“You slipped on the ice and cracked your head. I brought you here, to my townhouse,” he explained patiently for the second time.
Sarah’s eyes widened. “But w-why would you do that?”
“Why would I help you?” he said, being deliberately obtuse.
“No.” Her lower lip jutted out in frustration, and it took all of Devlin’s considerable self-control not to take that pouting lip between his teeth and—
“Why would you bring me here? To your home,” she clarified, her brows knitting together over the bridge of her nose.
Crossing the room to where a water pitcher rested next to the washbasin, Devlin poured a glass. “A drink?” he asked, holding it aloft. Pressing her lips tightly together, Sarah shook her head from side to side and immediately winced, reminding them both of the seriousness of her injury. “Wait here,” he said.
“Where would I go?” Sarah cried after him as he left the room in search of the items he had requested. Reynolds met him at the top of the stairs, red faced and out of breath.
“Here,” the butler said, transferring a pile of freshly pressed towels into Devlin’s arms. “The water will be done boiling in a minute. I will have it brought up as soon as it is ready. Is there anything else you desire, Lord Heathcliff?”
Of their own accord Devlin’s eyes flicked to the room he had just left and the woman he had left in it. “Reynolds, have you ever apologized to a woman?”
The butler rubbed his moustache. “Apologized to a woman, my lord?”
“Yes. I do not believe I ever have, and I need to know the best way to go about it.”
“My wife is always most pleased when I bring her a present. She seems to be particularly fond of jewelry.”
Devlin’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You have a wife, Reynolds?”
“For thirty two years and counting,” the butler replied.
“Did I know this?”
“Apparently not, my lord.”
“Hmmm…” Devlin shifted the towels to one arm. “Jewelry, you say?”
Reynolds nodded. “Jewelry.”
“Do I have any jewelry to give?”
The butler shook his head.
Well that was certainly a problem. Devlin knew he had great strides to cover in making up for the way he had treated Sarah. His behavior had been abominable. He could not remember ever losing his composure like that before, not even with Moira.
Sarah did things to him… She made him feel things he had never felt; to want things he had never wanted. He had no idea how such a quiet, unassuming girl could have such an effect on him after only two encounters; he knew only that she did, and he was helpless against the blossoming of new, uncharted feelings he felt deep inside his chest whenever he thought of her.
“Go down to the jeweler on Elms Street. Bring back the most expensive necklace they have. One with emeralds.” Emeralds would bring out the soft flickers of green in her eyes that Devlin doubted she even knew existed. He had never met a woman who was so blissfully unaware of her own natural beauty. “Oh, and Reynolds,” he added as the butler began to walk back down the steps.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Things are going to start changing around here. Next week I want you to bring your wife for dinner. Do you have children?”
For the first time Devlin could remember, the butler looked positively flabbergasted. “I… Well, that is to say, yes… Yes I do.”
“Excellent. How many?”
“How many?”
“How many children, Reynolds.” Devlin rolled his eyes. “Good God man, no wonder you have to buy your wife jewelry. How many children do you have?”
“Three.”
“Three children,” Devlin mused. He would like children. At least three, he decided on the spot. Three bright eyed, laughing girls with their mother’s blond hair and their father’s love for horses. “Bring them as well. I want to meet them.”
From down the hall came the sound of something crashing and a muffled shout. Devlin spun around. “A necklace, Reynolds!” he called over his shoulder as he raced back to the master bedroom. “With emeralds. Lots of emeralds!”
The butler lingered on the stairs for a moment, watching Devlin until he vanished from sight. Stroking his mustache, Reynolds grinned broadly. It was high time Devlin found love, even though he went about it in the most unconventional of ways.
Chapter Eight
“I want to go home.” Holding the water pitcher above her head in what she hoped was a threatening gesture, Sarah glared daggers at Devlin. “This is most inappropriate. You… You have kidnapped me!”
Devlin took a step closer. Sarah raised the pitcher higher. Her arms trembled from the weight, and he instantly retreated. “Put that down. You are going to hurt yourself.”
With a gasp, Sarah released her grip as her elbows gave way. The pitcher sailed through the air towards Devlin, but he ignored it to grab Sarah as she crumpled to the floor. Following suit with the plate she had thrown to get someone’s attention, the pitcher shattered against the wall.
“I am sorry,” Sarah moaned as Devlin helped her to her feet and eased her back into the bed. She let him arrange her limbs and tuck her under the covers as if she were a doll, too dizzy to complain. “I will replace the pitcher and the plate.” Closing her eyes, she turned her face into the pillow. She did not want Devlin to see her like this: weak and cranky as a child.
Sarah had not realized her head injury was so severe until she attempted to get out of the bed and was barely able to make it halfway across the room. Her entire skull was pounding from the inside out, the pain of it enough to cause her eyes to tear and her stomach to turn.
She could not remember anything between slipping on the ice and Devlin carrying her up the stairs. How he had been the one to find her was a complete mystery, as was why he had insisted on bringing her back to his home. It was ironic, really.
