by Liana Lefey
“And what of Danny?” Devlin prompted. “Should he be forced into a loveless marriage?”
“They might in time grow to love each other,” she insisted, stubborn to the last.
Such was his worst fear. As sure as the sun rose each day, Daniel would eventually fall in love with the woman he’d married under duress. Once that happened, she’d soon follow suit. Daniel was, after all, the man for whom she’d originally set her cap, and he possessed all the qualities she’d so prized when dreaming up her ideal husband.
“Please, Diana,” he pleaded softly, staring into her angry eyes. “It’s my child she carries, not Daniel’s. I must at least try.”
Chapter Eighteen
Mary’s stomach had turned sour on spying him entering through the front gate. Already, without even having yet spoken to her directly, he’d ruined her morning.
He’s probably brought the marriage license for Papa to look over. A special dispensation had been granted, owing to her urgent need to wed.
Damned if I’ll go down before being summoned. Every moment she was required to spend in her fiancé’s company was another moment of peace forever lost. No, Reverend Wayward wasn’t the man who’d done this to her, but on first glance he looked exactly like the one who had.
Every time she saw him, it was like salt rubbed into an open wound. He’d been kind and patient with her to a fault, but that combined with his self-castigation over what he’d termed his “fatal cowardice” only made it worse. It made her feel guilty for loathing the very sight of him. Add to that the fact that she knew he no more wanted to marry her than she did him, and it made for a miserable state of being.
“Miss Mary?” called her mother’s maid softly from her door. “Your presence is requested in the salon.”
“I’m coming,” she answered dully. Sighing, she descended the staircase, determined to try to maintain a pleasant demeanor despite her bitterness. After all, she’d be spending the rest of her life with the man.
On entering the salon, she found him pacing the room. Her parents were, notably, not present.
“I asked to have a moment in private with you,” he said, answering her unspoken inquiry. “We need to talk, just the two of us.”
Curious as to why he should appear so nervous when they’d already come to an agreement, she nodded acceptance and took a seat. “Go on,” she prompted when he didn’t immediately speak.
He came to a halt and peered at her intently. “Before I say anything else, I must apologize for everything I’ve done to you. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I don’t expect it.”
A tingle shot down her spine as he stared at her with shadowed eyes, and all at once she knew this wasn’t Daniel Wayward. It was him. Devlin. The breath rushed from her lungs in a great gasp as all the pain, pressure, and constant worry of the weeks prior bore down on her at once. Without thinking, her fingers clawed for the nearest object they could find—which happened to be a brass bookend.
Her aim was terrible, sending the projectile far wide of her mark with a solid thunk. “You bastard!” she shrieked, casting about for something else to throw. “Where have you been?” A delicate porcelain figurine shattered against the wall to his left. She groped for another object, her questing fingers landing on a small plate piled with tea biscuits. “Do you know how long I’ve been searching for you? How long we’ve been searching for you?” The plate’s contents flew across the room in a shower of shortbread, followed by the dish itself, which landed on a chair and bounced to the floor unsatisfyingly whole. When she grabbed a silver candlestick, she was inordinately pleased to see his eyes at last widen with alarm. “You vanished into thin air without a word to anyone. We thought you left the bloody country!”
“Mary,” he said, coming—surprisingly—toward her. “Please, let me explain.”
“Oh, do try, I beg you,” she spat, backing away, still brandishing the candlestick. Turning her head, she bellowed over her shoulder for her parents.
“They won’t come. David has asked them to step aside with him to give us a moment alone. And they’ve sent the servants away so that no one will disturb us. Mary, I—”
Lifting her hand, she cocked her arm, ready to send the candlestick flying toward his head. But even as she tightened her grip in preparation to launch it, a sob tore free of her throat. Mortified, she dropped her missile and turned away so he wouldn’t see her cry. The last thing she wanted was for him to think her weak.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I ought not to have left things between us as they were—”
“You only did what I asked of you,” she choked out between gulps of air.
