen

One week later

Daniel couldn’t believe his ears. “You named it what?”

All around, heads turned at the outburst and speculative eyes stared. At Olivia’s urging, her father had stopped at Gunter’s Tea Shop on their way back from visiting Saint’s. Now here they were, looking for all the world like a couple on a chaperoned outing. And there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

Lowering his voice, he tried to remain calm even as he fervently prayed for St. Peters’s swift return from fetching marzipan for his incorrigible spawn. “Why in heaven’s name would you call it…that?”

“Well, I could hardly call him Devil in your honor, so Lucifer it was,” she said blithely. “A most fitting name, by the by.” Taking up another spoonful of strawberry iced cream, she favored him with a sarcasm-laden, saccharine smile. “He’s climbed up every skirt to cross his path.”

He couldn’t have prevented his slack-jawed, no doubt horrified, expression to save his life. It must have been truly comical, because her lips began to quiver with the beginnings of laughter. Closing his gaping mouth, he glared. “The name is Devlin, not devil,” he hissed, “and I don’t appreciate being mocked in an obvious play on words, especially after having extended an olive branch.”

“Is that what it was?” A single, skeptical brow lifted. “Given the vagueness and brevity of the accompanying letter, you’ll forgive me for misunderstanding your intent. I thought you were merely attempting to annoy Lovelace, as we’d previously discussed.”

Heat prickled beneath his cravat. All he’d wanted was to soothe any lingering animosity on her part for his brother’s sake, allowing them to proceed amiably under their new understanding. “I apologize for my ambiguity,” he said, reining in his frustration with a Herculean effort. “I tried to be circumspect in the event anyone else saw the letter, assuming—incorrectly, it seems—that you’d comprehend my postscript as both regret for having offended you and a reaffirmation of our friendship.”

The ice melted from her eyes. “I never thought our friendship at an end. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression.” A rueful smile tilted lips stained a deeper pink by the strawberries she’d been popping into her mouth at intervals between bites of iced cream, and his stomach flipped. “It seems my ire was undeserved.”

Moments passed in which the noise of the confectioner’s shop filled the heavy silence that had fallen between them. Clearing his throat, he finally asked, “Will you rename it?”

That stubborn, pointy little chin at once rose in defiance. “I most certainly will not. As I said, it fits, and he already answers to it—but we call him Luci, as it disturbs my maid to hear his full name spoken.”

It would bloody well disturb him, too. Seeing that he’d get nowhere trying to persuade her to change her mind, he instead changed the subject. “I have yet to hear your association with Lovelace is ended. Have you informed him?”

But he never got an answer, because St. Peters returned. It was all Daniel could do not to grind his teeth as she kissed her father’s cheek and made much of the fancy box of sweets before offering him one, which he declined. All around, people were looking at them, and he knew exactly what they were thinking.

Even if she knew he intended to remain unattached, everyone else was increasingly assuming otherwise. The tale of their outing would be all over London by tonight and blown all out of proportion by morning. Whether or not it was her intent—and he couldn’t be certain of anything at this point—she’d outmaneuvered him again.

As he rode back to his twin’s house late that afternoon, he reflected that it was time to take more drastic measures. Devlin Wayward was a bachelor. That must be reestablished. Definitively. On arrival, he called for his valet to help him dress for an evening out.

Though he was most certainly no match for Devlin, he was a decent card player. Even so, before the night closed, he managed to lose a total of forty-six pounds. It sickened him to sign the owe-notes. Most of the working people in his own parish lived on far less than that a year.

But he had his brother’s infamous reputation to uphold.

As such, the next night saw him take in a burlesque show. He felt dirty afterward. The night after that, he paid a visit to Vauxhall Gardens and took an impromptu meal there with two of his brother’s friends, who’d been elated to see him. Enduring their loud exclamations of dismay over his long abstinence, their crows of triumph at his return, and very carefully answering their many questions concerning his recent withdrawal from Society in general was harrowing, but he managed to put them off by hinting at a new project that had been taking up much of his time.

