The Devil Who Tamed Her

by Johanna Lindsey

  “Have we learned patience today?”

  Ophelia’s icy blue glare returned to Raphael’s broad back. Such a superior tone he’d just used. He knew he held the upper hand here. And he hadn’t even turned around to face her, to ask her that!

  Stiffly, with every bit of the fury she was feeling, she snarled, “No…we…have…not!”

  “That’s too bad.” He started to walk out of the room.

  She watched him incredulously for a moment. He really was going to leave!

  She leapt to her feet, intending to place herself between him and the door. But the table in front of the sofa she’d been sitting on had been pushed closer to her when a tray of food had been brought to her. She hadn’t eaten the food, but now her knees knocked against the table, causing a teacup and saucer to crash to the floor, making her gasp.

  Raphael stopped immediately. “Are you all right?” he asked, his tone actually sounding concerned.

  “Yes—no, I’m not.”

  She was referring to her rage, not the minor bump on her knees, but he replied with a sigh, “Sit down. We can work on patience another day, I suppose.”

  She wasn’t going to correct his misinterpretation of her answer, not when it appeared that he was changing his mind about denying her an explanation of what they were doing here. He sat down on the same sofa she’d been occupying, albeit at the opposite end of it. But he did turn to face her as she resumed her seat.

  “You’re going to tell me now why I’m here, instead of back in London?”

  “Indeed. You and I are going to—”

  “I knew it!” she cut in sharply. “You plan to compromise me in order to force me to marry you. Well, I won’t—!”

  She stopped her tirade when he began to laugh. He sounded genuinely amused. If she weren’t so angry, she would have been embarrassed that she’d obviously been off the mark. He was quick to confirm it.

  “Good God, where did that appalling idea come from?” he asked.

  With less heat she demanded, “What other reason can you have for bringing me here?”

  “I was explaining that before you interrupted. But since you mentioned it, let me assure you that my aunt’s presence will guarantee that no scandal of any sort will result from your stay here. You won’t be the least bit compromised, I promise you that.”

  “Until my father hears about this outrage,” she predicted.

  “What outrage would that be, m’dear? That you’ve been invited by the Locke family for a visit? That I’ve taken a personal interest in your launch this Season? He’s already aware of it by now. I sent off a note to him before we left Summers Glade.”

  “A visit? Without asking me?”

  “Would you have declined?”

  He seemed to expect only one answer. She was glad to give him a different one. “Yes, I would have.”

  “Would your father?”

  “No, he would have pushed me out the door,” she replied, unable to keep the bitterness from her tone.

  She immediately wished she’d kept that to herself when Raphael said smugly, “As I thought.”

  With a scowl, she reminded him, “But I’m the one whose permission you needed.”

  That didn’t dent his smugness at all; he even smiled as he corrected her, “No, actually, as you recently found out with your first engagement to my friend Duncan, only your parents’ permission is required. Terribly unfair, I’m sure you’re thinking, but quite true nonetheless.”

  He was back to his jaunty, sardonic self. The blasted man was enjoying telling her how little control she had over her life.

  “This isn’t exactly your ‘family’ home,” she pointed out. “And where the deuce are we, anyway?”

  “Northumberland.”

  “But that’s nearly to Scotland!”

  “Not quite a stone’s throw away. It’s a big county. But, yes, it borders Scotland.”

  “So you lied to my father in your note to him?” she said triumphantly. “This isn’t where your family lives. When I tell him the truth—”

  “You haven’t even heard yet what the ‘truth’ is, Ophelia,” he cut in, finally revealing a little annoyance with her. “But by the time you see your father again, we can hope you’ll have a much better outlook on things.”

  “You mean you can hope,” she said with some smugness of her own.

  “No,” he replied thoughtfully. “I think I phrased it right the first time—since you won’t be leaving here until you do have a better disposition.”

  She gasped at what that implied. “You can’t keep me prisoner here.”

