Chapter Sixteen
Daniel had never been so miserable in his entire life. Not even Victor beating and humiliating him in front of those other boys and his twin could compare with this. Every bad feeling one could name was running amok inside him.
His innards trembled with the strain of keeping them reined in and off his face as he made his excuses and fled the St. Peterses’ residence.
Guilt. Shame. Fear. Sweet Lord above, the fear! And anger at having come so close to forgetting himself and ruining everything. He’d only barely managed to stop himself from kissing her—properly kissing her. Rage at his brother for having done this to him, for having put him in a situation where he’d fallen in love with someone he couldn’t have.
He finally faced the fact that he was in love with Olivia St. Peters. Hopelessly so, because there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it. Such tender sentiments could never be fulfilled, and he must suffer that loss for the rest of his natural life.
This can only be divine punishment. I was weak-willed, and this is the consequence. I ought to have come clean with my parishioners. As their shepherd, I ought to have let my love for the Lord and for them overrule my selfish, foolish love for my brother.
It would’ve been the right thing to do. Instead of trusting Heaven to safeguard him from slander, he’d let himself be cozened by fear. He’d agreed to lie and blacken his soul for the sake of a brother whose love for him was less than his love for himself. Devlin should have told the truth at once on being injured, but he’d waited. And just as when they were children, Daniel had followed his lead.
Guilt swallowed him whole. He’d listened to Dev once before, when they’d first been let out from beneath their father’s thumb, and it had led to disaster then, too. He’d heeded his twin when he’d told him that as long as a girl was eager, it was no crime to enjoy her companionship and indulge the sinful cravings of the flesh. “A rite of passage,” Dev had called it.
Ha! More like a rite of damnation. His brother’s influence had led to him meeting Anne and having his heart broken. And who knew where Anne herself was now? Had he exhibited restraint, had he himself behaved with honor at the outset and denied carnal temptation, perhaps she would’ve valued herself more. If he hadn’t been so willing to take what was offered, she might have been influenced to adopt similar reserve and remained in her father’s house until properly wed. Instead, he’d been complicit in sin, and the fate that had befallen her was as much his fault as it was hers.
It was all about the choices one made. The equation was simple. Good choices led to good consequences. Bad choices led to bad consequences.
He couldn’t blame his brother for the choices he’d made, but he could see now how Dev’s influence had steered him toward the primrose path. And now listening to his twin had led to this.
He knew better than most how the Lord had given the devil free rein over the mortal realm to test the human soul, to see if it was worthy of eternal life. Daniel had failed in that test utterly. Twice. Here he was, preparing to do to Olivia what Anne had done to him. Except that she’d be forced to look on the face of the one who’d wounded her—with a different soul behind it.
He couldn’t decide which was worse, to be physically abandoned by the one you loved and never know what happened to them, or to be emotionally abandoned and have them remain constantly in front of you.
With deepest regret, he accepted that he’d failed his test the moment he’d let Dev convince him to come here. That was tea spilt, and there was naught to be done about it. No way to make it right. Now, the only thing he could do was beg the Lord’s forgiveness and pray for His assistance in helping Olivia get over his unworthy brother with as little damage to her heart as possible.
The instant he got to Devlin’s house, he went and retrieved all the letters his brother had received from Ms. Blythe since his arrival. In less than two weeks, he’d have to convince the woman he was Devlin—the real Devlin, not the simulacrum who’d set foot on the road to reform.
Over those two weeks, he kept his distance from Olivia as much as possible. When circumstances did not allow for that, he made sure to be both polite and chivalrous but no more than manners demanded.
Even so, he couldn’t help that his gaze often strayed to her when she wasn’t looking. Several times he was left wondering just how long he’d been contemplating her profile when she turned and caught his eye. Twice he was alerted to his error by the pointed clearing of someone’s throat dragging him back into conversation.
Knowing looks and smug smiles were being cast his way on a regular basis now whenever he and Olivia attended the same events, even if they didn’t arrive together. He knew what they were thinking. And he knew Olivia couldn’t have failed to notice, either. With every obligatory dance they shared at every ball, with every stilted conversation they had, he felt himself falling more in love and slipping further into guilt and despair.