There was no reason to visit St. Peters now that the details had been hammered out and the refurbishing of Saint’s was nearly complete. So for the next week, he forced himself out of the house every night, the final two being taken up by balls to which he’d previously declined to accept an invitation.

If Lovelace could do it, so could he. The hosts were delighted to receive him despite the mix-up, and he made sure to dance every reel with a different lady.

His absence from Miss St. Peters’s side at events to which she’d been invited was subtly remarked upon several times in the papers following the second event. Much to his dismay, however, he discovered she’d not gone unescorted. Lovelace’s initials appeared next to hers in a gossip column, where the pair were described as “cozy.”

In hindsight, he realized his mistake in not following through with pressing her to immediately break ties with the fellow. It was time to make her father aware of the truth concerning the man wooing his daughter. Checking Devlin’s notes before departing, he curled his lip in disgust. The man really was a piece of work.

St. Peters was in his office when he arrived. His expression, while not unwelcoming, was wary. “I was beginning to wonder if we’d somehow offended you.”

Daniel gave him a wry smile. “My apologies for the lack of geniality. I had personal business to attend in town.”

“I saw,” said St. Peters, one brow hitching up. “As did Olivia. I did not inform her you were coming today. She’s at the modiste with her friend Miss Wright.”

“Good, because what I have to share with you should not be overheard by any gently raised female.” He proceeded to tell all he knew concerning Lovelace’s depravities, marking with grim satisfaction the other man’s darkening expression as he did so. “I warned Olivia about him—in the mildest of terms, you understand—and fully expected her to sever the connection as a result. I’m alarmed that she has not yet done so. I can only imagine she makes light of the situation because I was not more explicit.”

The curious look St. Peters was giving him was not entirely in line with their conversation, and it made him uneasy.

Before he could form a tactful inquiry, however, St. Peters again surprised him by suddenly saying, “The intensity of your dislike for Lovelace borders on hatred.” His eyes narrowed. “What issue lies between you and the man, besides your concern for Olivia? I understand he’s been attempting to poach your customers, but that’s just business. It hardly warrants such a depth of feeling.”

Daniel felt his face grow hot. St. Peters was too astute to believe a shallow lie, and a deeper one would be too easily picked apart. The truth, then—but from Devlin’s view. “When my brother and I were at college, Lovelace nearly beat him to death. It was an unprovoked attack, and Lovelace was not alone. He paid for his sin—at my hands—but I cannot forget it. I only became aware of his…less-than-savory activities because in my youth, I brushed circles with him in such places as I ought not to have ventured. When it became clear we were to be rivals in the same industry, I thought it wise to keep him under observation in the event I ever needed to exert pressure on him. That is how I came into the information I shared with you.”

Understanding dawned, and with it the wariness in the other man’s eyes receded. “Thank you for your honesty. And thank you for caring enough about Olivia to show your cards.”

Inwardly, Daniel cringed. “I trust you will end his suit even if Olivia is reluctant.”

“Indeed, I shall. Forthwith,” confirmed St. Peters. “Lord Devlin…I know you have said you have no interest in marrying Olivia, and you have certainly made progress in forcing her to comprehend that this week…but are you absolutely certain that—”

“Beyond any doubt,” he cut in swiftly. “But even if I did, there is the matter of my disgrace to consider.” Seeing the other man was preparing to voice an objection, he again headed him off. “I would never wish to burden her with such a stain. As you once said, she deserves better.”

St. Peters looked him square in the eye for a long, uncomfortable moment before at last nodding. “Then you had better make certain she understands it. She has been increasingly agitated of late. I can only attribute it to recent events,” he said pointedly. “I had hoped for an amiable resolution to the issue of her infatuation, but I can see that’s not going to be possible. I’m prepared to deal with the collateral damage.”

“You’re granting permission for me to break her heart.” It wasn’t a question.

“According to your own words, it’s what is best for her.”

