Chapter Seventeen

Daniel was going to Hell, because he was absolutely going to murder Devlin the moment he laid eyes on him! That she was telling the truth and that his brother had neglected to include this vital information when persuading him to take his place were not in question. He could see the truth burning in her eyes.

There was no help for it. Much as it tore at his heart to have to do it, he had to put a stop to this immediately. Stuffing his feelings deep beneath the surface, he affected a sheepish look. “You really know nothing at all of men, do you?” Without waiting for her answer, he shook his head as if in wonder at her naiveté. “I look at most women with desire, for I find them desirable. I confess to having found you appealing—I’m sure you’re well aware that you possess a great deal of beauty and charm. But you know as well as I that such an alliance is an impossibility.”

“Why?” she hissed, exasperated. “Why is it impossible? I’m no nobleman’s daughter, and you’re no nobleman’s heir to have t—”

“Therein lies another problem,” he said, cutting her off. “No matter how friendly we are as business partners, your father wants better for you. Even if I harbored the sort of tender emotion you crave—which I don’t—you could hardly expect him to welcome the idea of having a disgraced prodigal like me for a son-in-law.”

She’d flinched hard at the word “don’t” as if slapped, and he watched the pain in her eyes blossom fully into rage. Her voice shook when she spoke. “The truth exists regardless of whether or not you acknowledge it. You can lie to yourself, but you cannot persuade me to accept your self-deceit and make it my own. You are a liar and a coward.”

Though her every word had dug into his soul like a dull knife, he forced himself to act impervious to the insults. Leaning toward her, he put his face level with hers and schooled his features into the coldest, most condescending arrangement he could before murmuring so that only she would hear it, “And you, madam, are a spoiled little girl playing at being a woman grown.”

The slap was not unexpected, but the strength of it surprised him nonetheless. Heads turned at the resounding crack of palm against cheek, but he ignored them.

Her face was as red as a beet and her eyes bright with fury. “When my father hears—”

“Yes, why don’t you run and ask your dear papa?” he cut in. “Your father has indulged you entirely too much. However, in this matter, I believe you’ll find his alliance lies with me.” He squared his shoulders. “I tried to be a friend to you, but you want more than I am willing to give. Were you in my place, I’m certain you’d be as unaccepting of the imposition as I am. If you cannot accept the gift of my regard in the spirit in which it is given and return it in kind, then we have nothing more to say to each other.”

Her face hardened, but he saw the shimmer of tears in her jewel-like eyes. “I suppose not, because I know the truth of it,” she replied, her voice breaking. “I know you possess the ability to love, yet you hoard your heart like a miser hoards his gold. You won’t share it with anyone. And for that I pity you, for you will be lonely in your old age, should you live to see it. Goodbye, Lord Devlin. If you must call to conduct business with my father, pray do not look for me or expect me to receive you.”

Turning on her heel, she departed in high dudgeon. He watched her, the bemused smile he wore for the benefit of any onlookers belying the tearing sensation inside his chest as she stalked away.

Now to seal the deal.

Miss Blythe had already accepted his request to join her the following evening after her performance at the opera. For now, however, there were other ladies in need of companionship, and he made certain to oblige as many as possible.

It was a formidable challenge to keep his eyes from seeking out Olivia amid the crush. Several times he caught sight of her, but only once did they make eye contact, and that only for an instant. Her baleful stare pierced his heart such that it caused him physical pain.

That he and Olivia failed to dance together that evening was mentioned in the next morning’s gossip columns. “Trouble between Lord D.W. and Miss O.S.P. was noted at the Goddard event last night. Lovers’ quarrel, or the end?” He could only imagine how humiliated Olivia must be feeling after her seeming triumph at the opening ball at Saint’s.

Maintaining the appearance of not caring about her was difficult. Because he did care. Far too much. Heaven help him if he overheard anyone mocking her, because his first instinct would be to put his fist through their face.

It was remarkable the changes his time in London had wrought. Before, he wouldn’t have dreamed of committing violence against, well, anyone. But now? All he wanted was to hit something. A part of him he’d long thought dead and buried had awakened, and he was all but spoiling for a fight, an excuse to vent his frustration, anger, and disappointment.

He was damned glad Lovelace wasn’t here tonight. He was also glad his brother was several days’ journey away. Had Devlin been any closer, Daniel knew beyond doubt that he’d have taken horse and ridden through the night to give him a solid thrashing.

