The Devil Who Tamed Her

by Johanna Lindsey

  The room had been quite comfortable with the fireplace burning low, just cool enough to make her want to snuggle under the blankets. Now it was far too warm. The cloth of her nightgown was irritating her skin at the few places the linen was still touching her body. Actually, her whole body seemed overly sensitized to the slightest touch!

  It was him. She knew it was him, and her body’s reaction to him. She wanted him so much! She’d thought she’d never again be able to hold him in her arms like this. She’d thought she’d never again experience the beauty of his lovemaking. And now that it was happening, her body seemed to want to race ahead to the climax and finally experience complete satisfaction, while she wanted to proceed slowly to savor every minute she could, and the two completely different urges just weren’t compatible.

  He had tossed the blankets off the bed and must have been feeling the heat as well. She ran her hands over his broad shoulders and back; he was very warm to her touch. His breathing was becoming labored as well. She found herself holding her own breath each time it felt as if she were approaching a climax, but then the unbearable pleasure would recede and she’d breathe again, only to have the sensations build back up again. Every one of her nerves was screaming for that release. If she’d had the strength, she’d probably push Rafe on his back and have her way with him.

  The thought almost made her laugh. It relieved a little of the tension, but not enough to let her relax. But then as if he’d been reading her thoughts, he finally moved his hips between hers and entered her, in a deep, smooth thrust that took her over the edge.

  “God, now this is really coming home,” he murmured into her ear.

  She exploded with pleasure almost instantly. And held on to him for dear life. And when the haze cleared a little from her mind, the tender feelings she had for him returned to her so abruptly, she was almost moved to tears.

  Yes, she loved him. And hated him. And tomorrow would be soon enough to figure out what to do about it. Tonight, right now, he was carefully removing her nightgown to show her again what he’d mentioned to her once before—what it would be like to be in a bed with him, where he could devote the proper time to her and her pleasure.

  Chapter Fifty

  W HAT A COWARD SHE WAS turning out to be. Ophelia didn’t sleep again that night, and unfortunately that led to a lot of deep introspection as she lay in bed next to Rafe. She shed a few silent tears and finally decided not to ruin such a beautiful night with the acrimony that would surely reappear in the morning. So before dawn, while her husband was still sound asleep, she snuck out of the bedroom, fully dressed for travel, and got Sadie and her coach brought around, without waking too many members of the household.

  She left a note for Preston Locke, thanking him for his hospitality and asking him not to mention to his son what they had discussed, that if it did come to pass that she was carrying their baby, she wanted to be the one to tell him. She still didn’t think she was with child. The few brief bouts of nausea she had experienced had all occurred when she’d been seething with anger, which was a perfectly good reason to be sick to her stomach.

  She had only to mention to Sadie that Rafe had arrived for the maid not to ask or complain about their leaving while it was still dark. But after taking two steps out the door toward the waiting coach, she stopped and told Sadie, “I forgot something. I’ll only be a moment,” and she ran back into Norford Hall.

  Rafe was still sleeping, of course, his head half on her pillow, one arm draped over her side of the bed as if he thought he were still holding her. She leaned over and kissed his brow. She couldn’t wake him. All of her hurt would come spilling out: it was already spilling down her cheeks. But she wasn’t going to leave him without a word. She jotted off another note in the dim light of the dying fire and left it with a footman downstairs before she joined Sadie in the coach.

  Hoping to regain better control of her emotions, she caught up on her missed sleep, napping nearly the entire trip home.

  She arrived in London just before noon, and in time to share lunch with her mother.

  “That was a short trip,” her mother said as she directed the staff to bring another plate for Ophelia. “We didn’t expect you back so soon. Didn’t it go well?”

  “It went fine, Mama. The Lockes are very nice people. And Rafe’s grandmother, the dowager duchess, is a charming old bird. The entire time I was there, she confused me with her granddaughter Amanda, whom she adores, so we got along splendidly.”

  “Then why didn’t you stay longer?”

  “Rafe showed up.”

  That simple statement said so much and didn’t need any further explanation, at least not for Mary. “I was afraid that would happen. Our butler informed me that he came here looking for you. Mr. Nates wasn’t aware that he shouldn’t have mentioned your direction.”

  Ophelia shrugged, unaware of how dejected she looked. “It’s all right. I got to meet a few of the Lockes under a congenial atmosphere before he showed up. I just didn’t want to treat them to one of our verbal skirmishes. I’d as soon they don’t know how easily I can still lose my temper—when I’m around him.”

  Mary abruptly suggested, “We should go shopping tomorrow, after you’re rested from your journey. Take your mind off all this unpleasantness for a while.”

  Ophelia started to agree. She was open to anything that would give her thoughts some peace, however briefly. But then she caught the aroma of the poached fish being served for lunch and her stomach abruptly turned over nauseously. But she loved poached fish! And she wasn’t the least bit angry at the moment!

  “Let’s go this afternoon,” she quickly told her mother as she stood up and backed away from the plate that had been set in front of her. “I’m not tired and not hungry. I’ll go change while you finish your lunch.”

  She didn’t wait for Mary to agree. She ran out of the room, trying to get as far away as she could from the smell that was making her sick.

