Chapter Three

Daniel blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. He’d come to Lambeth’s looking for Lady Waldrop in order to gently sever his twin’s association but had had no luck finding her. Now, he was faced with an entirely different problem: the notorious Miss St. Peters.

Only, with the exception of her auburn hair and leaf-green eyes, the woman before him looked nothing at all like the one Dev had described. He’d been told to expect a bold seductress. Instead, he found himself staring at an awkward, red-faced young lady modestly covered from neck to toes in a veritable mountain of pink silk heavily embellished with lace, ruffles, and bows.

The gaudy gown was the epitome of every little girl’s fantasy princess play dress, complete with tiny puffed sleeves, only it was adult-sized. And it was…unflattering, to say the least. Even he, a vicar who led a sheltered existence in a little village far removed from the fashionable world, knew it was ridiculous. His lips twitched uncontrollably, and it was all he could do not to burst out laughing—until he saw the crushing weight of utter, abject humiliation in her eyes…along with the telltale shimmer of unshed tears.

All mirth died in the face of her visible distress, and he at last found his tongue. “Miss St. Peters, as always, the pleasure is mine.”

Her throat worked, and her pink, trembling lips moved slightly, but no sound issued from between them as her face suddenly began to lose color. As if time had slowed, he watched her long lashes flutter and her eyes roll back.

The girl beside her let out a squeak of dismay as Miss St. Peters tilted sideways into her and began to fall.

Instinctively, Daniel reached out, catching her under the arms just as she crumpled. Without thinking, he scooped up the unconscious woman, surprised at how light she was, considering the bulk of the gown. He’d expected there to be somewhat more of her beneath all those concealing ruffles. The faint sheen of perspiration on her pale brow and the way her mouth hung slack as her head lolled, exposing a long, white neck and an erratic pulse, told him she wasn’t faking it.

“Is there somewhere quiet we can take her?” he asked her wide-eyed, open-mouthed father.

It seemed to jolt the man out of his stupor. “Lambeth’s study. Follow me.” Turning, he began to lead the way, trailed by the gentleman he’d been speaking with and the other girl—no doubt a friend of Miss St. Peters’s.

The crowd that had begun to gather around parted to let them pass.

“You,” Daniel called to a nearby servant. “Send for a physician and then bring cold water to the lord’s study.” Silently, he cursed his misfortune. His campaign to rid Devlin of this nuisance couldn’t have gotten off to a worse start. Still, he could hardly have let her hit the ground. He took comfort in knowing Devlin wouldn’t have, either.

When they at last reached the study, Daniel gently laid her down on a couch and pressed a hand to her forehead. “She’s burning up.” He rolled her onto her side and began unbuttoning the back of the gown.

“I beg your pardon!” barked her indignant father. “Exactly what do you think you’re doing?”

Daniel glared up at him, ignoring the shocked faces of the other two in the room. “She’s overheated and barely breathing,” he snapped. “Her gown is too heavy, and her stays are obviously too tight. I’ve seen it happen before.” Tightly corseted ladies occasionally fainted during services, especially on warm days. “With the girls at the club,” he added, hoping the man wouldn’t question it.

St. Peters’s suspicious expression shifted, and he nodded curtly. Looking to the other girl, he pointed at his daughter and awkwardly asked, “Miss Angela, if you would not mind assisting…?”

Ah, so this is the best friend, then. Daniel held the unconscious Olivia while the wide-eyed girl unbuttoned the gown, every now and then flicking a curious glance his way. Once the back was undone, he lifted her torso while her blushing friend peeled the gown down off her shoulders.

The girl’s fingers hesitated at the stays. Impatient, he batted her hands aside and quickly began loosening them himself. Heat raged in his face and stung the tips of his ears as his fingers worked, picking apart the laces. He prayed her father and his friend didn’t take notice of his discomfiture. His twin was a man accustomed to undressing women, and it would be highly suspicious if he were observed flushing like a green youth at his first Covent Garden show.

