For all intents and purposes the viscount had vanished off the edge of the earth. For a week straight Sarah and Lily attended every ball, play, and tea party within London in the hopes of catching sight of him, but it was all to no avail. The man was gone and no one – not even his poor butler, whom Lily had cornered and interrogated – knew where he was.
On the brink of giving up, Sarah agreed to join Lily for late afternoon tea at Twinings. She went alone, for both her parents were at a museum showing and all three of her sisters were in the midst of their afternoon singing lessons. It was not considered acceptable for a young woman of her station to be out walking alone, but the trek to Twinings was short and she knew once she reached the cozy little tea shop faithful Aunt Ingrid would be there to play the part of chaperon. Dressed to the nines in a thick wool cloak, two scarves, and a fur trimmed hat Sarah set out, navigating the bustling foot traffic as best she could given the precarious footing.
It was now mid-way through December and winter had not been kind to the city. Snow, all but nonexistent last year, had been falling nearly nonstop since early November. As a result the streets were often packed to the gills for where there should have been two traveling lanes there was now only one. Tempers were high, angry words quick to fly. Even the upper class, usually so impervious to the woes of the lower, were beginning to feel the strain of the harsh, unforgiving season.
Keeping her head down and her eyes on the narrow path in front of her, Sarah hurried to Twinings as fast as she dared, loathe to stay out in the frigid air any longer than absolutely necessary.
As she walked her thoughts went to Devlin, as they often did. She wondered where he was and what he was doing. She thought of their last encounter, and visibly winced when she remembered how furious he had become with her. Since then Lily had questioned a few well known gossips and now Sarah at least knew how Devlin could become so enraged at the idea of her dancing with Lord Gibson over him, what she did not know was why.
While she had been covertly watching him from afar for years, he had not known who she was until a few short weeks ago. How, then, could she provoke so much emotion in him? Having always been quite astute when it came to other’s feelings, Sarah knew there had not just been anger in Devlin’s eyes when he turned from her. He had displayed regret as well, and a sliver of hope she recognized instantly for it was the same she nurtured within herself.
Did he feel the same pull towards her that she did towards him?
It was not something Sarah could put into words, however many times she tried. Was it destiny? Fate? True love? She did not know. She did not even know if she believed in any of those things. All she knew was what she felt.
She had always thought that if Devlin ever realized she existed everything would come together, rather like a fairy tale in its last chapter right before the happily ever after. Now, however, she was more confused than ever before and there did not seem to be a solution in sight, no matter how many different schemes Lily came up with.
Of course, Lily could scheme from sunrise to sundown and it would all come to no avail unless they found where Devlin was hiding. Even though it was a foolish notion, Sarah could not help but feel he was avoiding her. Silly, really. She was nothing to him; another nameless face in a long line of nameless women.
Releasing a long, pent up sigh at that rather depressing thought, Sarah tightened her scarf around her neck to ward off the slicing chill of the wind and turned left. Without warning the heel of her boot skidded across a patch of hidden ice. A muffled shriek burst past her lips as she flew up in the air, arms wind milling wildly. With nothing to cushion her fall, Sarah fell hard on her back. Her head slammed into the frozen earth, there was a bright flash of light… and then nothing but darkness.
Devlin watched Sarah fall as if from a great distance. Helpless to save her, he tried to nonetheless, sprinting between two carriages and nearly upending a third. Falling to his knees beside her, his hands flew across her body, gently probing for any broken bones.
People gave them a wide berth as they passed and no one offered to help. A fainting woman was not such an uncommon occurrence, and by the familiar way Devlin was crouched over Sarah no one had any reason to doubt he was not her husband or a close family relative.
He spoke her name once, twice, three times. Her eyelashes fluttered against her pale cheeks, delicate as golden butterfly wings, and Devlin eased her head onto his lap, supporting her neck while she slowly surfaced from unconsciousness.
“What… What happened?” she breathed, blinking in confusion.
“You slipped on the ice and fell. Do not move,” he warned when she gasped and struggled to sit up. “I do not believe you have broken anything, but you have quite a knot on the back of your head. My townhouse is a short walk from here. I can carry you there.”
Sarah’s forehead creased. “D-Devlin?” she asked in bewilderment.
“Yes. I was across the street when I saw you fall.” A half smile curved his mouth as he tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “And that is Lord Heathcliff to you, Lady Dawson. Let us not forget what a stickler you are for propriety.”
“Devlin,” she repeated, as if he had not spoken a word. And then, in a wondrous voice: “I must be dreaming.”
“Do I often appear in your dreams, then?” Grinning, Devlin scooped her up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a sack of feather down. Her head lolled against his chest and she sighed, her eyes drifting closed. Alarmed, he gave her a little shake and her eyes popped open at once.
“Stop that,” she complained, glaring up at him. “My head hurts.”
“I know darling,” he said soothingly. “I know it does. But you cannot fall asleep, do you understand?”
“Cannot fall asleep,” she sighed.
“Exactly so.”
Devlin could not remember ever walking so fast in his life. Navigating the late afternoon foot traffic with ease, he all but sprinted to his brownstone at the end of the street. Reynolds met him at the door, opening it with his usual timeless precision and watching with carefully concealed interest as Devlin swept inside, still cradling Sarah in his arms as if she were a child.
“I will need a basin of hot water, towels, and a nightgown brought up to my chambers at once,” Devlin demanded. “Lady Dawson struck her head on the ice and I fear she may be concussed.”
“Should I call a physician?”
He shook his head. “No, I just need what I asked for, and be quick about it Reynolds!” Without waiting for the butler’s reply he bounded up the stairs and headed directly for the double oak doors at the end of the wide hallway. Kicking them open with one well placed strike of his boot, he carried Sarah across the master bedroom and laid her ever so gently in the middle of his bed. She moaned as he eased her head back onto one of the pillows, and mumbled something under her breath while he began to unlace her shoes.
“What was that?” Gently easing one shoe off and then the other, Devlin peeled away her stockings as well for they, like the rest of her clothing, had gotten soaked through while she laid on the ground.
“I asked where I was and – Lord Heathcliff!” With something that sounded halfway between a shriek and a squeal, Sarah shot up into a sitting position, her eyes darting wildly around the room before they landed on Devlin. Her mouth dropped open, and as she slowly followed his gaze down to her bare ankles, she shriek/squealed again. “What… How did… I… Oh, oh this is most improper! Lord Heathcliff, what are you doing here?”
Devlin enjoyed seeing Sarah when she was so flustered. He had never met another woman who could come undone quite so easily. It was refreshing after being surrounded day in and day out by calculating shrews who manipulated every twitch of emotion that crossed their faces. Sarah was genuine and innocent and good – all things he went out of his way to assume women were not. All things his past experiences told him they were not, and yet Sarah proved all of his preconceived notions completely false. He had never been so happy to be wrong in all his life.<
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Easing away from the edge of the bed he held up his hands, palms facing towards her, and suppressed a grin when she grasped the edge of the top quilt and brought it up to her chin.
“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 broad 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.”
Regency Christmas (Holiday Collection) Page 5