  Raphael woke so refreshed, his body so relaxed, he was quite certain that had been the best night’s sleep he’d had in months. Before he left the bed, he leaned over and smelled the empty pillow next to his and smiled that Ophelia’s scent had been left behind. It hadn’t been a dream. She wasn’t in the room with him now, but her clothes were scattered here and there.

  She couldn’t still be angry with him. That was the first thing that occurred to him as he pulled himself out of bed. She couldn’t make love with him like that and then turn around and still want to hurt him. Something had to have happened here, before he arrived, to expunge most of her anger.

  He could probably thank his father for that. Preston had such a calming influence on friend and foe alike. If it could be said that someone had been born to be a diplomat, fingers would point at Preston Locke. He didn’t argue his points, he got them across in a reasonable manner, and if he was proven wrong, he’d merely laugh about it and go on from there. The only exception was how he dealt with his siblings. Where his sisters were concerned, he enjoyed pulling their cords.

  Raphael dressed quickly and went in search of his wife and his father, in that order. Considering the early hour, he checked the breakfast room first. Ophelia wasn’t there, but Preston was.

  “You still know how to work miracles, don’t you?” Raphael, entering the room, said cheerfully to his father. “Took the steam right out of her, didn’t you?”

  “I’m not wearing a halo this week, and you look entirely too exuberant for this time of day. Sit down and explain yourself.”

  “I’m talking about Ophelia, of course.” Raphael thanked the servant who added a few more platters of food to the table for him to pick from. “How did you manage to defuse her anger?”

  Preston shook his head. “She didn’t come here angry, so there was nothing to defuse.”

  “She didn’t try to stir up trouble while she was here? Didn’t dump all the blame at my door?”

  “On the contrary, I found her to be quite charming, straightforward, and wil
ling to accept responsibility if the errors were in her court. She even admitted that in anger she’d prodded you into marrying her, but my question is, why did you let her? You could have merely announced your engagement officially and married her properly within a reasonable time. You don’t think she would have wanted a nice wedding with all her friends and family present? All of your friends and family present as well?”

  Raphael flushed slightly at the topic, as well as his father’s admonishing tone. He’d known he’d have to answer for excluding his entire family from his wedding. If it had been a joyful wedding, he’d really be feeling guilty, but it wasn’t, and this embarrassment was bad enough.

  “I’ll tell you honestly, Father. If it didn’t happen as it did, it would never have happened.”

  Preston raised a disapproving brow. “Despite the rumors? Are you actually saying you would have let her be thrown to the wolves?”

  “Of course not. I could have defused all that. It was merely one bloody kiss that was seen!”

  “It was much more than that. You were seen going off with her and you both didn’t reappear for nearly a week.”

  “Visiting my family,” Raphael corrected. “You were the one who pointed out to me when I was here before that her father even boasted about it.”

  “Yes, he boasted that you’d brought his daughter here specifically to Norford Hall. What I didn’t mention was that I had a number of visitors that week who asked after you and were told you weren’t here. It doesn’t take much to add that up, Rafe. And we’ve already had this conversation more or less, so let me ask you this. If there had been no rumors, would you have stood by and let her marry someone else? And keep in mind, I’ve met her.”

  “Forget for a moment that she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever come across. What if she were nothing but blackened ice inside, malicious, spiteful—”

  “Are we talking about the same woman?”

  Raphael sighed. “All right, to be honest, I was having a few regrets about turning her loose on London again. I’d grown fond of her during our brief time together, perhaps a little too fond of her. But I thought she had changed, that the shrew was gone for good. I might even have asked her to marry me—if I had continued to think that.”

  “I saw no evidence of this shrew.”

  “Because she’s very good at keeping her temper and viper’s tongue under wraps when she wants to. And she had me convinced, one hundred percent, that the shrew was gone. I really believed I’d helped her to change for the better. But she admitted it was all a ruse, just a pretense so I’d send her back to London sooner.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Maybe it wasn’t a lie that she’d changed. Maybe the lie is that she didn’t.”

  Chapter Fifty-one

  C HARMING? STRAIGHTFORWARD? WILLING TO ACCEPT responsibility for her actions? That sounded like the new Ophelia, not the old one whom Raphael believed he had been dealing with ever since she’d found out about that damn bet. Was he the only one who got to see the shrew?

  He wasn’t going to think about it anymore. He was simply going to confront her. Either way, she’d fooled him completely. He was tired of being fooled. But he had to return to London to do that.

  She’d left Norford Hall before he even woke, snuck off was how it appeared, since she didn’t even pack her clothes. Doing so would probably have woken him, and obviously she didn’t want to discuss what had happened between them last night. Or maybe she did….

  The footman handed him Ophelia’s note just as he was leaving. It was unexpected and gave him a little hope: That wasn’t a homecoming, that was merely a truce. If you want a real homecoming, you need to make me understand why you tampered with my life on a whim.

  Hadn’t she listened to anything he’d said? Or had she simply been too angry to hear him? They would discuss it, he vowed to himself, that and a lot more, just as soon as he got back to town.