“Nevertheless, I should have stayed. I should have at least tried to talk to you.”
The gentle, regret-filled words were razors slicing into her already tattered heart. Coherent speech grew beyond her faculties as her sobs became more violent. And then he touched her. It was only the lightest hand laid on the curve of her neck, but she felt it all the way down in her bones. Warmth bloomed beneath his hot, dry palm as he drew her close, and a shiver ran throughout her entire body as she leaned into him, too distressed to care for anything except the comfort of having someone support her.
All the emotions she’d striven so hard to suppress for weeks on end melded and rose to the surface in a jumble, pushing and pulling her into a state of utter confusion. It was all simply too much.
“Mary, I know you don’t want to hear it,” he murmured against her hair, “and I doubt you’ll believe me, but—I do love you.”
She didn’t. Words finally wrung themselves free from her tear-clogged throat. “Then why did you not come back sooner?”
“I was afraid.” Gently, he turned her around to face him. His voice shook as he spoke. “I ran from my guilt like a stupid, selfish coward. I feared that once you knew me—the real me—you would despise me even more. After I left, I thought that you would surely choose to forget me. Find someone better. Someone more deserving.”
A shudder wracked him, and she looked up to see blue eyes brimming with tears. “Daniel’s last letter to you was returned unopened,” she said thickly. “If you did not know about the babe, then…what brought you back here?”
“You.” He cupped her cheek with one hand. “You did, Mary. I tried to forget you, to leave you alone as you’d said you wanted, but nothing worked. You were all I could think about.” He took a deep, uneven breath. “I missed you so much. More than I could withstand. So, even knowing I was nowhere near good enough for you, I decided to come to Harper’s Grove to somehow try to win your heart—as myself.”
His tear-filled eyes were so full of tender emotion she couldn’t bear to look at him. It hurt too much.
“Please, Mary,” he breathed. “Say you’ll give me a chance? I’ll never be worthy of you, but I’ll gladly spend the rest of my life trying.”
It would be so tempting to give in, to answer the call of desire she felt building inside her even now, but… “How can I possibly trust you?” she quavered, ashamed at how unsteady her voice was. “You were right; I don’t even know the real you. I have no idea who you are.”
“I know,” he whispered. “And that is something I intend to rectify, if you’ll allow it. It’s my intent to court you. Properly.”
“How?” she said, pulling back to peer up at him in disbelief. “What time do you think we have for courtship? The babe I carry won’t delay its arrival to suit either of us.” It had come out sharp, laden with sarcasm, but she wouldn’t apologize for it. It was only the truth.
“You will have your courtship, Mary. I promise you that. Unfortunately, we can afford to delay only a month at best, so most of it will have to come after we’re married. But if it’s any comfort to you, and I hope it is, I believe you already know me better than anyone, other than perhaps Daniel. After all, we did spend a good deal of time talking whil
e I was trying to make you dislike me—or, rather, dislike him.”
She thought about it for a moment. “But how do I know any of that was real? You were pretending to be someone else.”
A sheepish look crossed his face. “In all honesty, I often forgot what I was supposed to be doing when I was with you. You have a way of getting under a person’s skin,” he added with a little lopsided smile—the one that turned her knees to water.
In a moment of clarity, she realized his brother’s smiles were quite different. Only this man’s smile looked like that and had the power to reach down inside her and cause her middle to tighten. His touch affected her differently, too. Daniel had always—and still—avoided contact with her as much as possible. The few times he had actually touched her, it had felt nothing like this. In all honesty, Devlin didn’t even need to touch her to make her blush and cause her heart to flutter wildly—a look alone was enough to fire her senses.
The sound of her mother saying her name jolted her back to the present. “Mary? Is all well?” Her parents had returned and were standing in the doorway, concern for her written on their faces—and no small amount of bewilderment at the sight of them so close.