Wouldn’t Dev be surprised if I simply walked up and punched him on the chin! It was a satisfying image to contemplate. Despite his pacifist demeanor, he was no weakling. He hadn’t wrestled his brother in many years, but all the physical labor he’d engaged in while caring for his flock had made him strong. Stronger than Dev knew.

As soon as he’d danced his last dance, Daniel departed forthwith. The last thing he wanted was to risk altering the message he’d sent by appearing to regret his actions tonight.

The very next evening, he went alone to the Golden Theater and watched Miss Blythe’s performance from his brother’s box. That her eyes were on him almost the entire time could not fail to be marked by the audience. What he didn’t expect was to glance at the other box seats on his level and see Olivia seated one level up beside her friend, Angela. And, like Miss Blythe’s, Olivia’s gaze was not on the stage below, but rather fixed on him.

His face burned, and he was glad for the dim lighting.

When the performance was nearly over, he resignedly rose and made his way down to the stage entrance, knowing Olivia’s eyes were on him as he left the box. The weight of her stare settled on him again as he reemerged below and came to stand at the curtains’ edge to wait for the opera to finish. He could almost feel her hurt and dismay as he then very deliberately showered his attentions on a very enthusiastic Miss Blythe.

The press of the blonde’s lips against his left him cold and even a little repulsed, but he hid those feelings and smiled as if delighted at her show of affection.

You are Devlin, not Daniel. You are a rake, not a vicar. Act like a bloody rake.

Withdrawing from his pocket a slim box, he proffered it to the singer. In it was a sapphire bracelet—a trifle, his brother’s valet had called it after being sent to fetch an appropriate gift for his master’s lady friend.

Miss Blythe’s joyful exclamation of surprise turned heads, and the chorus girls all looked on with envy as she again kissed him, guaranteeing the event’s documentation in tomorrow’s papers. Even more important, of course, was what they would say about him leaving with Miss Blythe.

Forcing a smug smile, he wrapped the woman in her furs and bundled her into his carriage. Her expectation of being taken back to his house for a night of debauchery, however, was doomed to disappointment. He might be required to keep up appearances publicly, but damned if he was going to commit his brother’s sins to do it.

“Miss Blythe—Maria,” he began once they were underway, “I do hope you won’t be too disappointed if we don’t return to my house this evening, but the truth is that I am in no mood for dalliance.” Ruby-stained lips pouted. “As consolation, please accept both my apologies and this small token of my esteem.”

Withdrawing from his pocket an envelope, he extended it toward her.

Disappointed or not, eager fingers snatched it from his hand and opened it at once. Blue eyes widened on seeing the contents within—several hundred pounds. Those eyes narrowed as they peered at him. “May I assume your ‘small token’ is meant to secure my silence?”

He nodded and added that it would be appreciated if she let everyone think he’d remained with her for at least several hours.

The lady smiled knowingly, agreed, and tucked the packet away. He thought the matter closed, but then her expression became pensive, and she again addressed him. “You’re right in refusing to be ensnared by the girl, you know.” One golden brow arched. “Oh, yes. I know why you’re doing this. Don’t worry—I don’t mind being used to put her off.” She extended her wrist and pointedly admired his gift. “Poor thing. She ought to have known better than to try and trap a—”

“Please don’t,” he said, edging his tone with steel. “She is a respectable young woman who merely made the mistake of becoming infatuated with the wrong sort of man.”

Another smirk. “I can sympathize. I do it all the time.”

He repressed an impatient sigh. “Her father is my business partner, which requires me to handle the situation delicately. Neither he nor I desire to hurt her, but she must be dissuaded. I would greatly appreciate your assistance in the matter.”

The hard smirk softened, and she nodded. “I understand. Tomorrow, I’ll tell the right people we shared a night of passion that positively set my loins ablaze,” she breezed.

“Thank you,” he replied with only the slightest tinge of sarcasm.

“Thank you,” she shot back with a chuckle, wiggling her wrist and setting the jewels there a-sparkle. “It’s not often I’m compensated so generously without having to spread my legs. If all you require of me tonight is that I tell London’s scandal rags a wee lie tomorrow, I’m perfectly happy to do it.” She laughed and settled back against the squabs. “I’ll go home and enjoy a long soak in the bath you had put in for me and toast your name with a glass of your favorite brandy while I pleasure myself.”

