The Devil and the Heiress

by Harper St. George

  He stared at her, noting—much to his annoyance—how prettily her anger flushed her cheeks. Holding his hands up in a signal for peace, he said, “Fine. It is done.”

  Calm again, she said, “Good. Let us leave for King’s Cross. I already secured tickets for us to Edinburgh, and the train leaves in an hour.”

  Chapter 19

  He also knew that he had come too far to care about a future without her.

  V. Lennox, An American and the London Season

  THE NEXT DAY

  It had taken days to get the mule team over from York, but they had finally come around midday. The next several hours had been spent with beasts and men working to drag the mangled carriage from the ravine. After speaking with the foreman as the men finished, Christian could only stare at the extent of the carnage. The ceiling had been bashed in on one side, likely from one of the tree’s branches. He couldn’t tell which one because the day after the accident a crew of woodsmen had cut it back off the road. The windows were all broken, and one of the doors missing, as was one of the wheels. Part of the interior was twisted in on itself. Violet had been confined within that violence. Her tender, delicate body had been batted around like a child’s toy at the whims of gravity and physics. It hurt his heart to imagine it.

  “I never realized it was so terrible.” Her voice was filled with awe as she came up beside him, tucking herself into his side.

  Despite the fact that he was perspiring from assisting the crew all afternoon, he put his arm around her, thankful that she was alive and well for him to hold. She didn’t seem to mind as she burrowed into him. “I will never forgive myself for allowing that to happen to you.” He pressed his lips to her forehead, but he could not look away from the spectacle.

  Placing her hand on his cheek, she forced him to look down at her. “Stop that nonsense. You could no more control the rain and the state of the road than you can me. Despite what you’d have yourself believe.” The sunshine in her smile seeped into him, warming him as it had for days. She wore a simple cotton dress borrowed from a girl in the village for the trip to the accident site. It was white with bits of lace at the cuffs and neckline, making her seem young, innocent, and full of life. And he had nearly robbed her of that life.

  Turning to pull her fully into his arms, he pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, heedless of the men who walked around them. “You might have—”

  Surprising him, she leaned up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his chin. “But I didn’t. Enough of that. Let’s go home.” Taking him in hand, she started walking toward the Mitchells’ house nearly a mile away.

  The bruises at the side of her face had begun to fade from blue to green. She had taken to wearing a strip of blue fabric around her head, tied up like a kerchief to cover her stitches. “I feel I’m being abducted by a pirate,” he teased.

  The men had begun dispersing, having done all they could for the day. A few would stay behind to take apart what could be salvaged for spare parts and scrap metal. Unfortunately, a report had to be made with the local authorities. Christian had given the name Rochester but had been met with looks that bordered on suspicion. It was likely only a matter of time before someone found out about their jaunt north, especially if they were searching for her as thoroughly as Christian would search for her if she were his.

  She laughed. “You are, only you come along so willingly like a good lad, you make it too easy for me.”

  He joined in her laughter as they walked, him leaning heavily on his borrowed wooden cane. At the physician’s insistence, she still wore a sling to support her right arm, so she lightly touched his forearm with her left hand, her fingers stroking over the bare skin revealed by his rolled-up cuffs. The afternoon’s work had forced him to abandon all pretense of being a gentleman, but she didn’t seem to mind.

  “Your limp seems more pronounced since the accident. Are you certain you haven’t injured yourself?” she asked.

  It was the mad scramble to rescue her and the mile sprint to get her help that had done it, but he would never tell her that. Dr. Mitchell had said he had likely pulled a ligament and wrapped it up for him. “Merely overextended it. It will heal with time.”

  “You should have stayed in bed resting these past days,” she said.

  “I couldn’t.”

  “Why not?” She looked up at him with her brow creased.

  “Because temptation lay there.” He grinned.

  She colored prettily. He had yet to touch her again after taking her virginity two nights past. Last night he had merely held her, both thankful and bemoaning the fact that there were no more rubber sheaths. Their absence was the only thing that saved him from her lure. He still hadn’t forgiven himself for not holding stronger against her charms. She was a woman, entitled to her own needs and wants. She had proven that point, but he was merely a man, and he would not be able to give her up if he sampled much more of her. Even now it would be like giving up his right arm to see her go. Yet, not having her would serve as his penance for daring to take her at all.

  Squeezing his arm, she said in a low voice, “It need not be only temptation. You know I am yours.”

  He didn’t know what to say to that. He would not bind her to him unfairly any more than he already had, but the longer they stayed together, the more he was tempted beyond reason.

  “Christian!”

  He looked up to see a familiar form on the road ahead. Jacob smiled easily and raised his hand as he walked toward them. “Jacob?”

  “Your brother?” she asked.

  He smiled in genuine joy. “Yes, I sent word to him after the accident.” Jacob looked every bit the gentleman in a coat, hat, and gloves as they hurried to meet him.