“Yes,” she replied, wiping her eyes. “I’m as well as can be, all things considered. Please come in.” Her stomach clenched. How in heaven’s name am I going to explain that the man standing before them is not Reverend Wayward?
It seemed, however, this particular issue had already been taken care of. His Grace, the Duke of Winterbourne, appeared behind her father. “Mr. and Mrs. Tomblin, allow me to introduce my brother, Lord Devlin Wayward—although you already, to some extent, know one another.”
Devlin stepped back to bow respectfully. “Mr. and Mrs. Tomblin, I’m again honored.”
…
Every nerve was stretched to the breaking point as Devlin addressed Mary’s family. “I humbly beseech you to accept my deepest apologies for my many transgressions against your family. I’ve come to make amends and to beg for your daughter’s hand in marriage.” Before her father could release the doubtless impressive head of temper he saw building in the man’s thunderous countenance, he turned to Mary and sank to one knee before her. “If you’ll have me?”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the ring he’d bought for her in London, an impressive emerald set in gold and surrounded by brilliant diamonds. It was a masterpiece worthy of a duchess—crafted by the same jeweler David had commissioned to design his wife’s ring, in fact.
He held it up to her as a supplicant making an offering. “Mary, I’m asking you to be my wife not because I must, but because it’s what I desire more than anything in this world. Before I found you, my life had no meaning, because there was no love in it. You showed me this truth, and then you gifted me with purpose. I swear to you, with God and your family as my witnesses, that I will love you with everything I am until the day I die—and that I will never lie to you again. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
Mary stared at him, her face a perfect study in uncertainty. He could almost hear her internal debate: She was carrying his child, so what other choice did she have? But could he be trusted?
“Now wait just one bloody minute,” her father said, advancing into the room, the white-knuckled fists at his sides belying his calm tone. “His Grace explained your plan, but the choice is Mary’s.” He looked to his daughter. “You can choose to take your chances and wed this man, or marry the vicar, as we know you’ve wanted to do since coming here. According to His Grace, the Reverend will still marry you, if that is what you desire.
In a pig’s eye, he will. Devlin glanced daggers at David, hoping the look conveyed his murderous sentiments over the betrayal.
“Everyone here will believe him the father,” continued Mr. Tomblin to Mary. “The marriage license has already been procured. No one ever needs to know the truth. We will support you whichever path you decide to take.” He punctuated the statement with a hard, unfriendly stare at Devlin.
Reining in his ire, Devlin kept his voice as level as if he were bluffing an opponent at a high-stakes table. “You would see her marry Daniel when the babe she carries is my child? My son or daughter?”
The other man pinned Devlin with cold eyes. “You should have considered the possibility of getting her with child before taking advantage of her affection for the man whose face you share,” he snapped. “At least I know him to be a decent man, despite his egregious mistakes—the greatest of which was trusting you. I know nothing of you save that you are a liar and a thief.” He jabbed a shaky, accusing finger at him. “It was you who stole his clothes and pretended to be him! Had you not done it, none of this would have happened.”
Devlin faced his accuser with all solemnity. “Yes. But that changes not the fact that I love Mary and that this child is mine, not my brother’s. I am its father, and I want that responsibility.”
Mr. Tomblin shifted, every muscle tense, as if he wanted nothing more than to pound his fists into Devlin’s face. “As well you should. But I will not force my daughter to marry the man who wounded her. Not when she has an acceptable alternative. The choice is Mary’s.”
Helpless, Devlin turned to Mary and again held out the ring. Never in all his life had he felt more nervous. “I know we’ve had a terrible start, but—”
“I need time to think,” she interrupted, taking a shuddering breath. Her gaze seemed fixed on a point somewhere beyond his left shoulder. “About all of this.”
“What is there to consider, but that the father of your child is in love with you and wishes to marry you?” he whispered, panic setting in. “Mary, I cannot let you marry Daniel—he does not love you!”