Every night his mind plagued him with her image. Some dreams were full of impassioned touches, putting him in a terrible state upon awakening. But the ones that pained him most were the ones where they were simply happy together.
Dreams where he took his twin’s place permanently and married Olivia.
The idea of living such a lie for the remainder of his days left him feeling physically ill.
Dreams where he told her the truth and that by some miracle it didn’t cause her to despise him, but rather to beg to go to Harper’s Grove as his wife.
That thought had him laughing ruefully at the sheer creative ability of his sleeping mind.
These dreams were relentless. Just when he felt he’d reached the point where he could take no more, a letter arrived from “Daniel.”
Ten days. Barely enough time to enact his plan and escape. Except it wouldn’t be an escape. Not really. He was leaving London to consign himself to hell on earth, forever separated from the one he loved.
Saint’s was opening in just two days. He’d go to the first ball with Olivia as planned and then the following day speak with St. Peters about selling his part in the club. He’d not leave Devlin saddled with it. As for the rest of his brother’s partnership with St. Peters, he could deal with that on his own.
The night of the ball arrived, and with it an impending sense of dread. Dressed in a lavish suit he’d commissioned especially for the occasion, courtesy of his brother’s account at London’s most fashionable—and expensive—tailor, he stared into the mirror and searched his own eyes.
I look like Devlin. Now to act like him.
It felt as if someone else was making his limbs move as he and St. Peters escorted Olivia through the “pearly gates” of the club, her beautiful face aglow with pride as they were greeted by the smiling faces of their first patrons.
Until she spied Miss Blythe.
Not having actually seen the woman before, Daniel had been relying on Olivia’s reaction to alert him to her presence—and he wasn’t disappointed. Her step faltered, and when he looked to her, he saw her wide eyes fixed on the figure of a petite blonde woman holding court amid a cluster of eager men. They were of all ages, too, from barely out-of-shorts to silver-haired gents who really ought to know better.
He made it a point to stiffen and behave as if he’d recognized the lady, as well. Then, when he was sure Olivia was gauging his reaction, he bowed his head and briefly closed his eyes, as if attempting to erase the image. Then he gently steered them in another direction that would avoid Miss Blythe and her admirers. “Come, it’s less congested over there,” he offered as an excuse.
In tense silence, he waited for her to say something, but to his immense surprise, she peaceably held her tongue. Even when the singer performed and he deliberately acted as though enthralled, Olivia’s features remained disappointingly serene.
Was I wrong to think she’d be jealous? Have I erred yet again?
But when his brother’s former amour at last recognized the face they shared and came to cordially greet him, he at last saw the truth of Olivia’s feelings in the thinning of her lush lips and narrowed gaze.
It wasn’t hard to fake awkwardness and discomfort as they exchanged pleasantries. In truth, he felt every bit of both. Keenly. Though Miss Blythe’s manner was perfectly polite and in no way insinuated the nature of her formerly intimate relationship with Devlin, it was there in her eyes. He saw it, and he knew Olivia did, too.
If he moved a bit closer to Olivia, it was actually more for his own comfort than to make any statement about where his allegiances now lay. Though courtesy demanded his conduct be complimentary, he did not extend it to asking Miss Blythe for a dance. While Olivia was well-mannered enough not to visibly gloat over his apparent choice, he could tell she was greatly pleased.
The two dances they shared—to be their last, he’d vowed—were a flirtation with danger. As they moved, Daniel devoured her with his eyes, savoring the precious sight of her joy, committing it to memory. Even knowing the impression it was giving everyone around them, he couldn’t have looked away to save his neck from a noose.
As expected, the morning papers proclaimed the opening event a rousing success. Everyone who was anyone on their list had attended, including Brummel and the Prince Regent, and Saint’s was universally declared the best club in London for socializing, officially displacing Almack’s.
It was at this high point that Daniel took himself to St. Peters’s house to do what must be done.