For two weeks she had spent every waking moment wondering where he was, and then suddenly – as if by magic – he had appeared when she needed him most. Except (quite selfishly) she wished their third meeting had not been under such unflattering circumstances. Soaked through the skin with an enormous lump on her head was hardly the way to make a good impression, nor, she admitted silently, was throwing a plate across the room. Perhaps that had been a bit extreme, but Sarah had panicked when she realized the implications that could arise from Devlin bringing her back to his house.
Surely someone had seen them, and surely that someone would tell another someone until it spread like wildfire through the Ton and her reputation was completely, irrevocably ruined.
Of course that had been the original plan: to be caught in a situation that would force Devlin’s hand in marriage. But now… Now she did not want to force him into anything. If he loved her she wanted him to love her, and if he did not… well, then he did not. At least either choice would be of his own volition and not something falsely created by nefarious means, which made her current situation quite problematic.
She was too weak to leave on her own, but if she called for her parents to come get her there would surely be questions asked and answers demanded. That left only one person in the entire world whom Sarah trusted enough to rescue her from her current predicament; unfortunately that was also the only person in the entire world who would be happy she was in it.
No, for once she could not rely on Lily’s guidance. She would have to sort it through on her own, and that knowledge alone was enough to send another dizzying wave of pain sweeping over her, so fierce it caused her teeth to clench and her hands to ball into small fists on top of the quilt. She heard Devlin murmur something, and then a warm cloth was pressed gently on her forehead.
“This should help with the headache,” he said quietly.
Opening her eyes, Sarah turned to face him, focusing on his worried blue eyes as he leaned over her, his hands braced on either side of her body. “Why are you being so… so nice to me?”
Devlin’s br
oad shoulders lifted and fell in a quick shrug. “Because I was rude to you before. On both occasions,” he admitted with a wayward smile that did something sinfully delightful to her insides.
Holding the warm cloth in place – it did feel quite good – Sarah leaned up on one elbow. As obliging as a well-trained nurse Devlin automatically fluffed a pillow to put behind her shoulders and she sagged against it gratefully. “You were rather rude,” she said shyly, lowering her gaze to the flower pattern sewed into the quilt.
“Which is why I shall do my best to make up for it now. Is there anything else you need? A glass of water? Something to eat?”
Embarrassingly cognizant of her damp dress and tangled hair – her cloak and hat must have been lost somewhere along the way – Sarah nibbled on her bottom lip as she thought of the best way to phrase her next question.
“I can have a maid draw up a bath for you,” Devlin said, his smile turning rather impish as Sarah blushed. “And find a change of clothing as well. Arrangements have already been made. You can stay here for as long as you wish.”
Her eyes flew to his in startled alarm. “Oh, no, I could not impo—”
“You are not fit to leave this room, let alone walk home. Not to mention, we are in the midst of a snow storm.”
“A… A snowstorm?”
There was an undeniable hint of smug satisfaction in Devlin’s tone as he crossed the room and drew back the curtains.
Sitting up a little straighter and squinting, Sarah could just make out a flood of white falling with alarming intensity from the sky. Everything in sight was covered; the roads not even clearly visible. Traveling home, even if she did not have a pounding headache, would be nigh on impossible until the weather cleared.
Her shoulders drooping in defeat, Sarah sagged back against the pillows. “I suppose a hot bath would be very nice.”
Leaving the curtains open, Devlin turned to face her and crossed his arms, a faint smile capturing the corners of his mouth. “I will have one readied for you immediately.”
Not trusting the mischievous glint in his eye, Sarah said, “Of course it will be a very private bath.”
“Of course,” he agreed readily.
“And the change of clothing…”
“You will have your choice of nightgowns and robes.” At Sarah’s raised brow, he chuckled. “Very high necked nightgowns and robes fit for a grandmother. Not to worry. You shall be covered head to foot. I can assure you, Lady Dawson, I am not as much of a scoundrel as you seem to think I am.”
Saying nothing, Sarah merely pursed her lips.
“Well, perhaps I am a bit of a scoundrel. But nothing the right woman could not fix.” On that rather enigmatic note, he left the room. Through the closed door Sarah heard him requesting hot water to be drawn and the claw foot tub in the corner of the master bedroom, half concealed by a silkscreen, to be filled.
Telling herself she would only doze until it was ready, Sarah closed her eyes… and fell instantly asleep.
When she woke the room was dark save the flickering light that danced out from a fire someone had started in the hearth. Staring at the flames helped Sarah remember where she was, for her family was not so wealthy they had fireplaces in every room, let alone the master bedroom.
The throbbing in her skull had subsided to a dull ache, and when she gently touched the lump on the back of her head she was relieved to discover the swelling had already begun to subside. That would make going home in the morning all the more easier – as long as the weather cooperated.
Grasping the edge of the blankets, Sarah tossed them aside and swung her legs over the side of the bed. That was when she could not help but notice she was not wearing the dress she had fallen asleep in.
The pale blue nightgown was made of the softest cotton she had ever felt against her bare skin. It was quite beautiful, with delicate ivory lace along the neckline, and very modest as well, just like Devlin had promised – although he had not said anything about getting her changed in her sleep!
