by Laura Parker
“Stubborn,” he muttered under his breath. And so he had come here this weekend to find out for himself if there was a future for them.
Perhaps he would never regain his memory but the loss no longer plagued him. He had no need to drive himself half-mad with pain from his frustrated efforts to remember. With that realization the headaches had subsided. The most important piece of his past was standing in the field a little distance away. He had only to claim it.
When he saw her making a hurried if dignified retreat across the yard he spurred his horse forward. “Lady Abbott!”
As the rider approached, Japonica lifted a hand to shade her eyes from the glare. What she saw startled her. Muscular and deeply tanned, he looked much as he had the first time she saw him. Four months growth had lengthened his hair into soft locks that curled about his temples and over his ears. All that was missing from his countenance were the cheetah stripes of the Hind Div.
When he reined in beside her, she nodded slightly in greeting. “Lord Sinclair.”
“Lady Abbott.” He could have wished for more warmth in her tone. But that would come, he told himself. For the moment he was content to gaze down at her and enjoy the view. She wore a high-waisted gown in a becoming shade of spring green and her hair seemed to have caught fire from the sun.
Disconcerted by his gaze, she asked, “Did you enjoy the game?”
“Not as much as my view at present,” he answered.
Japonica frowned. It wasn’t like Devlyn to make casual flattery. “Don’t let me keep you. There will be hot water and towels aplenty to refresh you at the house.” But she saw she was not so easily to escape his company, for the Mirza came galloping up to Devlyn’s side with a broad grin nestled in his black beard.
“You are to be commended, Lord Sinclair, for your great proficiency on the field.” The Mirza did not seem in the slightest winded by his efforts. “Many a player would not be able to keep his seat in the midst of so mighty a fray.”
“I have inspiration to guide me,” Devlyn said with a quick glance down at Japonica. “It was suggested to me that I learn to ride like the horsemen of the Steppes who guide their ponies with their legs and feet so that they might enjoy the full freedom of their limbs.”
The Mirza smiled down at Japonica in understanding. “ ‘Around, the world my course I’ve set, so many beauties have I met, Who stole my heart—but never yet, Was any one like you.’ ”
Japonica smiled and curtsied. “Your Excellency is too kind.”
“I wonder, lady, that all of England does not lay its riches at your feet.” He glanced at Devlyn. “A man could do no better.”
“I have thought the same,” Devlyn said quietly.
“Ah, but thoughts are not actions and therefore are of as little consequence as the effort required to think them,” Japonica said glibly.
The Mirza laughed heartily. “Yet in this meadow many lovely ladies are gathered. The curved daggers of their eyebrows could draw blood from the hearts of the bravest men! I am completely captivated watching them ride and gallop. So much so that I must struggle to suppress my desires.” He smiled archly again at Japonica. “Do you ride, Lady Abbott?”
She was in no mood to accept this outrageous invitation to flirtation but Devlyn had been so cold that even the admiration of a man she did not desire warmed her pride. She smiled back at the ambassador and addressed him in Persian. “I believe, your Excellency, that you put that question to me once before.”
“Indeed, as Allah is my witness. But then as now you do not offer the reply I would like above all to hear.”
“I do ride, sometimes, Excellency,” she answered with a lowering of her lashes. “When the circumstance and the mount are right.”
Again the Mirza threw back his head in laughter. “I stand in respectful awe of your discretion. And so I must console myself farther afield with poorer company.” He offered her a slight bow from his saddle before turning his mount and riding on.
When the Mirza was out of earshot she looked up to find Devlyn’s lazy golden gaze upon her. But she was not fooled. He was annoyed by the Mirza’s flirtation and it pleased her no end that he should be.
“Will you not join the Mirza in his hunt for better company?” she challenged.
“I think I have already found that which I seek.” Then he dipped his head to her. “Excuse me, lady.”
Watching him ride away, Japonica just scotched the impulse to hurl a stone at his head. How could he leave her with no more than a few polite if enigmatic words?
The following morning the wedding ceremony took place. The registry signed by the couple, the guests repaired to the great hall for a wedding breakfast of tongue and roasted squab, rashers of bacon and ham, several dishes of eggs, broiled kidneys and oysters, a variety of breads, rolls, buns, and wedding cake. Several kinds of wines and ales and chocolate, tea and coffee completed the plentiful fare, all supplied by Fortnum and Mason and accompanied by no less than Richard Fortnum himself, who had been invited to the celebration as Japonica’s guest.
Once the guests were served, Japonica slipped away for respite. She wanted solitude for her misery. During the ceremony she could not keep her gaze from straying to Devlyn, who looked remarkably handsome in his morning coat. Not once had he returned the flattery by looking at her. Instead he seemed to be in a world of his own, smiling absently at some particularly poignant thought, she supposed. It was all very vexing.
It was a beautiful wedding. Grander than any she would have wanted for herself, but lovely. And that was the problem. She had been a bride and was a widow and still she had yet to be wooed.
