Chapter Four

Daniel tried to put Miss St. Peters out of his mind, but every time he thought he’d succeeded, some seemingly benign happenstance triggered his memory of the strange encounter.

While drifting off to sleep, he clutched his pillow, and his arms suddenly remembered her softness. As he was getting dressed, his fingers recalled the fine texture of her chemise. During breakfast, he picked up his tea and his palms recollected the silken heat of her bare skin.

For three days in a row, he’d awakened in a state of rock-hard discomfort. Such was a given for any virile man—the body had needs that would resolve with or without conscious assistance—but this was different. Dreams hadn’t been enough on their own, and he hadn’t been able to ignore it away. Eventually, on the evening of the third day he gave in to the need to relieve himself. The act itself was no sin. The thoughts that accompanied it, however…

An hour of earnest prayer afterward absolved him of guilt, but still he felt the sting of shame over his lack of self-mastery. He hadn’t felt this out of control since he and Dev had first arrived at university at seventeen to engage in all manner of worldly mischief, including the sowing of wild oats.

Painful as ever, the memory rose to haunt him. Weeks of indulging his youthful lust with dark-eyed Anne, a local farmer’s daughter, had resulted in her coming to him with the news that she was carrying his child. Terrified, but wanting to do the right thing, he’d promised to run with her to Scotland to marry in secret after visiting Winterbourne, where he would procure a ring and enough money to start their new life together. He’d stolen both while home, only to return and learn that she’d run away while he was gone.

For months he’d quietly searched for news of her, to no avail, and had wondered what it was he’d lacked that she’d felt it better to vanish than be with him. Unable to bring himself to confess his shame to another living soul, he’d never told anyone, not even Dev, and from that moment on, he’d denied the flesh to focus on the spirit.

His resolve had been unbending. He’d endured his religious studies as a form of penance, feeling unworthy to pursue ordainment yet unwilling to abandon his course for fear of disappointing his family. Eventually, the Lord’s forgiveness and the call to become a shepherd had set him free of his guilt, but it hadn’t erased the pain of the lesson he’d learned.

It hadn’t been easy to set aside all carnality, but he’d felt it imperative to set the example in his parish. As such, he’d spent years practicing rigorous self-discipline and avoiding temptation—especially when it came to women.

Miss Tomblin, whose infatuation with him had been a source of nothing but worry and unwanted distraction, certainly hadn’t been the first to make such advances. The teachers at seminary had warned about the peculiar effect the white collar, the outward symbol of their holy separation from the world, seemed to have on some women. Even so, he’d never had a problem with gently dissuading pursuit.

In fact, until three days ago, he’d thought himself grown all but impervious to sexual enticement. Miss St. Peters, however, had proven him uncomfortably wrong. In retrospect, it’d been a mistake to stay at her side and expose himself to her charms. Part of the reason he’d fled at the first sign of her awakening was the fear that she might see his desire.

It was a purely physical attraction, of course. How could it be anything else when all he knew of her was what Dev had told him and what little he’d observed before she fainted? But it was a powerful attraction. Powerful enough to worry him.

He couldn’t help wondering if his twin had felt the same way about her. Which led to another thought—if his brother had felt like this, then why hadn’t he pursued her? Her father was a canny investor and entrepreneur, had become exceedingly wealthy in service to the Crown, and was respected by his peers and those far above him in rank. And Devlin had said he genuinely liked the man, for all that he spoiled his daughter. From Daniel’s perspective, solidifying their partnership via marriage made perfect sense.

Yet his brother had turned down that opportunity. I wish I knew what caused him to dislike her so much…

His head jerked up as an idea struck him like a bolt from the blue. That’s it! Perhaps if he could find her faults, he would understand why Dev had rejected her, and it would eradicate his own inconvenient attraction. Tonight’s ball would be a good opportunity to get to know the enemy. It was a pity he had to view her as such, but concern for her well-being had already moved him to sympathy once, and he couldn’t afford to let it happen again at the risk of making a terrible blunder in his brother’s name.

That night, at the Aylesworth ball, all such thoughts evaporated when confronted by his “enemy” in the flesh.

She looked almost an entirely different person. Elegant plum silk clung in all the right places, flattering a figure that he already knew needed no enhancement. Her flaming hair was piled high in an intricate coiffure secured with pearl and amethyst pins, and the roses-and-cream perfection of her skin glowed in the candlelight.

Of a sudden, his mouth became as parched as the Saharan desert. Lord, help me. Dread mingled with excitement, and he had to work not to let any of it show. Be like Devlin. Conceal your thoughts. Keep them from your face.