A crushing weight seemed to settle on Daniel’s chest. “So be it.”

“And make certain it’s a clean break,” added St. Peters. “I want no lingering sentiments to get in the way of her happiness later on. A woman’s heart is capable of clinging to love long after it has met its end. If she thinks there is even the remotest possibility that you return her tendresse, she’ll continue to carry a flame. I want no shadow cast over her future. When she finally does marry, I want all of her to be standing at the altar.”

The oddest feeling came over Daniel at the thought of Olivia one day marrying some faceless stranger. It burned in his chest like a hot coal. He nodded agreement, unable to speak for the sudden knot in his vocal cords.

“That includes the shadow of scandal,” continued her father. “The last thing any of us wants is a wedding merely to avoid disgrace. The pair of you have already danced far too close to the edge, what with the recent rumor—which has mercifully been laid to rest. We can ill afford another misstep.”

Again, Daniel nodded, though he wasn’t sure to what rumor St. Peters was referring. Since it had been resolved, it was, perhaps, better that he not know, lest he lose what little composure remained.

A firm but surprisingly gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder. “I know you care for her, lad, even if it’s not the sort of love for which she hoped. And I know you don’t relish the prospect of causing her pain, but one day when she’s happily wed and expecting her first child, she’ll look back and be grateful she failed in her efforts to ensnare you.”

He finally found his voice. “I certainly hope so.”

Grunting agreement, St. Peters withdrew his hand and put his business face back on. “How will you do it?”

Such was the tumult in Daniel’s mind that for a moment he drew a complete blank. Think, man. “Her hatred of me must be complete, but it must be achieved without wounding her so deeply that she cannot fully recover from it.” Feeling sick, he knew the answer. “Another woman.”

The other man nodded slowly. “My daughter is indeed not one to tolerate a rival for her affections. I believe such a betrayal would be a most effective means of achieving our goal. Give her some small hope of success, and then…”

“Destroy it utterly,” Daniel supplied. He thought back to the letters he’d opened on first arriving in London. Though the idea of using any of their authors for this dastardly bit of deceit was repugnant, he knew it would work. “She’s mentioned one particular opera singer, a Miss Maria Blythe, several times with unconcealed contempt.”

Another unhappy, resigned nod. “It will cost a pretty penny to secure a special performance, but I’ll arrange for Miss Blythe to perform at our club and you can—”

“No,” he cut in, thinking quickly. “Have Miss Blythe perform at Saint’s on opening night instead, where Olivia will see her.” He had to assume any woman whose breasts his brother had waxed poetic about must be beautiful enough to inspire an appropriate amount of feminine jealousy. “I’ll escort her to the event and make certain my reaction to seeing Maria is such that it makes your daughter prideful, makes her think she’s won…” He forced it out past clenched teeth. “Then, a few days later, I’ll renew my acquaintance with Miss Blythe. In a public manner.”

St. Peters nodded. “That should succeed in permanently upsetting the teapot. The opening is scheduled for a fortnight from now. Until then, I suggest you soothe any bruised feelings with her. The less she suspects, the better. Give me a day or two before you come, however. I need to deal with Lovelace.”

…

Later that week

Olivia was more than a little worried. Devlin’s spate of wild conduct had been accompanied by a patent avoidance of her, such that she’d had no choice but to again use Lovelace to recall his attention. It had worked. Devlin had called on her father while she was away, and later that day Papa had in no uncertain terms ended Lovelace’s suit.

And now Devlin was here, just as she’d hoped. But everything felt wrong.

She sneaked a glance at him sidelong, watching as he ran a finger down her list of invitees for the club’s membership and checked another one off. He’d come this morning, all smiles and cordiality and, after consulting briefly with her father, offered to assist her with the invitations as if the last week hadn’t even happened.

And yet, he was different. He was more reserved. Solemn, almost. She didn’t like it but feared attempting to draw him out again. His silences were no longer companionable as they’d been before, but tense, as if there were things he wanted to say but couldn’t—or wouldn’t. It felt like an invisible wall had been erected between them.