Calm yourself. It’s not as if she’s naked—she still has on a chemise.

As the cage around the girl’s ribs gave way and he pried the two halves apart, he heard her shallow breath deepen and saw a tinge of pink slowly return to her cheeks. “It’s working.” Carefully, he eased her down onto her back.

His loins tightened unexpectedly at the sight of her lying supine with her stays loose and her generous breasts pressing against a batiste chemise so fine it was translucent, revealing the tantalizing hint of darker areolas beneath. Alarm bells pealed in his mind.

At that moment, the servant he’d sent off returned, bearing a basin and pitcher, as well as some clean linens.

Thank Heaven! “Set it down here and pour some into the bowl,” he instructed, willing himself to look only at Miss St. Peters’s face as he took up a cloth, dipped it in the cool water, and wrung it out before slowly swiping it across her now-flushed brow, cheeks, and neck.

Even with damp strands of hair straggling across her blotchy face, she was a vibrantly lovely woman, with generous lips and a pert nose featuring a tiny, barely visible sprinkling of freckles across its bridge. Some people didn’t like freckles. He, however, found them charming.

Her hair was a marvel of deep, rich auburn with copper lights where the sunlight streaming in through the window shone upon it. It was like autumn fire. He gave in to the temptation to touch it, brushing a stray, silken lock back behind her ear.

Such a fascinating color…

The abrupt sound of Mr. St. Peters clearing his throat jolted Daniel back to the present. Releasing the curl as if it had burned his fingers, in true Devlin fashion, he growled, “Where the bloody hell is that physician?” He did not dare to look at any of the others.

A weak moan escaped Miss St. Peters’s parted lips, and she began to stir.

Relief washed over him, followed swiftly by unease as her father and her little friend began to fuss over her. It would be unwise to remain. For one, she’d immediately know he’d seen her in a state of dishabille, which would only further add to her distress. There was also a risk that she might now view him as some sort of gallant savior.

That was the last thing Devlin needed. Then, too, there was the awkward and potentially disastrous matter of his current state of arousal—he was half hard just from having had a glimpse of her charms. Rising, he bowed shortly to Mr. St. Peters and the others. “I shall take my leave now, and allow you to attend to the young lady’s recovery in peace.”

Her father’s brows snapped together as if he’d said something incomprehensible, but then a thoughtful look entered his eyes. “My thanks to you, Lord Devlin. I shan’t forget what you’ve done here today.”

For some reason, the softly spoken words disquieted Daniel rather than offering any comfort. Before he could put his finger on whatever it was that so bothered him, however, there was a commotion in the hall, followed by the hasty entry of their host and another man who was clearly a physician.

The flurry of activity as they rushed to Miss St. Peters’s side offered the perfect diversion, and Daniel took the opportunity to make good his escape.

Thrown off-kilter by the whole incident, he left without speaking to the other guests, too busy with replaying the whole encounter in his mind’s eye. With all his heart, he wished he’d reacted better upon seeing that ridiculous gown. A rush of sympathy again filled him with regret over having so obviously caused her such upset. The best he could hope was that the poor thing wouldn’t remember.

A frown tugged at his lips. The milk-and-water lass he’d encountered today didn’t at all match his brother’s description of a “shameless wanton” or a “brazen temptress.” What sort of temptress wore a gown like that? And she’d fainted, for pity’s sake—and it’d been no false swoon.

A nasty suspicion took root in his mind. Had Dev cozened him into playing the decoy while he ran away from an obligation? He pushed the thought away almost as soon as it formed.

No. He would not have lied about that. Not to me. To anyone else, possibly, but never to his twin. But what else could have caused her to faint at the sight of me—or, rather, him?

Women. They were bewildering creatures. Still, he felt he’d handled the situation well enough, all things considered. The fact that her father had been witness to the entire debacle was a blessing. At least the girl couldn’t claim any inappropriate behavior on his part. He’d been nothing less than a gentleman—in deed, at least, if not in thought.