  “I come bearing gifts. A carriage and clothing for you and the miss. The physician’s wife told me I would find you here, but I had no idea you had become a laborer,” Jacob teased, and pulled him into a quick embrace, slapping his shoulder. When they parted, Jacob’s gaze took in the scrapes and bruising on them both.

  “Indeed, much has changed since I last saw you, brother,” said Christian. The words were true in many ways, and Jacob’s dark brown eyes widened in understanding. “I had no idea you would come yourself.”

  “I wanted to see for myself that you were still alive.” Jacob smiled and took Violet’s hand. “Miss Crenshaw, I presume?” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

  “Mr. Thorne.” She smiled. “I am so very pleased to meet you. It’s wonderful to meet someone from Christian’s family.”

  Jacob kept her hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm as he joined them on the walk back to the village. “He’s told you about me, then?” His eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he gave Christian a knowing look.

  “Only the disreputable bits,” Christian replied, falling into line beside them.

  “Ah, then allow me to take the rest of the evening to correct your likely misconception,” Jacob said to Violet. “He’s the disreputable one. I am the one forced to keep him in line.”

  “Oh dear, have I chosen the wrong brother?” she asked in mock fright.

  Jacob glanced over his shoulder at that word. Chosen. Christian looked away, that knowing glance stirring the guilt already threatening to burn him alive and making him feel like a bastard. She had every right to believe their fucking had meant more than that, because it had felt like more than that. Christ, it had meant more than that to him. Being with her had stolen a piece of his soul that he’d never get back from her. He’d yet to figure out a way to let her know that while leaving her.

  “Now that you’re here, Mr. Thorne, perhaps you can shed some light on the mystery of Christian. He tells me he was terrible to you when you first met.”

  Jacob threw back his head and laughed. “Now that I am happy to share.”

  They walked back to the village in amicable conversation, with Jacob
answering Violet’s questions with charm. The evening was mild, so Mrs. Mitchell set up a table beneath the branches of the line of oak trees that bordered their property. After Christian had a quick wash off, the five of them enjoyed their supper there. Along with carriage and clothing, Jacob had also brought wine, which flowed freely, turning the evening into a celebration of sorts.

  When it was time for Jacob to leave for York and the train station, Christian left Violet to the care of the Mitchells and rode along with his brother. They had not been in the carriage five minutes, before Jacob said, “That girl is in love with you. I hope you realize that.” His voice was steady in warning.

  Christian’s guilt, never far from his thoughts, fanned to life. “She’s infatuated, yes, but infatuation is not love.”

  “I have known infatuation before, brother, and that is not it. She worships you with her eyes—”

  “A sure sign of infatuation,” Christian interrupted him.

  “She knows your faults and still holds you in high esteem.”

  “She has a gentle nature.”

  Jacob scoffed. “She worries about your injuries.”

  “She is a kind person.” His voice took on a note of frustration, and he knew it was only his guilt, not a reaction to Jacob’s assertion.

  “Why do you refuse to see what is in front of you?”

  “Because it’s not real. Love is not real. Infatuation is real, but we all know that fades.”

  “All right, then. Perhaps I should put it this way. You are in love with her.”

  Christian shook his head, staring out at the rising twilight. Christ, it was true. He could not lie to his brother, but neither could he acknowledge it. To put words to the ache in his chest would be to open himself up to further anguish. He knew that he had never felt this way about anyone in his life. He would give his next breath to her if she needed it. He had suspected the emotion several nights in on their trip. He had known it with certainty the night he thought her dying. The night he had promised to let her go if she could but live. He had manipulated her, and almost killed her; he didn’t know how they could overcome that.

  “It doesn’t matter how I feel,” he finally said. “Her happiness comes first.”

  Jacob was silent for a moment across the carriage from him as Christian’s words settled between them. “What does that mean?”

  “It means that I am not good for her. I lied to her, manipulated her. She deserves a man with honor.”

  “You don’t intend to go through with your plans for marriage, then?”

  Christian shook his head. “No. We’ll leave in a few days, and I’ll take her to where she had planned to go, and then I’ll leave her alone.”

  “And you expect her to agree to that?”

  “Of course. We’ll correspond a bit, and then the time between letters will become longer, and eventually she’ll find someone else to occupy her time and her thoughts.”

  “Do you really believe her so faithless as all that?” Jacob sounded offended for her.

  “It is not that she’s faithless; it is that she’s infatuated. The emotion will eventually run its course.” It had happened before. Despite his intention to only seek out women who did not value exclusivity, it had occasionally happened that the women he bedded wanted more than he could offer them. He had become an expert in removing himself from their unwanted attentions while leaving them feeling as if they were the ones who had grown bored. He also couldn’t forget the annoying presence of Lord Lucifer in her manuscript. He was likely insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but he was there. Someone else who could swoop in and occupy her thoughts. The very idea of it grated.

  “You know you love her, Christian.”

  Christian was silent, watching the moon rise to the tops of the trees.

  After a moment, Jacob asked, “How is love not real if you yourself feel it for her?”