  “Why ever not?”

  That reply was so far removed from anything she might have expected that she shot to her feet to shout at him, “Because you have no right!”

  “Do you always react so extremely?”

  “You are provoking me beyond my tolerance!”

  He tsked, unimpressed with her rage. “I’m doing no such thing. And we’re going to have this conversation without any more theatrics, if you please, so sit down, behave, and quite possibly you will learn that there is a very good reason for you to be here.”

  “What?”

  “Your own happiness,” he said simply. “Or are you going to try to tell me that you’re already as happy as you can possibly be?”

  She wasn’t the least bit happy, but that was none of his bloody business. “I’ll see to my own happiness, thank you very much.”

  “As you have so far? Ruining other people’s lives? That makes you happy? Or is it making other people miserable? Oh, wait, it must be starting rumors that don’t have a jot of truth to them. That must make you ecstatic.”

  She felt a blush sneaking up her cheeks. Defensively she said, “You know nothing about any of that other than what you’ve heard others say. But what has that to do with making me happy? And why would you even want to? But even more to the point, how can you make me happy when I despise you?”

  “Do you really?”

  She stared at him incredulously. “Were you not sure? You had doubts? After the nasty things you said to me at Summers Glade?”

  He shrugged. “Warning you not to start a rumor about Sabrina and me wasn’t being nasty.”

  “You assumed I was going to start a rumor when I wouldn’t have done any such thing. I was merely trying to be helpful so she wouldn’t get hurt. I really did think you were bedding her because of all the attention you were paying her. And if I had come to that conclusion, others would have too. But instead of just telling me I was mistaken, you threatened to ruin me if I mentioned it again!”

  “With good reason, considering your well-known predilection for starting rumors.”

  “We haven’t really gone full circle back to matters you have no firsthand knowledge of, have we?” she retorted, only a slight dryness to her tone. “But we have established that you, personally, can’t contribute to my happiness. So tomorrow, you will take me home.”

  He didn’t even pause to consider it. “No, I don’t think so. And I never said I was going to make you happy. However, I am going to help you find your own happiness, to be at peace with yourself, as it were.”

  “I am at peace!” she snarled.

  “Yes, you sound it, indeed you do,” he said as he stood up.

  “Where are you going?” she demanded.

  “To find my dinner and get a good night’s sleep. I have a feeling tomorrow will be an exhausting day.”

  “But you haven’t finished your explanation!”

  He raised a brow. “Didn’t I? Well, here it is in a nutshell, m’dear. We’re going to turn you into a kind, considerate woman who people will want to be around. Their delight in your company will have nothing whatsoever to do with your amazing beauty, and everything to do with how wonderfully sweet and nice you are. When you can convince me that we’ve succeeded, then I’ll take you home.”

  Chapter Nine

  H IS MEETING WITH OPHELIA HAD gone much better than he had anticipated, Raphael thought
as he lay in the ornately carved oak bed in the master suite. Shocking Ophelia Reid into silence hadn’t solved anything, but it had certainly been enjoyable. At the least, it had let him escape her company for the remainder of the night.

  She’d gone to bed. He’d made sure of that before he retired himself. After all, she might have run off into the cold night, stupid as that would have been, just to make a silly point. But he wasn’t getting the good night’s sleep he’d hoped for.

  He shouldn’t have let her outrage make him so defensive that he hadn’t made a clean breast of it. He hadn’t intended to keep his bet with Duncan a secret. But did she really need to know that this campaign to improve her character had started with a bet? No, she didn’t. What he’d told her ought to suffice for them to work together. Once she stopped being angry. Once she admitted that her behavior was reprehensible to everyone—except herself, of course. Duncan had been right. She obviously felt that she had nothing to be ashamed of, that there was nothing wrong with her behavior. But then maybe she’d never stood back and taken a good look at her own actions and how they were perceived by others. Good God, was he making excuses for her? Those damned doubts were intruding again.