How did Dev ever become enamored of such a creature? Her vulgarity repulsed him, even as his conscience pricked him. Who am I to judge? His Lord and Savior had pitied and redeemed just such a woman. If Miss Blythe was coarse and jaded, it was because she was accustomed to being used by men who lusted after her body but had no genuine love for her.

Men like my brother. It hurt to think of his twin being such a man, but it was the truth.

Daniel’s vocation called him to follow his Lord’s example and minister to Miss Blythe, to lead her from her wicked path and guide her to salvation, yet he couldn’t fulfill this sacred duty. Not without exposing him and his brother and precipitating utter ruin.

Regret was a bitter stone in his heart.

Unable to look at her, he instead focused on the scene outside his window and let silence fall as the carriage slowed and finally stopped at her residence to let her out.

Just before she stepped down, Miss Blythe paused, turned—and kissed him hard on the mouth. Her tongue pushed between lips opened in sheer startlement, and it was all he could do not to reel back in shock. Mercifully, it was brief.

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me,” she murmured in a tone no doubt intended to sound sultry. Then, in a rustling of silk, she was gone, leaving in her wake an overpowering miasma of perfume and a lifetime of penitence.

It was done.

Fighting nausea, he rapped on the roof to hurry the driver on. Even knowing no bath would ever wash away the stain on his soul, he nevertheless felt the need for one. More importantly, he needed to pray.

But, much like the bath, prayer offered him no peace.

He’d lied. Assiduously. He’d made Olivia think Dev wanted her, and now she thought he’d abandoned her in favor of a light-skirt. To whom Daniel had also lied.

Looking back, he realized these lies had come at a steep price. Olivia’s heart. His own. Miss Blythe’s salvation. The sins he’d committed weighed heavily on his heart.

I have only myself to blame. I should never have come here. I should have stopped this back in Harper’s Grove the instant I discovered Dev’s trickery. How he longed to leave the den of iniquity that was London and go home to try and pretend none of this had ever happened!

Rest evaded him like a fox fleeing a pack of hounds. Finally, out of sheer desperation, he turned to his brother’s brandy decanter and slowly emptied it over the course of several miserable hours until at last its amber depths claimed his waking mind.

The following day was hell on earth. He canceled all appointments and instead ordered all his brother’s lewd paintings and decorations returned to their former places. By that evening, all appeared as it had when he arrived.

Staring up at a nude rendering of one of Dev’s former amours, he nodded grimly, resigned to the sight of it.

The two footmen who’d just restored it exchanged a meaningful look and then stood in awkward silence, waiting to be dismissed.

Sighing, he waved them off. “Go. Get out—no, wait,” he amended, bringing them to a halt. He pointed at one. “Fetch a bottle of brandy and bring it to the study.”

…

Olivia listened with an intensity belied by her bored expression as the recent, scandalous behavior of one Lord Devlin Wayward was with great relish discussed ad nauseum by a group of debutantes seated at the next table.

Apparently, he hadn’t been seen out again following that dreadful night at the theater and had since, reportedly, been seen drinking himself into oblivion. As for Miss Blythe—Olivia’s teeth ground at the memory of that woman’s arms twined about his neck—she’d also been suspiciously absent from the social scene since that fateful night.

The titters and gasps grated on her nerves, but she forced herself to remain and hear their every word. Fortunately, they were polite—and wise—enough not to bring her name into their lurid conversation, though she was sure they’d have included her had she not been sitting right there.

It didn’t matter. She knew what people were saying about her. Some viewed her as a tragic heroine who’d narrowly escaped the devil’s clutches. Others thought her a thrice-blind fool for having even attempted to ensnare a man of his reputation. Still others pitied her for having fallen under his spell and they treated her like a wounded animal, timidly offering sympathy or being overly cautious with their words.

This last was the worst. She despised their pity. Their condolatory glances grated on her nerves. Their gentle encouragements ate into her composure like acid. She wanted to scream and rail at them, shout from the rooftop that he hadn’t injured her in the least. It would’ve been a lie, but at least she’d not have to further endure their attempts at compassion.

The ladies behind her had moved on to another topic—some other poor soul who’d suffered a public embarrassment—leaving her to contemplate what she knew in relative peace.