…
Olivia stifled a yawn as she made her way down the steps, her lips curved in an irrepressible smile as the memory of last night’s triumph played in her mind. Near the end of the evening, Angela had drawn her aside, eyes alight with excitement, to inform her that her beau had proposed—and to ask when she anticipated Devlin coming to scratch.
She’d been delighted to tell her “any day now” and revel in their mutual victory. There was no doubt in her mind that it was coming. The way he’d looked at her, his heart in his eyes, had told her all she needed to know.
The only thing that worried her was the sadness she saw mingled with the adoration. Doubtless he felt terribly guilty for loving her and feared his notoriety would tarnish their union, but she’d prove to him that his apprehension was without merit.
If her father, a former pirate turned privateer and then gentleman, could win through to become a Society darling, getting them to embrace Devlin, a true nobleman’s son, would hardly be a challenge. Already, he’d made inroads. Last night, she’d marked more than one marriage-minded mama eyeing him up.
Too bad. He’s already spoken for.
Humming happily, she danced her way down the hall to make her move on the chessboard—and stopped at the sound of Devlin’s voice coming from behind her father’s closed study door.
Her heart hammered. It was not even yet ten o’clock in the morning. Has he come so early to ask for my hand?
She heard her father’s voice bidding Devlin “the best of luck” followed by heavy footsteps on the other side of the door. Panic took her, and not wanting him to think she’d been eavesdropping, she fled back around the corner. Composing herself, she acted as if she’d just come down the stairs.
“Lord Devlin, what a pleasant surprise,” she began with a bright smile as he emerged.
His step faltered and his head snapped up. He looked utterly stunned to see her standing there. Then his expression slowly transformed into one encompassing an alarming mix of pain, regret, and determination. Without offering a return greeting, he looked back down and resumed progress, passing her by in awkward silence.
Utter dread gathered in the pit of her stomach as she listened to his hasty retreating footsteps, followed by the gentle opening and closing of her front door. Every muscle in her body began to tremble, and it was only with great effort that she managed to make her legs carry her to her father’s study.
The door was open. Peeking around the corner, she saw her father sitting back in his chair, a worried, pensive look on his face. He looked up as she entered, eyes widening in a way that told her what she was about to learn would not make her happy. “Papa, I just saw Lord Devlin as he was leaving. He looked quite upset and did not even wish me a good morning—has something happened?”
Alarmingly, his expression transitioned from pained awkwardness to solemn, bitter resolve. “Daughter, I wish I could tell you it was nothing, but I would be lying. He came to me to sell me his half of Saint’s. I tried telling him it’s going to be a very profitable business, but he insisted and would not be convinced to reconsider.”
“But why?” she asked, bewildered. “What reason did he give?”
Her father shrugged weakly. “He would only say that a man like him had no business being involved in such a place, that he could only damage its reputation.”
The excuse was as thin as toile and full of holes. It’s not the club’s reputation he fears for, but mine. “Something must have happened,” she reasoned. “Someone must have said something untoward last night in his hearing. But surely he must know such talk will die down soon enough?”
Again, her papa could only offer her a look of helpless incomprehension.
“Olivia—”
“He cannot think this is any sort of solution—to pay heed to such talk and allow it to drive him away only lends it credence,” she said vehemently. “No. The only way to deal with such an event is to treat it with the contempt it deserves, to ignore it utterly. I must speak with him at once and—”
“It is done, Olivia,” said her father in a voice that told her there was no point in further protest. “I did all I could to persuade him to at least wait a few days and think about it before making such a decision, but he would not hear of it.”
Her heart sank. “What of your other joint ventures? Is he pulling out of those, too?”
“No. The Black Sheep was not included in our discussion. Only Saint’s.”
Well, that was something, at least. Even so, it meant they’d no longer be working together on the project. No more meetings to talk about their club’s successes or to discuss making improvements. “I suppose you’ll sell it?”
“I was not planning to do so,” he answered. “I foresee it being a very profitable establishment. In truth, I was rather hoping you would continue to assist me in its administration. After all, you were largely responsible for its creation and success. The way I see it, the place belongs as much to you as it does to me.”