  He hadn’t counted on her incredible beauty being so difficult to ignore. He’d rather be admiring her than disliking her. He’d rather be kissing her into silence instead of—where the devil had that thought come from? But he knew. And it had taken every ounce of will he possessed tonight to keep her from noticing just how attracted he was to her. But it was only a visual effect, he was sure. Now that he knew what was contributing to his doubts, he could take steps to—yes, that would work well, he thought drily. Don’t look at her a’tall. They’d get a lot accomplished that way.

  He turned over and slammed a fist into his pillow, disgusted with the thoughts that were keeping him awake.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  Raphael didn’t pause on his way to the dining table or glance at Ophelia, who was sitting there alone. Broadsided the moment he stepped into the room. He wondered how long she’d been waiting for him to show up. Her plate only had a crust of toast left on it.

  “Mind if I eat first, before we begin?”

  “Yes. I do mind.”

  “Then this is an excellent time to practice yesterday’s lesson, isn’t it?”

  Hearing his voice, Nan came in with a platter of breakfast choices for him. She and her mother, Beth, had arrived yesterday in time to serve a cold dinner. They were good country people, happy to help out.

  “The pickings are lean, m’lord,” she warned as she set the platter in front of him. “M’father’s gone to market to stock the pantry, but he probably won’t be back until late tonight or tomorrow. He had enough stores here to last a few days, just nothing fancy.”

  “No need to apologize.” Raphael smiled at the girl. “I know our visit wasn’t anticipated.”

  She nodded and hurried back to the kitchen. Ophelia was tapping her fingers on the table. He stared at them.

  “I wouldn’t call that patience,” he remarked to his houseguest.

  “I already warned you I have none. It’s one of my flaws I don’t mind admitting to. No patience whatsoever.”

  At least her tone was moderate—for the moment. “You admit it’s a flaw. Wouldn’t you like to get rid of it?”

  “Of course I would, but I don’t need your help to do so,” she retorted.

  He buttered a chunk of freshly baked bread, nicely toasted. “How old are you? Eighteen? Nineteen? And you still haven’t mastered patience? You do need help. I don’t mind playing the teacher.”

  “You mean playing the devil, don’t you?”

  He glanced at her with a chuckle. “I’ve been called worse, and, yes, I’m sure you’ll think of worse before we’re done. But in the meantime, you’ll accept my help graciously.”

  She snorted.

  His chuckle turned to a laugh. “Very well, not so graciously.”

  She was glaring at him now. He shrugged and went back to ignoring her, or trying to. The food at least gave him something else to look at. Damn, she looked radiant this morning in her pink tulle morning dress with corded lilac trim, not a hair out of place in the tight coiffure she preferred, bangs across her brow, several perfect ringlets at her temples. He wondered if she ever didn’t look magnificent. Anger certainly didn’t detract from her beauty.

  After a few more minutes of finger tapping, she asked, “Where is your aunt?”

  “No doubt hiding from your sour disposition.”

  “Must you insult me with every word you utter?” she snapped.

  “Have I been doing that? I wonder why.”

  He saw the slight color climb her cheeks. It was quite becoming. He wondered why she didn’t wear makeup to achieve that effect—no, it was just as well she didn’t. The woman was too beautiful as it was.

  He relented enough to answer, “It’s her habit not to appear before midday. She’s awake, I’m sure. She just enjoys spending mornings alone in her room with her knitting. And she’s an avid reader. Prefers solitude for it. One of her trunks was probably filled with books, I don’t doubt.”

  “I didn’t need that much information, thank you.”

  “Not used to simple conversation that doesn’t revolve around you?”

  Her blush got much brighter. Aha! Finally something that removed the ethereal glow from her and made her appear more normal. And that’s obviously why she didn’t wear makeup. A little too much appeared like splotches on her pale cheeks.