Despite a bit of high color in her cheeks, her expression was composed as she curtsied before him, her gaze firmly fixed on a point somewhere just below his chin. “Lord Devlin, I’m afraid I was feeling rather unwell when last we met. I must apologize for inconveniencing you and thank you for rendering assistance. It was very kind of you.”

Her smooth, cultured voice was a caress, so unlike the quivering croak he’d heard from her three days prior. For a moment, he wondered if she had a twin and was playing the same game as he and Dev. “It was the gentlemanly thing to do,” he answered dispassionately, determined to keep in character.

Eyes the color of cool forest shade lifted and pierced him. A faint smile curved her lush mouth, and she fidgeted with her fan. “Nonetheless, you have earned both my father’s and my deepest gratitude.”

It had been delivered free of innuendo, yet still the words inspired a trickle of apprehension. He didn’t want her gratitude! Steeling himself, he affected a bored demeanor and let his gaze drift. “Yes, he already conveyed his sentiments. I’m afraid I must—”

Crack. The fan she’d been twiddling with now lay on the floor between them.

Biting back an irritated sigh and, knowing she could not do so in her restrictive garb, he bent to retrieve it on her behalf. Her naked fingers touched his as he handed it back to her, and a tingling current sprang to life in his flesh, sizzling along his nerves and eliciting an alarmingly urgent stirring of interest in his breeches.

His gaze flew up to meet hers—a mistake, for he saw his desire mirrored in her suddenly widening eyes. Her lips parted on a soft gasp just as someone jostled him in passing, breaking their contact and the spell that held him in thrall.

With a shock, he realized that at some point he’d drifted closer and now stood less than arm’s length away. Clearing his throat, he stepped back and bowed shortly. “Good evening, Miss St. Peters. I hope you enjoy the—”

“Ah! Lord Devlin!”

It was her father, and the man wore a broad, entirely too cheery smile that for some reason made Daniel quite nervous.

“I see you found Olivia.” St. Peters turned to his offspring. “I do hope your dance card is not already full, my dear?”

Daniel had to fight the urge to clench his teeth. Based on Dev’s telling of things, he’d been counting on her father’s aid in keeping his daughter at a safe distance! Turning to her, he did as etiquette demanded and tried not to show his reluctance. “Miss St. Peters, may I have the honor of dancing with you this evening?”

She blinked at him, looking as startled as he felt, and dipped a shallow curtsy. “You may.” Taking out her dance card, she unfolded its leaves and examined it at length before taking the tiny accompanying pencil and marking on one. “The last is already taken, but the one prior is now yours, Lord Devlin.”

“Until then, Miss St. Peters.” Bowing stiffly, he turned his full attention to Mr. St. Peters and pulled a sealed document from his pocket, the countersigned contract for his brother’s new joint investment with the man. “I meant to give this to you at Latham’s, but events got rather out of hand.”

Mr. St. Peters’s eyes lit as he took it. “Ah! I was beginning to wonder.”

“Yes, well, I did not wish to disturb you with business matters during your daughter’s convalescence.” Said daughter was eyeing him with open curiosity, which he pointedly ignored. “I would have waited for our meeting later this week, but I was loath to further delay progress.”

…

It was a miracle. She had no other explanation for it.

Has Papa changed his mind? Given how Lord Devlin had looked at her just now, not to mention the queer but pleasant sensations elicited by his touch, she couldn’t help but hope so.

Something had changed between them.

With relish, she recalled Angie’s revelations concerning their last encounter, about which Papa had indeed neglected to share the most relevant details in his retelling. Lord Devlin had swept her off her feet in front of the whole assembly and carried her to the study himself. Then, apparently, he’d been so upset by her condition that he’d refused to leave.

Most shockingly, with no explanation whatsoever, he’d started to undress her. Only after Papa’s intervention had he explained himself and accepted help. The man’s hands and eyes had been all over her scantily clad body and, according to Angie, he’d not come away unaffected. She’d blushingly said he appeared more than a little flustered and had left in quite a state.

Surreptitiously, she eyed the gentleman in question. With as many people as had been present, he’d done far more than necessary to see to her care. It was almost as if he trusted no one but himself to ensure her well-being. The question was why.

Perhaps he missed me while on holiday? They do say absence makes the heart grow fond…

But that certainly hadn’t been mere “fondness” burning in his eyes a moment ago.

As difficult as it was to tamp down her excitement, she maintained a calm exterior and waited until the man excused himself and was out of earshot before verbally pouncing on her father. “Why did you do that? Why did you encourage him to ask me to dance?”

“Not for the reason you think,” he quietly replied, an ominous edge to his voice. “I wish you had given him an earlier dance—I know your card is nowhere near full.”