A piece of parchment on the nightstand caught her eye. The scrawl was unfamiliar, but she instinctively knew it was Devlin’s handwriting even before she read his signature at the bottom.
If you are reading this, it means you are
awake. Ring the bell, no matter the hour.
If you require assistance. I will be
there at once. Yours fondly,
Devlin
Sarah reread the short note twice, then once more for good measure, seeking some
hidden nuance that would tell her the viscount’s hidden thoughts. If she did not know any better she would say he was attempting to woo her. The signs were certainly there: whisking her away to his private residence, putting her in his very own bedroom, caring for her every whim, speaking to her kindly – no, flirtatiously – at every turn. She strummed her fingers against her chin as she considered the small silver bell he had left beside the note. There was nothing she required, per say. She was a bit hungry, but could easily wait until breakfast. She had no reason in the world to ring the bell. Except…
Except maybe want was reason enough.
She was not some wide eyed, blushing schoolgirl. Well, perhaps she was rather prone to blushing, but she was most definitely not a girl. She was a woman full grown. A woman who had never known the touch of a man. The feel of a man’s mouth sliding across her neck... The rough texture of a man’s hands as he grasped her hips... The husky murmur of a man’s voice as he whispered all of the decadent things he wanted to do to her…
And why shouldn’t she know those things? If she was going to be ruined, she might as well make certain she was ruined thoroughly.
Before she gave herself time to come to her senses, Sarah’s hand shot across the nightstand and she rang the bell.
Chapter Nine
The seconds that passed between the time she rang the bell and Devlin knocked at the door were the longest of Sarah’s life. Uncertain whether she should be in the bed or out, she hovered at the foot of it, her fingers twisting anxiously behind her back while she fought to steady her breathing.
At the sound of a hand rapping softly against the door she jumped like a startled doe and had to clear her throat twice before she managed to croak, “Come in.”
Devlin slipped into the room. The fire cast his profile into shadow, but there was enough light for Sarah to see he had changed clothes as well. His white linen shirt was unbuttoned at the collar and rolled up at the cuffs, as though he had been working before she summoned him. A lock of dark hair curled over one eye, giving him a rakish appearance, and as he stepped towards her he swept it back with an impatient flick of his wrist.
“You are awake.” His gaze swept down her body, studying her as intimately as she had just studied him, and Sarah fought the maidenly urge to cover herself. “How do you feel?”
“I… Much b-better. I feel much better.” Sarah took a step back and bumped into the mattress. Wrapping one hand around the carved mahogany bedpost to steady herself, she managed what she hoped was an entrancing smile and said, “Thank you for helping me. I do not know what would have h-happened if you had not come along.”
Devlin shook his head. “There is no need to thank me. I hope you do not mind, but I had one of the maids change you out of your dress. I did not want you to catch a chill from sleeping in damp clothing. I can even give you my word I was not in the room at the time.”
“Did you want to be?”
“Did I want to be what?”
Feeling as though a thousand butterflies were dancing in her belly, Sarah bit her lip and blurted, “In the room.”
Devlin’s eyes widened ever so slightly and for once he was the one who stuttered. “I… That is to say… Is there anything you need, Lady Dawson?”
It was now or never. Looking Devlin straight in the eye, Sarah drew a deep, steadying breath even as her knees trembled and her heart threatened to beat right out of her chest. “You,” she whispered. “I need you.”
; This time there was no mistaking the Devlin’s shock at Sarah’s forwardness. His entire body stiffened and he took one step towards her before he stopped himself, jaw clenching tight. “Lady Dawson, you do not know what you are saying.”
Now that she had admitted her deepest, darkest desire Sarah felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Of their own accord her feet began to move, carrying her purposefully across the room. As he watched her approach Devlin’s arms remained rigid at his sides, the only sign he was having difficulty controlling himself in the clenching and unclenching of his fists.
Tipping her chin up Sarah studied the fathomless depths of his stormy blue eyes and what she saw caused her lips to curve and an unprecedented sense of confidence to settle serenely on her shoulders.
“Call me Sarah.” She raised her hands and pressed them flat against Devlin’s chest. He inhaled sharply at her touch, and her smile grew. Through the thin fabric of his shirt she could feel his heartbeat. It thundered under her palms, revealing Devlin was not quite as composed as he would have her believe. “And I know exactly what I am saying.”
“Sarah…” He spoke her name on a ragged breath, his expression pained as he gazed down at her. “Are you certain? I do not want you to regret—”
She rose up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his, effectively silencing him. For a fleeting moment he did not move, and she hesitated, suddenly unsure if she had been mistaken in her assumption that he desired her as much as she did him, but then on a muffled groan his arms closed around her slender body and he pulled her into his embrace.
For Sarah, whose only experience with kissing came from what she had heard whispered at tea parties and balls, the sensation of having Devlin’s lips contoured to hers was blissfully new and exciting. She had no idea what to do, but he guided her patiently, running his tongue along her bottom lip, nibbling at the corners of her mouth, and – surprises of all surprises – kissing inside her mouth.
My Winter Rogue: A Regency Holiday Collection Page 13