  To get his mind off her looks, he said, “Were you hoping to talk her into your camp? You needn’t bother. She’s firmly in mine.”

  She didn’t deny it. “She can’t condone what you’re doing.”

  “She doesn’t need to. She knows I’ll have your parents’ blessings, which is good enough for her. That should be good enough for you as well.”

  “Blessings you’ve falsely obtained by taking advantage of my father’s ridiculously high regard for titles more lofty than his own.”

  He heard the bitterness that crept into her tone, and it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it when her father was mentioned. Apparently, she didn’t like her father very much. But then the Earl of Durwich couldn’t have much love for her either, having tried to shove her into a marriage she obviously didn’t want.

  She didn’t expect a reply and actually fell silent for a few minutes. The finger tapping even stopped. She was staring at him, though, which made him quite uncomfortable. She’d flirted outrageously with him at Summers Glade, after all, before she’d got reengaged to Duncan. It had prompted him to warn her at the time that the men in his family did the pursuing and they didn’t tolerate being pursued by marriage-minded females. But she’d obviously felt some attraction to him or she wouldn’t have put herself forward. That had occurred prior to the setdown he’d given her though, when she’d made him so furious with her insinuation that he was bedding Sabrina.

  He’d spoken quite sharply to her and she’d disliked him ever since. Not that he liked her either, but their mutual dislike was going to make this campaign much more difficult, for both of them. But he wasn’t about to try to make her look upon him more favorably again just to make this task easier. Hell no. He was having enough trouble ignoring her beauty without her batting her pretty blue eyes at him.

  “If you’ve finished your breakfast,” she finally remarked, “I’d like an answer to my original question.”

  He was only half-finished eating, but she’d asked so many questions that he hadn’t exactly answered that he replied anyway, “Which was?”

  “Why are you doing this to me?”

  “Ah, that again. For a number of reasons.”

  “Just give me one.”

  “You are universally disliked, except by a seemingly endless stream of men who haven’t discovered yet that you’re a shrew.”

  “I’m not a shrew. But that has nothing to do with you, so give me another reason.”

 
; “Very well, I find it quite odd that anyone as beautiful as you are could be so obviously unhappy. I’ve taken it upon myself to correct that, my good deed for the year, you could say. And I must disagree with your response to my first reason. I lean toward the underdog, always have, and help them when I can. In your case, I can.”

  “It’s well-known that you champion the underdog,” she allowed. “Even I heard it mentioned. But I am not an underdog! And for you to insinuate that I am—”

  “Of course you are, m’dear,” he interrupted calmly. “Name me one person who likes you, aside from your parents and that stream of idiots we’ve already mentioned.”

  “My maid,” she retorted looking rather triumphant to have come up with that answer.

  He rolled his eyes. “Maids don’t count.”

  “Go to hell,” she said, and surprised him by leaving the table.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to walk home,” she informed him without looking back.

  He started to laugh. That halted her before she reached the door.

  “I’m serious.” she swung around to tell him, in case he doubted it. “I’ll find someone who can help me get back to London.”

  “I’m sure you will, but probably not before dark. And then what will you do? Aside from freeze or get hopelessly lost and freeze.”

  She stood there bristling. He took pity on her and said, “Come back and sit down and I’ll explain why that isn’t such a good idea. Here, have another piece of toast,” he added as she passed him on her way back to the other side of the table.

  She ignored the offering. She lifted the chair she had vacated, slammed it down on the floor just to show how angry she was, if he hadn’t guessed, then after all that, sat down in it demurely.

  “I’m listening,” she growled.

  His urge to laugh again was almost irrepressible. He managed to contain it, but not without taking a bite of the toast still in his hand. That, of course, made her wait for the answer, and they’d already established she wasn’t good at waiting. But her theatrics really were amusing, because they were real, not contrived. He had a feeling this was how she was used to getting her way. He was going to have to add “spoiled” to her long list of flaws.