…

“I do wish you would stop that,” grumbled Olivia’s father, referring to her tears as he escorted her up the steps to the house. Another slightly more muffled sob, however, and his voice gentled. “I had no idea she would alter the design that much. What in George’s name made you wear the damned thing?”

Pride. And it had gone before a very hard fall. Looking at her papa’s perplexed but still fierce expression, she realized she ought never to have pitted her will against his in such an overt manner. She’d made it into a battle, and he always won battles because he was always willing to do whatever it took to win. “I thought you meant for me to wear it as a punishment, and I simply wanted my penance over with as quickly as possible,” she said, hoping it would satisfy him.

Laughter was hardly the response she’d anticipated. “No,” he drawled with a knowing stare. “You thought to punish me. And I called your bluff.”

She glared at him through her tears. “Well, I’m glad at least one of us is happy,” she said sourly, swiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “You got what you wanted. It’s over. Oh, I shan’t ever be able to look him in the face again.”

“Oh, come now,” he said, still chuckling as the footman closed the door behind them, shutting out the world’s caprice. “I’m sure he thought nothing of it—and you can romanticize the entire thing to your heart’s content. He did catch you, after all.”

Yes, he’d caught her. And she hadn’t even been conscious to enjoy it! Not that being carried out of a crowded room in an alert state of utter mortification held any more appeal than being carted out like an inert sack of moldy potatoes. “There is nothing to romanticize,” she huffed. “I’m a laughingstock—in his eyes and in everyone else’s.”

“Nonsense,” he replied, facing her. “The man did not even crack a smile. Not once.”

Obviously, he hadn’t seen the man’s lips twitching with barely repressed amusement as she’d faced him. Even if he hadn’t let it out, he’d wanted to laugh. Had Papa not been present, he probably would’ve done.

Her father continued blithely, “In fact, I’m pleased to say he was a perfect gentleman the whole time. He even called me ‘sir,’” he added, incredulous. Eyeing her, he sobered. “He was genuinely concerned for you.”

She let out a satisfyingly unladylike snort. “Of course he was—so concerned he dumped me off and took his leave.”

“Not true,” he retorted. “He refused to depart until after the physician arrived.”

She froze in the act of tossing her gloves into the waiting salver. When she’d regained consciousness, she’d been horrified to find Papa, Lord Lambeth, Angie, and her father, as well as another strange man, hovering over her half-naked body.

If Lord Devlin only left after the physician arrived, that means… Turning back, she found her father’s eyes wide with the realization of what he’d just unintentionally revealed. “Do you mean to tell me Lord Devlin saw me in a state of undress?”

His face went utterly blank. “There was no lascivious intent behind his decision to remain,” he said, blatantly avoiding answering the question. “He could hardly abandon me in my hour of need.”

But she knew all of her father’s tells. He was holding something back. Something that could only be deliciously scandalous. She recalled the details: gown off all the way to the waist, corset loosened…

“Who undressed me?” she asked and watched as a flush slowly stole into his cheeks and spread down to his neck.

“Miss Angela, of course,” he answered gruffly. “There was no other choice. Your stays were too tight. You could not breathe.”

A thrill of certainty shot through her from stem to stern. There was no way Angie could have managed it on her own with her as limp as a dead fish, and Papa hadn’t said that he himself had helped, which meant Lord Devlin had not only seen her in nothing more than her chemise, he’d helped undress her!

Maintaining a neutral expression was hard, but she managed it. Just. “Of course, Papa. I shall be sure to properly thank her.” She’d interrogate Angie at the earliest possible opportunity and make her recount every last detail concerning the incident. Dropping her gaze, she stared at the toes of her slippers peeking out from beneath the hateful pink ruffles, although at this juncture she couldn’t really say she hated the gown. In the end it had been the cause of him getting to see her half naked.