  Another question he could not answer. “Perhaps I misspoke. I meant to say that it is not possible for anyone to love me.” No one ever had. Not really.

  “Is that how you’re assuaging your guilt?”

  Christian glared at his brother as the barb hit exactly where it had been planned.

  Jacob glared back, not allowing him to look away. “You know what you’re planning to do will hurt her. You hope that if you convince yourself there is no love between you then you can leave her.”

  “I am trying to do what is best for her, what is right.” He spoke between gritted teeth.

  “When you leave her, it will destroy her. How is that right?” Jacob asked, quite reasonably.

  Christian didn’t know anymore. Before, it had all seemed very sensible and honorable. He would help her go back to her life as she had intended it, and he would continue on a little broken for it. But Jacob was correct. That was not right, not if it hurt her. Christian really didn’t know how to be honorable, did he?

  “Do you truly believe that it is love she feels?” he whispered.

  “From what I have observed, yes, but you could always talk to her. She seems to know her own mind.”

  Emotion coursed through him. He didn’t quite know what it was, only that it left him bordering on elated and devastated all at the same time. Could she love him? Could she truly be happy with him, and his existence on the fringes of acceptability, and not come to resent him? His own mother had chosen to flee rather than face such a fate.

  * * *

  • • •

  The house was quiet when he returned. He took his shoes off just inside the front door and made his way to the kitchen and then the stairs. The light was turned down, and she was sleeping. Her chestnut hair was unbound, a mass of waves around her shoulders, and her lips were parted with her breaths. The scarf had been discarded so the stitches shone, a dark, angry slash against her pale skin. He watched her while he undressed down to his drawers, placing his coat, shirt, and trousers over the back of the single chair. He couldn’t look away as he slid into bed beside her. This remarkable woman could be his wife of her own choosing. He felt much the same humble awe as he had the first time he’d had this thought in the carriage back in London.

  His arm went around her, conscious of her bruising. She slept without the sling, so her right hand covered his easily where it rested on her belly.

  “Welcome home,” she whispered, eyes still closed.

  Home. He understood at that moment he had never had a proper home. The club held a suite of rooms where he rested between work. The house in Belgravia was a cold temple of his father’s treasures that Christian had summarily dismantled. Amberley Park had been a prison. Blythkirk had come closest, giving him refuge between terms at school, but it had been a lonely place. Even Thea’s welcome had only made him feel that her family had made room for him—and he had been glad of it—but it had never been his home.

  With that awareness came insight. Never in his life had he had anyone or anything to care for. Nothing and no one had ever belonged to him. The title meant he had inherited things, buildings, emptiness that he had immediately sold away or neglected. He hadn’t cared enough—and indeed hadn’t the finances at any rate—to do more than keep them functional. They had all belonged to his father first, which meant they were tainted and not Christian’s at all.

  Violet was his, or she could be. He had bathed her, cared for her, comforted her as he never had anyone before. She had come to rely on him, and he liked that. No, that was too tame a word. He cherished it, savored having her eyes look to him to fulfill her needs. But could she belong to him as a wife belonged to her husband? Would it be fair to her?

  He placed a kiss to her shoulder, the small indentation where her neck met her chest, her soft lips. She smiled at him when he pulled back. This was his home. Her. Violet. The realization was enough to steal his breath.

  “I’m glad I was able to meet your brother. He’s very charmin
g.”

  “Not too charming, I hope,” he teased her to cover the emotion coursing through him.

  “He cares for you deeply. It’s plain to see.”

  “I don’t want to talk about my brother,” he said, slipping his arm beneath her to gently guide her to lie on top of him, her legs falling to either side of him. Her weight felt good and right. He couldn’t stop touching her, letting his palms roam down her back to her hips and up again, careful of her bruising.

  “What do you wish to talk about?” she asked, stretching like a cat beneath his touch.

  “Something he said to me in the carriage. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.”

  Her face sobered a bit in her curiosity. “What did he say?”

  His heartbeat sped until he could hear it in his head. He believed Jacob wasn’t wrong. Whether her affection was mere infatuation was yet to be determined, but she believed herself in love. It was a truth he had been running from. Marrying her to suit his own needs was one thing, but marrying her knowing that his heart was in the balance was another. What would happen when her infatuation waned? But what would happen if it didn’t? If it did prove to be love? His soul trembled at the simple imagining of it.

  The words had to be forced out of him. “What do you envision for the future? For us?”

  Her smile was back, along with a slight blush. “I hoped we might . . .” She looked away, equally reluctant to put voice to her wants.

  “I love you, Violet.” The phrase was foreign to him, so hearing the words and feeling them on his tongue felt odd, as if someone else was saying them. His heartbeat belonged to another, and his breath stilled. He had never felt this vulnerable before, knowing that her reaction could completely crush him.

  But her gaze met his, and her smile lost its hesitance, a fine sheen coming into her eyes. “I love you, too, Christian. It feels as though I always have.”