It hurt.

When he spoke, it was of matters of little to no consequence.

He complimented her on how well-balanced her list was.

She thanked him.

He asked whether Luci had begun to behave in a more dignified manner befitting his station.

No, not as of yet.

He wanted to know if she really thought Miss Eddington ought to be a member.

Yes. Despite having been jilted last Season, Miss Eddington’s dowry was sufficiently large enough to still make her a desirable presence.

With every question she answered, the air in the room grew more charged. At last, she could stand it no more. “Why did you not visit us last week?” Her cheeks heated, and she wished she could take the words back.

His hands stilled in the act of straightening a stack, and in the ensuing silence she heard the ticking of the clock on the mantel and the whoosh of blood in her ears.

He resumed his tidying but didn’t look at her when he spoke. “I had matters to attend.”

“Indeed. I read about some of them in the morning papers.”

No response.

Damn. “I thought your relationship with your sister was improving, or have you abandoned your plan to clean up your reputation for her sake?”

Shoulders stiffened, and he fixed her with an enigmatic stare. “None of my activities were considered among those damaging to a gentleman’s honor.”

“Neither are they considered particularly helpful,” she rebutted, then mentally kicked herself for sounding like a prim governess correcting a recalcitrant child.

“I can see I’ve fallen short of your expectations, Miss St. Peters. I fear they may be too high for me to meet.”

Another pang of disappointment sliced through her. He was addressing her formally again. “You asked for my help. I gave it freely. My only expectation was that you talk to me.” When he failed to speak, she went on. “That’s what friends do, is it not?”

Something changed in his eyes. The reserve in their blue depths caught fire and burned away all in an instant, leaving only raw emotion. “Friends. Yes.”

He blinked, and it was gone, but she still felt the wake of it reverberating through her like the tolling of a great bell. It stole both her breath and the words she’d been about to say.

The warm gravel of his voice had deepened to something rougher and infinitely more intimate when he spoke again, something that belied his suddenly cool expression. “Diana’s letter gave me hope, but my brother’s took it away. I know now why she did not come to London for the Season as anticipated. Unbeknownst to me, she has been entertaining the suit of a Scottish lord and plans to accept. I’m going to lose her before we can be reconciled.”

His head bowed, and all at once her perception of both him and herself was irrevocably altered. In truth, it felt as if the entire world had shifted beneath her feet. Had she been standing, she feared she might have fallen.

So this was what love felt like. She’d thought she loved him before, but that…that had been something else. A precursor to the real thing. There was passion, but there was also tenderness. Pain. She hurt for him.

When she finally answered, her voice was clogged with barely suppressed emotion. “Surely you can continue to write to her and—”

“I am not to be invited to the wedding.”

“But that’s nonsense!” she burst out.

“And David does not believe she will wish to remain in contact with me after she is married,” he went on, still not looking at her. “He did not tell me outright to stop writing to her, but it was implicit. In truth, I think it is her wish that I desist and that he is merely her messenger. It is over.”

Impulse seized her, and abandoning her place at the table, she came around to his side and embraced him. The heat of him sank into her through the material of his coat, and his smell filled her nostrils—a tantalizing mix of brandy, wood-scented soap, and leather.

“I’m so very sorry,” she whispered into the hair just behind his ear. A bolt of pure desire lanced through her, leaving her lightheaded, as his arms rose around her, as his hands bracketed her waist.

His shoulder vibrated against her chest as he cleared his throat and answered in a strained voice, “Your sympathy is much appreciated, Miss St. Peters. But I’m sure I’ll survive.”

That’s when she noticed that rather than returning her embrace, he was gently holding her away…and that beneath her hands, his muscles were so tense they quivered.