Most of the wedding party would be leaving Croesus Hall after breakfast and she had every reason to believe Devlyn would be among them. So then, she would not stand on the drive waving a lace handkerchief gaily as he departed.
“Bismallah!”
Self-pity was new to her but it seemed the perfect day on which to indulge in it. She slipped into the music room and closed the door.
She had not meant to be found sniveling like a schoolgirl. However, Lady Simms had a deplorable habit of nosing out trouble and so found her sprawled upon the piano keys where she had subsided after an unsuccessful attempt to play away her bad temper.
“Whatever are you doing?” Lady Simms inquired when she discovered her hostess in tears. “ ’Tis much too late for regrets. The bride’s been feted and is about to be bedded. One supposes a rector is man enough to do the deed. I remember one curate in particular whose wife, the poor pious soul, gave birth to sixteen children. One for every year of marriage, so I’m told. There’s reason enough to weep rivers.”
She glared at Japonica, who was still sniffing. “Do pull yourself together, dear. Ruins the complexion.” She glanced about the room. “I was just taking a tour of the house. Never seen this particular arrangement. Suppose one would call it a gallery cum music room. Which makes it neither. Are you still bawling? What has Devlyn done now?”
“Nothing,” Japonica answered miserably. “Nothing at all.”
“Oh dear. That doesn’t sound like my Dev. Rather expected he’d been pulling you behind doors for a thorough kissing.”
“A kiss! What is a kiss?” Japonica sniffed loudly in complaint. “A woman needs to hear the right words.”
“Dev is no more useless than the best sort of man, I suppose.” Lady Simms moved to study the row of porcelain vases on the shelves that lined one wall. “I’ve never quite understood what it is that frightens them so. The words are not difficult to pronounce, not likely to be mistaken for a vulgarity or insult ‘I—Love—You.’ Any child of two can manage the phrase.”
“He—he won’t say them. They are not in him,” Japonica said then gulped. “I wish I were dead!”
“A lamentably execrable but not uncommon complaint of those with broken hearts. I never subscribe to the ailment myself. I’ve found it much pleasanter to be loved than to love. It alleviates the poss
ibility of the symptoms you suffer.” She peered hard at one particular vase. “That is not a Ming Dynasty vessel but a cheap Dutch copy! I’ve no doubt a great deal of money was wasted in the acquisition. Inexcusable!”
Diverted from her thoughts, Japonica rose and approached her uninvited audience. “Do you mean you’ve never been in love?”
Lady Simms spun about. “I mean, dear child, that you should never listen to me when I am being flippant. I love Leigh to distraction but it would do him no good and me a great deal of harm were he to be in possession of that fact.”
“I doubt that is true or factual in the least.”
The masculine rejoinder took them both by surprise.
“Dev!” Lady Simms cried in delight. “About time, I must say. The young are ever at the effort to appear fashionably late when it is precisely on the dot that a lover is wanted.”
“You will excuse us, Aunt?” Devlyn held open the door.
Lady Simms promptly sat down on the nearest chair. “Not for all the world.”
Devlyn’s gaze moved to Japonica, his expression not very inviting. “Come and walk with me, Lady Abbott.”
It was not a lover-like request but she could not refuse without seeming equally churlish. “Very well.”
They spoke not a word until they were well beyond the sight and sound of the house, in the curve of the ha-ha. The interval gave her a chance to surreptitiously dry her tears, which she planned to blame on the emotion of the wedding should he be so ungallant as to inquire.
Finally, she could not keep from speaking any longer. “You have had the chance to survey the grounds?”
“A cursory one when I rode out this morning.” His voice sounded distantly polite. “All appears in order. I shall look into matters more thoroughly tomorrow. The Shrewsbury land agent is coming to see me on Monday.”
Monday was three days away. So then he was not leaving directly. “Are you pleased with our efforts at the house?”
“Of course.” This time there was a distinct humor in his tone. “Since you are moved in, Croesus Hall has become a veritable provincial idyll. The place fairly reeks of domesticity. All that is wanting is a parcel of children scampering about.”
Japonica ducked her head so that he could not look into her face. “Your lordship will be thinking of setting up his own nursery soon, I suppose?”
“Something very much the like.” Devlyn slanted a glance at her profile. How serious she looked. And she had plainly been crying. “I will needs be married, first.”
“I see.” Oh, she did see! He had found someone.
A London lady! But of course! How could she have been so foolish as to expect anything else? The polite but distant inquiries. The thoughtful but in no way personal gifts he had sent could be shared equally among the family. A London lady. A beauty, of course. Accomplished, stylish, untouched by scandal. A true aristocrat!
She swallowed hard. “I hope you have had fair sailing upon the London Season.”
“Tolerably.”
Was that amusement or derision in his tone? Oh, but his smugness was not to be tolerated! He had doubtless found happiness. But if he expected her to wish him well, he could whistle for it!
“You have seen that Jamie is well?”
“Indeed. He grows so quickly I am in awe. And it is on his account that I would speak with you.”
Japonica paused and turned fully to him, her expression guarded. “What do you want?”