Sighing, she affected a sulky tone. “You need not worry yourself over his having seen me thus, you know. As I said before, I shan’t be able to look him in the face after today. A pity, since you seem somewhat less inclined to dislike him now.”

She held her breath as he absorbed her words with irritatingly obvious aplomb.

“I’m sorry it had to end in this manner, my child,” said he. “But in the end, perhaps it’s for the best.”

“Perhaps,” she said flatly. Genuine exhaustion swept over her. “Would you mind terribly if I had supper in my chamber tonight?”

Remorse shone in his eyes. “I suppose you deserve a respite. I truly am sorry, Olivia. I did not intend for any of this—”

“I know, Papa.” Leaning in, she pressed a kiss to his whiskered cheek to let him know she’d forgiven him. “It was not your fault. It was mine. My stubbornness caused my humiliation. Now, if you will excuse me, I’m going to order a bath and have Marie burn this gown while I attempt to recover whatever is left of my dignity.”

It earned her a faint smile, relieving the tension between them.

As she mounted the steps toward her private sanctuary, hope rose. Her father might not think Lord Devlin good enough for her, but the man had risen even further in her estimation. Yes, he’d wanted to laugh at the sight of her, but one look in her mirror told her he’d been well within his rights. She contemplated never wearing pink again.

Lord above, what an eyesore! She rang for Marie, ordered water brought up, and tried not to think about where his hands had been as the maid helped divest her of the revolting pink gown and its accoutrements before slipping a silk wrapper over her shoulders. For some reason, she couldn’t find it within herself to instruct Marie to burn the thing. Instead, she watched as it was carefully hung back in the wardrobe.

Every part of her ached, physically and mentally, as she submerged her limbs in warm, lavender-scented water. A shame one cannot wash away embarrassment. Papa thought she was up here licking her wounds in defeat, that she’d surrendered, but she wasn’t giving up yet. Though it pained her, she made herself relive the moments leading up to her first-ever faint.

There had been such confusion in Lord Devlin’s expression, almost as if he hadn’t recognized her at first. Small wonder, when she was usually numbered among London’s most fashionable. She’d wanted to die the moment his gaze had lit upon her, and from there it had gotten impossibly worse.

There’d been pity in his beautiful blue eyes. Pity. From Lord Devlin Wayward. That was what stung the most.

Never again! Anger drove away the last of her melancholy. She would rise, phoenix-like, from the ashes of this terrible day, and neither he nor any other man would ever again pity her. Despite her bruised pride, she’d won two battles today. She’d learned that Lord Devlin had a heart, and she’d touched it, even if only briefly.

Which meant it could be done again.

Then there was the fact that he’d held her close and knew what she looked like beneath her gown. Even without a corset, she had a fine hourglass figure with a generous bosom. A lusty man like him would remember what he’d seen. She’d make certain of it.

A slow smile curved her mouth. In three days’ time, she’d see him again at the Aylesbury ball. It was the opening event of the Season, and given that the duchess had let slip that her husband had been apoplectic over the expense of hosting the lavish affair, it was sure to be grand.

The perfect setting to begin my conquest anew.

Trailing the tips of her fingers across the surface of her cooling bathwater, she contemplated her wardrobe options. The pink she’d worn today was supposed to have been for that event. Its original design had been elegant rather than ungainly, tasteful as opposed to garish.

Pity he could not have seen me in that! The next time Lord Devlin laid eyes on her, she wanted him to look at her with shock of an entirely different sort.

The plum silk… It was sedate compared to all her others, which would likely please Papa, but its cut was the most flattering and the color brought out the green of her eyes like nothing else. She wouldn’t stand out in a crowd in it, but then she wasn’t trying to draw all eyes to herself. Just those of one particular man.

It would work. It had to. He would look on her with admiration. With lust, too, if she had anything to do with it.

Battle plan decided, Olivia rang for Marie to come and rinse her off.