Mortification filled her, and her face heated as if the fire of a thousand suns had exploded behind it. Stepping back at once, she pulled away and briskly walked to the windows. Fixing her eye on the scene beyond, she struggled for composure. “Please forgive my familiarity. I meant only to offer comfort—as between friends.” The word came out with surprising fluidity, considering how she felt.

“Your friendship is worth a great deal to me, Miss St. Peters,” he answered gruffly, causing her heart to soar. “I only wish your efforts to help me had not been in vain.” Behind her, he let out a long, heavy sigh. “Your father and I are now partners in an endeavor that serves no purpose.”

Panic fluttered in her chest. “That’s not true,” she said at once, turning around to see him now sitting with his head in his hands. Going back to his side, she tried to imbue her words with as much encouragement as possible. “It provides a truly fine alternative to a social club that has been historically biased against people like us.”

Raising his head, he favored her with a sad little smile. “If you gain pleasure from it, then that is enough for me.”

“Then you’ll see it through to completion? And establish your presence there, as planned?” Desperately, she clung to hope.

A frown marred his brow. “If my own family considers me a stain on their honor such that I am not even to attend my sister’s nuptials, it might be better for your sake if I remain an unseen investor.”

No, no, no…! “Nonsense! You should continue in your path toward respectability,” she said, appealing to his ambition. “You have both blood and wealth. New doors may open for you, giving rise to lucrative opportunities. And you never know—if you succeed in winning the approval of the higher circles, it may well be that your sister will hear of it and relent. Saint’s could still be the means of your salvation.”

The look he leveled at her was so intense it sucked the air from her lungs. “If I am to be redeemed, it will not be because of any club,” he said in a voice that affected her like a physical caress. Her legs all but liquefied, and it was all she could do to remain standing as he drifted within arm’s reach and looked down at her, eyes full of fire. “You are a far better friend than this man deserves.”

Heart hammering, she waited, unable to breathe, as he stretched out a hand and brushed a stray wisp of hair back from her face. Paralysis held her in its grip as he then bent and…placed the gentlest of kisses on her brow before again withdrawing to the far side of the fireplace.

The gauze that had settled over her thoughts clung like a tenacious fog, and she stared at him in confusion as he took up a poker and stirred the coals. Devlin Wayward had just looked at her with passion…and then kissed her on the forehead.

“I’ll do as you say and hold my course,” he went on, sounding tired. “I may be unable to attend her wedding, but you have given me hope that I may not be excluded from her heart entirely. And for now that is enough.”

It was a good thing he hadn’t turned around yet, because part of her was fairly certain her mouth was still hanging open. Devlin Wayward simply did not kiss women on the forehead. On the one hand, she thought it sweet that he would treat her with such deference, that he would respect her so much that he would restrain his passion—and what she’d seen in his eyes was undeniably passion—to bestow such a benign token of affection and esteem. On the other, she felt robbed. How many other women had the man kissed—at the least—before today?

Ah, but you are not other women, a little voice inside whispered. He truly cares for you. Enough that he is conflicted. He wants you, but he feels unworthy. He fears damaging your good name.

The silence was deafening. Forcing her mouth to work, she at last responded. “I believe she will eventually come around. Your persistent love will win in the end, just as your brother’s did.”

He looked up sharply, and she saw pain flash across his face, followed by what could only be identified as guilt.

It took all her strength of will not to go to him that instant and kiss him properly, kiss away the awful feelings that were holding him back. His earlier reticence gave her pause, however. He was clearly fighting a battle with himself where she was concerned, and the last thing she wanted was to give him any reason to retreat again, now that there had been progress in the right direction. He needed to come to her of his own accord.

Not to mention her father was somewhere in the house and would likely come unhinged if he caught her throwing herself at the man after his warnings.

The first thing she needed to do was prove to Devlin that he was worthy of her. Worthier than any other. Before she could say anything more, however, the gentleman in question suddenly grew agitated and excused himself with an abruptness bordering on discourtesy.

As she watched him all but bolt from the room, lips tight, body stiff, face pale, she wondered how on earth she was to reach him if he kept running away.