Devlin and Miss Blythe hadn’t been seen together since the opera. In fact, she’d only this afternoon heard it from Angela, who’d heard it from Jane Roward who’d overheard it from her brother the night prior that Miss Blythe hadn’t even gone home with him that night. Mr. Roward had been visiting his mistress who lived on the same street as Miss Blythe, and he’d seen Devlin’s carriage draw up to the singer’s house and let her out. Alone.

This wasn’t the account from Miss Blythe, herself, of course, who’d told everyone via the gossip rags that she and Lord Devlin had renewed their former, happy acquaintance. Vigorously.

It was all suspect. Quite suspect, indeed. Enough that it made her again question everything the man had said to her during their confrontation.

Prior to that event, he’d looked on her with such tenderness. She knew it in her bones that he cared deeply for her, perhaps even loved her. The pendulum had been swinging ever wider with him for some time between extremes. One moment he was warm and gentle, and the next he was as chill and brittle as ice. It was bewildering.

But such behavior made sense for a man in love who didn’t want to be in love. The reason he didn’t want to love her was what interested her most. A good part of it had to do with her father, she knew. Hindsight had shown her his hand in the whole affair. His reaction to her tale of that night’s events had, in retrospect, been just a bit too satisfied.

Papa liked Devlin as a business partner. Both men were ambitious in their aims and ruthless in their means, and together they’d go far. But her father wanted things for her—things Devlin couldn’t give her. Regardless of having granted her permission to attempt gaining the man’s affection, she knew he’d never really approved of the match.

She could see now that he’d merely placated her and then conspired with Devlin to dissuade her. And Devlin had, by means both subtle and direct, tried his best to discourage her affections while at the same time fighting his own burgeoning tendresse. This most recent act, pretending to return to the arms of a former lover, told the tale.

Her theory was corroborated by other evidence, as well. She’d seen the record of her father’s payment to Miss Blythe for services rendered at Saint’s opening celebration. Miss Blythe was a celebrated singer, but there were others far more popular who would have come for half the fee he’d paid her.

It all led to one conclusion: Devlin hadn’t wanted to hurt her—he’d simply had no choice in the matter.

Friday morning, her father left for Edinburg on business. Olivia was due to attend a ball that evening with Angela, and she was going—only she had no intention of staying there more than an hour, at the most. Knowing her father likely had the household staff watching her every move, she dressed and bejeweled herself as expected and left with Angela, whose aunt—a lady who was, to put it kindly, not the most canny of women—was to chaperone them.

She’d debated enlisting her best friend’s help tonight but had decided against it. Better that she not be forewarned so she cannot be blamed. Instead, she wrote a note to be delivered to Angela after she left, saying she’d become “indisposed in the female way” and had returned home early so as not to spoil their evening. This way, there’d be no panic when she turned up missing.

It pained her to deceive both Angela and her father in this manner, but it couldn’t be helped. I must see Devlin. Alone.

Feigning discomfort during the carriage ride was easy, as her stomach was in knots. “It’s likely due to my not having eaten much today,” she reasoned, waving away Angela’s worry. “This gown is more tightly fitted than some of my others, and I knew I’d have to squeeze myself into it. I’ll be fine, don’t trouble your mind.”

Forty-five minutes after arriving at their destination, after forcing smiles at men whose eyes assessed her worth before knowing her, after having her toes stepped on by not one but two clumsy oafs bent on persuading her to fall for their dubious charms, she could stand it no more. Retrieving her cloak, she gave the note to a footman to take to Angela and departed.

Pulling her cowl low to cast her face into shadow, she summoned a hansom for hire and bade the driver take her to Devlin’s address.

Papa is going to kill me. But she’d already made her decision. No matter how angry her father became, she needed to see Devlin and speak with him candidly—without any chance of interference—and learn the truth.

She prayed she was right about the man, and that she wouldn’t arrive to find him either gone out on the town or entertaining “company” of the female variety. The cab came to a halt before his residence. To make sure she couldn’t easily be sent on her merry way without first accomplishing her mission, she paid the driver and told him not to wait for her.

Devlin would be forced to either send her home in his carriage or summon another cab. Either one would take time, precious time she needed to assess the situation and, hopefully, achieve her purpose.