Her feelings were divided. In a way, it was her club—she’d poured her heart and soul into it. Because of Devlin. With him no longer involved, however, she wondered if she’d have the heart to even set foot over its threshold again. But her father was looking at her with such hope in his eyes that she couldn’t deny him his desire. “Very well, Papa.”
“That’s my girl,” he said proudly.
Only a moment passed before she gave voice to another worry. “You are still on amiable terms, are you not?”
“Indeed,” he answered absently as he filled his pipe with tobacco.
“Then why was he so abrupt in his manner toward me, I wonder?”
She knew every nuance of expression her father’s face was capable of, and right now she could tell he was reluctant if not downright unwilling to answer her inquiry. He might as well have plainly confirmed that Devlin’s decision had something to do with her, specifically.
“He feared you would take this personally,” he said at last. “I told him I would inform you on his behalf so that he would not have to explain himself twice. He knew his withdrawal from the project would likely upset you.”
Shaking her head, she bravely waved the matter off with a huff of laughter. “I’ll admit to being confounded, but I would have understood his reasoning and accepted it.” Going around his desk, she planted a kiss on his cheek. “His worry was needless. I was not raised by my brilliant father to cry over the dissolution of a business venture—and it was only one of several between you. It’s not as if he pulled out of your partnership entirely.”
Relief relaxed the shoulder beneath her hand, which he reached up to pat affectionately. “Precisely.”
Changing the subject to that day’s schedule, she let him think he’d managed to allay her concerns. As for Devlin, she must find a way to talk to him alone as soon as possible.
Easier said than done.
For the next two days, her every attempt was either foiled by sheer bad luck or—and she was beginning to think it was deliberate—her father. At last, an opportunity presented itself at Lady Goddard’s party. Making certain no one was watching first, she came alongside Devlin and deftly insinuated her hand beneath his elbow, hooking it over his forearm and matching his steps in one seamless motion.
His step faltered, and he glanced down at her in alarm but quickly resumed progress as though nothing were amiss.
She purposely adopted a conversational tone. “I’m beginning to think you don’t like me anymore. You’ve not spoken one word to me in days.”
“Is there aught that needs to be said?”
Hurt flashed through her in an instant at his chilly manner, but she suppressed it. “I should think you might wish to at least grant me the courtesy of telling me of the decision to abandon Saint’s yourself. Papa explained it all to me, of course, but I should like to have heard it from you.”
“Why? It was your father’s investment, not yours.”
The hurt very quickly transformed into anger. Even so, she maintained a smile. “With the exception of the financial aspect, I was as much a part of the venture as either of you,” she said through clenched teeth.
The look he favored her with was that of an adult indulging a child. “Indeed. And it turned out quite nicely. That said, the whole affair is simply not for a man of my disposition. And, too, my only reason for being involved has been rendered immaterial.”
Again, pain lanced through her heart. Prudence fled. “Was your sister truly the only reason?” When he didn’t answer, she stopped, forcing him to do likewise. “Tell me I was not also a variable in your decision to abandon Saint’s. I want to see your eyes when you say it.”
He looked down at her with a guarded expression. “I beg you, do not force me to say things that will injure you, Miss St. Peters. I have already told you that I regard you as a friend.”
She couldn’t help narrowing her eyes in dislike at his use of the term. “Your words and actions are somewhat disparate. I am, therefore, understandably confused as to your intentions. In any case, I would rather be injured by the truth than pacified by a lie.”
His mouth hardened into a grim line. “Very well. As I said before, I fear you have mistaken my regard for you as more than friendship. I never meant to make you think I wanted anything more.”
The lie was like a blow to the face. Drawing herself up, she fixed him with a gimlet stare. “You may not have intended such after my father interrupted us and revealed my identity, but I have not forgotten the wanderings of your fingers prior to his arrival,” she said in a low voice that was all blade and no haft. “You looked on me with open desire. You laid hands upon my person. And had he not entered, I have no doubt that, if permitted, you would have taken further liberties. So do not insult my intelligence by telling me your feelings are restricted solely to friendship.”