Devlyn reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a legal document. “I have brought you papers certifying James Michael Abbott as the rightful heir to the title of viscount of Shrewsbury. It requires only your signature before it can be presented to the House of Lords.”
Surprise held her silent only a moment, then she backed up a step and shook her head. “It will not serve. Jamie is not entitled to inherit.”
“Is he not?” Devlyn said mildly. “You would accept me as the rightful heir?”
“I do.”
“Then who is my rightful heir if not my own son?”
Japonica bit her lip before saying softly, “Jamie is your bastard child.”
“Never.” He stared hard at her. “You were wed nine months when he was born. He is as legitimate as any person the world round may confidently claim to be.”
Japonica shook her head reluctantly. “You are twisting circumstance to your own ends.”
“I but report the truth. By omitting the exact details of the lineage we do no harm and yet protect our son’s good name.”
“Yet it will persuade people to think of you as less than you are, the rightful viscount Shrewsbury.”
He smiled. “Do I need the title to impress you?”
“You know you do not!”
“By abdicating I lose nothing important to me.” His smile deepened. “If you wed again, you will not lose the distinction of dowager viscountess Shrewsbury.”
Japonica looked away from him across the lush green parkland. “I shall remember that, should the occasion arise.”
“I hope you will.” He angled his body around to bring his face into her view. “You may have need of the reminder sooner than you think.”
She searched his face for any hint of doubt. “You would do this for my son? Give away your title?”
“In a heartbeat.” He gazed at her with a smile of such tenderness that she thought she would weep. “He is my child, too. I will not have the world call him bastard.”
Japonica blushed. “I see.”
Do you? He wanted to ask, but thought he would wait a little longer for she had yet to genuinely smile at him. “There is another answer. I could adopt him. As my heir he would inherit after me.”
An odd shaky feeling invaded Japonica, a feeling so much more than gratitude as to make her wonder what it would be like to freely love this man. She knew how he felt about Jamie, yet he had not said a word of his feelings for her. He had not proposed marriage, but suggested an alliance. At least she believed he had. It must not be pity that would bring them together, or convenience, even for the sake of the child they both adored. If it were not for love, a word they had never spoken directly to one another, she would turn away from him again, even though it broke her own heart to do so.
She turned and began walking. “I have wondered since you showed it to me, why Lord Abbott married me when, if his letter is to be believed, he meant me to be yours.”
“I have thought on that, too. He cannot have known about the child.”
“No. And I would not have married him had I known.”
He slipped his hand under her elbow to steer her off the path toward a folly in the distance. “You are too honest for your own good, Japonica. I believe he would have offered, just the same.”
“Why?” The touch of his fingers was a memory that had occupied too many of her dreaming hours, yet she did not want to draw away from it.
Devlyn shrugged. “I will never have those years of my memory back but there comes to me from time to time things that feel like memory for all that they have no experiences attached. I believe Lord Abbott knew that I had disgraced you. Perhaps I wrote him of the fact. It seems the sort of bravado of which the Hind Div was capable.”
“You believe Lord Abbot married me to protect my reputation?”
She tried again to pause to look at him but he kept her moving with a firm hand. “I don’t know or care. But answer me this. Why did you marry him?”
For the first time Japonica faced that question honestly and the answer was so simple she did not have to think about it. “Because the Hind Div was dead.”
He started but kept their pace. “How did you come to hear that?”
“I was told by The Company Resident the day I received Lord Abbott’s wedding proposal. At the time the two did not seem to be connected.” She looked up at him. “Now I see I was mistaken.”
Devlyn smiled. “Then we have our answer. Or as complete a one as we are ever to
know.” He squeezed her elbow as he helped her over the threshold of the stonework edifice and into its shadowed depths.
Japonica turned away from him. “I will not wed you.”
“I have not asked you, have I?”
She glanced back at him but could not be sure why he smiled. “You will. You will think yourself to do the honorable thing. And so I must beg you not to do so.”
“Very well.” He smiled at the drooping curve of disappointment on her mouth. “I am nothing if not honorable, as you know.”
Japonica suddenly smiled. “You are a thorough-going rogue! I believe those were Lady Simms exact words.”
“She should know. So then, you cannot expect a rogue to honor a lady’s wishes.” He took her hand in his. “Or would you prefer me on bent knee?”
She snatched her hand away. “Don’t. Don’t tease me. I cannot take the teasing. Not from you.”
He ran his hand lightly over her hair, smiling absently as he inhaled the fragrance of her, something he had missed doing for months. “Then let us not banter. Let us be in deadly earnest.”
He took her by the chin and turned her face up to meet his. “I love you.”
Her breath caught in her throat. The words she had so longed to hear were now pronounced. She threw her arms about his neck. “Say it again!”
He grinned. “Will you have me wear the words out?”
“Bismallah! You promised to do a little courting and you’ve done none of it.”
“Agreed. So then let us begin.” He bent and laid his lips against hers and said very carefully, so that the full vibrations of every syllable were felt against hers, “I … love … you.”