When the door opened, she gave her name to a very flustered butler who ushered her in to await his lordship in a salon that was rather shockingly decorated with a large nude of a strikingly pretty woman with seductive eyes. Jealousy spiked in her belly, but she repressed it.

Now was not the time. If her source was reliable about his having left Miss Blythe alone that night, then all of this was a facade. She’d know it when she saw him.

When the man himself at last appeared in the doorway, it was another jolt. He looked positively haggard. Dark shadows sat beneath his heavy-lidded eyes, and his jaw was graced with at least two days’ stubble. His hair looked as if the devil himself had been playing in it with his pitchfork, and he was in naught but shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows and a pair of trousers.

“What are you doing here, Olivia?” he growled, his voice rough. “Don’t tell me you came here alone?” His eyes darted around the room, searching.

Heart racing, she swallowed her fear and took the plunge. “I had to see y—”

An exasperated snort cut her off as he turned and shut the doors behind him, giving them privacy. “You little fool,” he muttered before turning back around and fixing her with a glare. “Do you have any idea how much I’m going to have to pay hi—the staff to keep this quiet? You truly have no care for your reputation, do you?” he said, flinging his hands up in vexation. “Or for your father’s good faith.” He wagged a finger at her, squinting. “I know he’s away in Edinburg.”

Desperate not to appear…well, desperate, she stiffened her spine and faced him with a glare of her own. “If you had not been so difficult to reach, I would not have had to resort to coming here.”

“Made myself scarce because I did not wish another confrontation with my business partner’s daughter. And neither did your father,” he said, emphasizing his point by carefully enunciating these last words. “Oh, yes,” he confirmed. “He knew you’d not concede the battle easily. Which is—”

“Why you made a spectacle of yourself with Miss Blythe and then left her at her doorstep—something you appear rather fond of doing—and then went home alone?” she supplied in a tone as dry as the Sahara. Folding her arms, she waited for him to explain himself.

He blinked in confusion. “You had me watched?”

“Hardly,” she huffed contemptuously and told him how she’d learned of it. “You of all people should know there are no secrets in London for those who are careless. And you were careless. Your carriage bears your crest. If you wanted everyone who saw you on her street to think you spent a night of passion with her, you ought to have at least gone in and then left through the back door,” she added with a chuckle.

The dour frown of disapproval this elicited was so out of place that she couldn’t help laughing outright.

That frown deepened. “You seem to think this is all very funny, but I assure you it’s not. Not in any way,” he said, his face showing the beginnings of panic. “You came here alone, at night, to an unmarried man’s house. If I’m unable to buy the staff’s silence, you’ll be utterly ruined.”

It sobered her instantly. “Then you know how serious I am. I want the truth.”

His blue eyes widened, and she saw in them frustration and pain as he shouted, “What truth?” Lowering his voice, he raked his hands through his hair, and she saw they were shaking. “That I’d no choice but to force you to understand I cannot be the man you want? That a union between us is impossible?” He pointed a trembling finger at her. “And not just because your father would object, but because I won’t subject either you or myself to the misery that would result?”

“Misery?” She advanced on him, and much to her surprise, he flinched back as if she were a poisonous serpent about to strike. It hurt. “Am I so repugnant?”

His answer was in his eyes, in the way he licked his lips to moisten them as his hot, hooded gaze settled on her mouth.

Drifting closer, she came within arm’s reach. “Why do you think we’d be unhappy, when up until recently, we were perfectly content in each other’s company?”

“Because—” He cleared his voice of the rust that had settled into it. “Because we’d both be trapped—you with a stranger. This life…it’s…” He gave a loose, helpless little shrug, his expression one of rue. “It’s not mine. The face you see before you is a lie—I’m not the man you think I am, Olivia. You’d hate the real me—I’m nothing like what you imagine. I could never be a proper husband to you.”

She was mere inches from him now, close enough to see his pulse hammering away at his throat, to feel the heat of him reach across the scant space between, to see the little shudder that ran through him as their eyes locked. “And what if I don’t want a proper husband?” Arching up on tiptoes, she leaned in and breathed her next words against his mouth, her lips just barely brushing his. “What if all I want is you?”

A tiny sound of frustration was the only warning she was given before warm hands bracketed her face and her lips were captured in a bone-melting, brandy-flavored kiss. All rational thought fled as his hot mouth moved over hers, as her body was caged against his hard chest with hungry, trembling hands.