“Perhaps not,” she conceded. “But he is willing, and I would never have to worry that he might hurt me.” Her voice broke.
“You’re right,” he said quietly, feeling each and every one of her words cut into him, flaying him open and leaving him raw. “And I want so much to erase my errors, but I cannot. All I can do is attempt to repair the damage I’ve done and do better from now on.”
“I’m not entirely certain I’m willing to take such a risk,” she said in a choked voice.
Despair crawled into his heart to coil there like a serpent ready to strike. I’m losing her. Again. “Am I to simply give up on you and leave? Let my child be raised by my brother?” He shook his head, fighting to retain what little hold he yet had on his composure. “I cannot. I simply cannot.”
Now her eyes finally met his, their gaze piercing him like twin blades as she rested a hand on her middle. “If you truly have any love in your heart, you’ll agree to do what is best for me and this child, even if it means agreeing to leave and never return, and to never again contact us. Harper’s Grove is a fine place to raise a babe. He or she will be loved by everyone, including your brother. I know what sort of husband and father he’ll make. But you? What guarantee do I have of your sincerity?” She glanced at David. “His Grace seemed unsurprised by your conduct when he was informed of it. I can only imagine he had good reason for such a reaction.”
Oh God. His reputation clung to him like an evil shadow. “My life in London is over. I cut ties and sold it all to come here, to be with you. I know Harper’s Grove is dearer to you than any other place in the world, which is why I bought Rosewood House—I purchased it almost a month ago. From there, I had intended to court you properly—as I suggested on the night we parted.” Reaching into his other pocket, he withdrew the marriage license and unfolded it so she could see their names written upon it. “See? I came prepared—even before I knew about the babe. I came back for love of you.”
Tears welled in her eyes, but there was still fear in them.
Everything in him wanted to see that fear vanish. But that would take time. And time, it seemed, was not on his side. Folding the paper under his arm, he took up her hand and pressed the ring into
her palm. “Look at it, Mary,” he urged, hardly able to speak past the knot in his throat. “You’ll see that I—”
“I’m sorry.” Her eyes closed, and tears slid down her face. “I’m sorry, but I cannot give you an immediate answer. I need time to think!” Dropping the ring, she turned and dashed from the room.
He made to go after her, but her father’s firm grip on his arm stopped him.
“Leave her be. It’s her decision to make.”
Devlin heard the fading clatter of her footfalls as she ran down the hall. He turned to her father. “I love her, and I love the child she carries—my child. You cannot think that I would actually allow her to marry Daniel—or anyone else, for that matter.”
The other man’s face darkened again. “His Grace has already given his blessing, and he will support—”
“I’ve already spoken with His Grace,” Devlin interrupted, doing his best to hold his temper in check and not look at David. “It was he who told me to come here and throw myself upon Mary’s mercy—and yours. But do not imagine he holds any sort of leverage capable of restraining me.” Now he looked to David, and saw his brother was gratifyingly red-faced. “Ask him, if you don’t believe me.”
“Oh, I’m well aware you’re the black sheep of your family,” replied Tomblin with a sneer. “I know all about your life in London and your ill-gotten riches. You may have more gold than Croesus, but gold won’t buy my daughter’s heart—or my trust. Daniel, for all that he looks like you, is a very different sort of man—the sort to sacrifice himself to cover his brother’s sins. She loved him before you came. She could love him again. In time, I believe he would return her affection. Would you rob her of that happiness?”
Devlin’s heart clenched painfully as the words again formed unwanted images in his mind. “I’d rather be the one to make her happy, myself.” Bending, he picked up the ring she’d cast down. Had she looked inside it, she’d have seen both their names engraved. “I’ll be at the vicarage.” Damned if he were going back to Winterbourne tonight. He didn’t want to do anything else he might come to regret—like putting his fist through David’s face. “Send for me and my brother when she’s ready to talk.”