  Arriving back in London, he rode straight to her house, missing her by just thirty minutes. She’d gone shopping with her mother on Bond Street, he was informed. No, they didn’t say which shops they were going to visit. He ought to just wait till she returned home. It was highly doubtful he could find her on that crowded street in the middle of the day, when it would be the most congested. He’d have to check every bloody shop!

  He rode that way anyway.

  Ophelia had never felt so distracted. She wasn’t listening to a word her mother was saying as Mary pulled her along from one shop to another. When she actually had to make a decision about buying something, she managed to utter a yes or a no, but she had no idea about what.

  She was going to have a baby. She could no longer deny it, not after one of her favorite foods, poached fish, had made her nauseous the entire time she could smell it. As soon as she’d gotten away from that aroma, she was fine!

  She was going to have a baby. One single fall from grace and such a miraculous result. A baby. And how odd that the knowledge filled her with joy. How silly she’d been to try to deny it. And how amazing that maternal instincts were already welling up in her. This baby would be raised right. She knew how not to raise a child, so it would be a simple matter for her to do it right. This child would be loved and nourished and protected. She would not give in on any decisions about her baby if she disagreed with them. She loved her mother, but she knew Mary had buckled under too many times to Sherman’s will. Ophelia wouldn’t do that. She’d fight tooth and nail.

  She supposed she ought to tell Rafe, but she was in no hurry to do so. In due time. She wanted to savor the knowledge by herself for a while. He had chosen not to live with her, so he didn’t warrant the right to know immediately. He could miss the birth of his baby as far as she was concerned—no, that was her anger talking. She was going to have to get rid of that anger before she gave birth. There would be no raised voices around her baby.

  “Pheli? Pheli, are you all right?”

  Ophelia brought her attention back to the present and saw that her mother had just entered a shop that had numerous bolts of lace crowded into its small display window box. She turned around to see who’d spoken to her and was completely surprised to find Mavis Newbolt standing next to her on the busy walkway, her hands stuffed in a fur muff. Her expression was concerned. Mavis? Her one and only enemy concerned about her? Not likely.

  What had Mavis said? Oh, yes. “I’m fine,” Ophelia answered cautiously in a neutral tone. She hadn’t seen Mavis since the parties at Summers Glade, and the two altercations they’d had there hadn’t been the least bit pleasant. “Why do you ask?”

  Mavis shrugged one shoulder. “You looked like you were in another world.”

  “Did I? I must have let my thoughts distract me for a moment.”

  “Well, my coach was driving past and I saw you. I had to stop.”

  Ophelia was immediately filled with dread. They weren’t going to have yet another fight, were they? “Why?” she asked pointedly.

  Oddly enough, Mavis suddenly appeared uncomfortable. “I’ve been meaning to come by and visit you for several days now. Would you like to go for a ride where we can talk? My coach is just across the street.”

  “Talk? What more can we say to each other that hasn’t already been said?”

  Mavis stepped aside for a couple passing arm in arm. The walkway was nearly as crowded with pedestrians as the street was crowded with carriages, coaches, and wagons.

  “I wanted to congratulate you on your marriage,” Mavis said.

  “Thank you.”

  “And wish you—”

  “Don’t,” Ophelia cut in sharply, and instantly regretted her tone.

  She quickly controlled her rising anger. She was aware that she could control it and felt a bolster of pride in doing so. Mavis was the one person, aside from her father, who was guaranteed to bring out the worst in her, but she was managing to keep the bitterness at bay too.

  She finished in a much calm
er tone, “No more hurtful remarks.”

  “I wasn’t going to—”

  “Please, Mavis, I don’t want to fight anymore.”

  “I don’t either.”

  Ophelia just stared at her ex-friend doubtfully. There was no way that she could believe that statement. Mavis hadn’t got her revenge after all, at least not as much as she’d been hoping for. All she’d done at Summers Glade was embarrass Ophelia, at least that’s what she thought. Mavis didn’t know how much she’d hurt her, or that she’d made her cry because of it. And she’d never know.

  “I can see by your expression that you don’t believe me, and I can hardly blame you at this point.” Mavis actually sounded, and looked, regretful. “All this hate I’ve had for you and it’s been so misdirected. I thought you had lied about Lawrence. I knew you lied all the time back then. It was just about minor things, so it never bothered me when we were friends. I just ignored it—until you tried to convince me Lawrence was a bastard just using me to get to you. I really didn’t believe you, you know, not even a little. And that’s why I hated you so much. And it’s made me so miserable all this time, because I didn’t really want to hate you, I just couldn’t help myself.”

  Mavis’s voice had turned so plaintive, Ophelia could feel a lump rising in her own throat. “Why are we rehashing this again, Mavis?”

  “I saw Lawrence just recently. The heiress he married has left him. I’d already heard that, but it had been so long since I’d seen him. He’s grown fat, and dissipated, and apparently he’s a drunkard now too. He was foxed when I ran into him. He didn’t even recognize me. When I reminded him who I was, he laughed.”

  “I’m sorry,” Ophelia said, but her old friend appeared not to hear her.

  “Do you know what he said to me? He said, ‘Ah, the gullible little chit who thought I’d marry her? Have you smartened up, love?’ ”