Indeed, it wasn’t, but that was beside the point. “Why should it matter?”

“Because people seeing you dance tonight might help allay a rumor that has begun circulating. A rumor concerning both of you.”

Icy fingertips of apprehension ran down her spine at his tone. “What rumor?”

A pained look settled across his features. “One of my informants at a rival club told me there has been some speculation in the wagering books regarding your…health since the fainting incident. I’m concerned it—”

“What nonsense,” she huffed, dismissing it with a laugh and a wave of her hand. “I simply grew overwarm and my stays were a bit tight. You need not be concerned, Papa. I’m not some wilting—”

“That’s not the issue,” he hissed, his face turning red as he lowered his voice further to the point where she could barely hear him. “Some think you with child—his child.”

“What?” Her involuntary outburst of dismay caused several people nearby to frown in disapproval. She ignored them but lowered her voice to an outraged whisper. “You cannot be serious!”

Her father pressed a hand to her back and gently propelled her away. “That gown you were wearing made you look…” It shouldn’t be possible for a man’s face to turn that shade of scarlet, but there it was. “It made you look…enceinte.”

Now it was her turn to flush crimson. “Well, I’m quite obviously not…that!” she hissed back, indignant. There was certainly nothing to this gown to support such a rumor, yet even so, she still looked down at herself with a critical eye. Shaking off her self-consciousness, she tossed her curls. “And why in heaven’s name should my dancing with him help allay such a rumor?” Indeed, if anything, one would think it might only make matters worse.

Which, it suddenly occurred to her, might not be such a bad thing…

But her father was of a very different opinion. “People make assumptions based on the most insignificant things,” he groused. “That unflattering gown, you fainting at the sight of him after he returned from his month away—the rumor mill is going wild with people whispering that he fled an obligation to you and that I forced him to return.” His glower deepened. “I can only assume he’s heard it.”

Resentment burned like a hot coal in the pit of her stomach. If she ever learned who’d started this rumor, she’d make them regret it. No wonder he was so awkward and eager to escape me!

Papa continued, “My hope is that if people see us behaving amicably toward each other, as if nothing has changed, it will lay this ridiculous rumor to rest. I wanted you to dance with him sooner rather than later because all eyes will be on you when you do, and they’ll quickly see for themselves there’s nothing to this.”

“Yes, of course, Papa,” she said absently, her mind already leaping ahead. “Never fear; I shall make certain to give everyone here the right impression.”

“Good girl.” Shooting her an awkward smile, he excused himself.

Thoughts chased each other one after another, too fleeting to capture and hold, as she tried to stave off panic. Moving to a quieter corner of the ballroom, she took several slow, deep breaths to calm herself. Somehow, I must turn this to my advantage.

When she failed to round over the coming weeks, there would be a natural end to it, of course, but in the meantime, she had to figure out what to do about Lord Devlin.

First, she’d pretend ignorance of any speculation. Her dance card was nearly two-thirds full. Rumor or not, she’d have no trouble filling the rest of it, and then she’d dance until she wore holes through the bottoms of her slippers. That would rid anyone of the mistaken notion that her “health” was anything but robust!

Second, she’d find someone special to partner her for the last dance. She’d lied to Lord Devlin when she’d said it was taken. She could’ve given it to him, which would doubtless have only fanned the flames of gossip—she allowed herself a moment of regret for the lost opportunity—but since she hadn’t, she had another idea.

Rumor or not, her inheritance guaranteed her the attendance of almost any unwed gentleman she crooked her finger at, but she needed a man specifically capable of sparking Lord Devlin’s jealousy. But which of those present tonight was that man?

“Much better!” said Angela’s voice from behind.

Whirling, she faced her grinning best friend. “Just the person I longed to see!”

Her fierceness startled the smile right off Angela’s face. “Oh?”

Taking Angie’s hand, she tucked it beneath her own, and the two walked arm in arm while Olivia shared her plan. “So, whom would you suggest?”

Her friend’s brow puckered as she considered it. “What about Baron Reynolds? He’s a bit older, but quite good-looking, and he’s been hanging on your father’s coattails for the last three months.”

Olivia shook her head. “Too mild-mannered.” Reynolds wasn’t mild-mannered—he was a coward, and a coward would never inspire envy in someone like Lord Devlin.

“Mmm. Lord Amberley?” suggested Angie, brightening. “Practically every unwed female in London has set her cap for him. He’s young, wealthy, and a viscount—and reputed to have a romantic soul and a passion for poetry.”

Amberley was handsome, if one enjoyed doe eyes and boyish brown curls. But again, he seemed altogether too meek for what she had in mind. “I worry that someone so sentimental might actually become infatuated. Not that I will be unable to manage him, but it might unnecessarily complicate things.” She thought about it for a moment. “I need someone nearer his age and more alike in temperament. Someone he can both admire and loathe. Someone like…”

Her gaze fell on Lord Lovelace, and a slow smile crept across her lips. Lovelace reportedly enjoyed bachelorhood almost as much as Lord Devlin, but she was sure the promise of getting his hands on her dowry would persuade the gentleman to like it somewhat less. It helped that he and her quarry were already acquainted. In fact, they ran in the same circles, both being club owners. But according to all she’d heard, the two were far from being friends.

Perfect.

She nodded her head toward Lovelace. “Someone like him.”

Angie looked, eyes widening in alarm as she whipped back around to stare at her, incredulous. “Lovelace? Surely you jest? He’s nearly as bad as—” Her mouth snapped shut, and she hastily swallowed what was doubtless a disparaging remark against Lord Devlin. “How will you go about getting his attention?”

“We’ve already been introduced. I need only an excuse to converse.” Olivia looked back at the group again, her smile widening. “Oh, is that Latham and his son I see there with him?”

Color rushed into her friend’s cheeks. “Oh, dear…”

Less than an hour later, it was all Olivia could do not to crow in triumph. The last dance on her card now belonged to Lovelace, who’d practically tripped over his own tongue when she’d focused her womanly wiles on his person. And, too, she’d been able to repay Angie for her kindness by introducing her to Lord Torrington, who’d taken an immediate liking to her.

Lovelace managed to glue himself to her side for nearly half an hour before she managed to extricate herself in order to fill the remaining slots on her card before the dancing could begin. Her father’s concerns came back to haunt her as she filled in the remaining spot and shot a coquettish smile up at Lord Westchester. Before the fainting incident, her card would’ve been full within half an hour of her arrival. It would have been effortless. But now…

If any of the men thought her with child, they hid their suspicion well. They knew better than to potentially burn their bridges with her father, who held many of their debts in good faith. The ladies, however, had no such qualms. Their eyes raked over her, eager to confirm the slightest hint of scandal.

She knew they hated her. Her father was a commoner who dared force his lowborn spawn upon their rarified tier of Society, making a rival of someone they considered inferior. There was a limited number of eligible, titled gentlemen on the market, which meant they’d like nothing better than to see one of the competition fall—especially if that competition was her.

Olivia cast a saccharine smile at Lady Birdmore, who was unabashedly staring at her midsection with narrowed eyes, doubtless trying to determine how many weeks along she was. I hope you are well-acquainted with disappointment, madam, because it’s going to be your bosom companion for the next several months!

The next few hours were spent between vigorous dancing and projecting unrelenting gaiety. She charmed with her words and seduced with her eyes. If the salver by her front door was not overflowing with calling cards tomorrow evening, she couldn’t be blamed for it.

By the time Lord Devlin came to claim his dance, she was mentally and physically exhausted. Her legs ached, her toes were bruised, and the corners of her mouth trembled with the effort of smiling at people whose company she could barely tolerate. It was all she could do not to scowl at him when he at last appeared before her wearing a pleasant expression, as if he hadn’t determinedly avoided her the entire evening.

An amused gleam entered his deep blue eyes as he offered his arm. “Miss St. Peters? I believe this is our dance.”

He knew. The devil knew she was annoyed with him over his inattention! “Already?” she said with wide eyes, allowing him to lead her to the aisle forming at the center of the floor. “My, how the time has flown!” Her abused feet belied the statement, knowing, with exacting precision, just how long it had been. She ignored the painful twinges and gracefully glided into place opposite him, waiting.

It wasn’t her imagination that the other couples fell silent at their approach and failed to resume their conversations even after he released her. She lifted her chin proudly. Let them wonder! It would only work to her advantage once she enacted step two of her plan. She only hoped Lovelace played the part she’d written for him.

Nor was she dreaming that Lord Devlin’s eyes were fixed upon her with a previously absent intensity that all but made her squirm with awareness of both him and herself. His dark stare elicited within her something akin to thirst. As that gaze grew hooded, warmth gathered in the parts of her that, according to the whispers of her more uninhibited lady friends, often landed women in trouble if they failed to watch themselves.

Flustered, she forced herself to look away. What game was he playing at, ignoring her all night only to lavish such attention on her at the eleventh hour? That was supposed to be her trick, not his!

The music began, and he stepped forward to take her hand. For the second time, a shock ran through her upon contact, and her gaze flew up to lock with his. What she saw in his widening eyes made her mouth go utterly dry.

There in his face was the silent acknowledgment of what she knew he would never willingly admit—that he felt it, too.