“I apologize for being obtuse, but do tell.”
“He wanted her dead, Devlin. And he did everything in his power to see it accomplished. With Mr. Evans dead, Lord Bellewyck had access to a virtual fortune. So, he abandoned his half-sister at the abbey whilst he lived in comfort at a new residence in Bath. He never sent funds to see to her welfare. Neither did he take measures to see her educated or groomed to take her rightful place in the world. Although her true parentage could not be made public, she was still the legitimate daughter of a Russian nobleman and an heiress in her own right.”
Returning to stand before the desk, Christiana shook her head at him. Her bosom rose and fell swiftly above the rounded neckline of a periwinkle gown with increased agitation. “You want an inquest now? You expect me to believe the rich and powerful Duke of Pemberton cares what happened to that child after all this time? If, as you think, Pemberton is remotely concerned about the Bellewyck ward, why did he not come to Bellewyck Abbey?”
Devlin considered her impassioned words. He now understood her animosity toward the Duke of Pemberton. She believed Pemberton no better than Archibald Bertram, simply because he didn’t come to the abbey in person to see about the missing ward. The irony was the Duke of Pemberton did come—albeit in disguise.
Yet he sensed something more to Christiana’s resentment. A still raw, deep pain which stirred within him such a startling possibility, it seemed cold, deathly fingers suddenly raked down his spine. Like dying embers refusing to be extinguished, the disturbing thought ignited in his brain, blossoming into blazing flames of incredulity.
“When did the child die, Christiana?”
A log slipped in the hearth, distracting him. And in that single breath of time, the image of an innocent child flashed through his mind.
A child abandoned at Bellewyck Abbey amongst loyal servants.
A child with raven tresses and dazzling violet-blue eyes.
A child forced to climb inside the black hell of soot-filled chimneys to earn her keep.
A child who’d learned to speak properly from years spent hiding in the shadows and listening to members of the gentry. A child educated by the vicar’s wife in a manner more befitting the daughter of a gentleman rather than a servant. In time, the child blossomed into a young woman whose loyalty to the villagers and servants of Bellewyck Abbey proved almost noble.
Devlin’s heart seemed to seize up in his chest. His throat closed tight, and burned with painful emotion.
“Dear God, you are the ward.”
She said nothing, but in her glistening eyes he saw reflected a world of truth.
“For pity’s sake, why have you done this to yourself?”
“I did it to survive.”
The sight of her nobly fighting back tears was more than Devlin could bear. He quickly went to her side and gathered her into his arms. Inhaling deeply of the fragrance from her hair, he kissed her temple and damned himself for a blind fool. He attempted to capture her lips in a tender kiss, but she pulled away from him.
“Why the elaborate deception?” He gentled his voice, confused by her aloofness—and whatever else she might be hiding from him. “Pemberton will eventually learn of your existence, especially once he locates the codicil.”
Christiana looked away, and he realized another truth.
“Ah, so you have the codicil.”
She wiped the stains of tears from her face. “My brother summoned me to Bath before he died. He gave me a strongbox filled with all the papers regarding my identity, including the codicil. There is even a letter William Bertram wrote, acknowledging himself as my true father. Those documents were promised upon his lordship’s death in exchange for a bargain I made with him. For a little while, I actually believed his parting gift had been sincere. A deathbed attempt to honor his part in our bargain.”
“Perhaps it was a gift,” Devlin said. “Is it not possible that he wanted to do the right thing? To leave the door open should you wish to reclaim your birthright?”
“You did not know him. He wanted me dead for as long as I can remember. If not for the people here and in the village, he might have succeeded. Even so, he ruthlessly punished them for their devotion to me. He made them do things they never would have if not because of their affection and concern for me.”
“The smuggling?”
Clearly struggling against fresh tears, she nodded. “Lord Bellewyck discovered the servants had been stealing ale from the brewery and selling it under another name. Mind you, they used those funds to care for me. They wanted to give me some semblance of what my life might have been—or could be one day. Mrs. Snow taught me of books, languages, and music. I even had a dance master for a time.” She smiled faintly at the memory. “But having lost my inheritance and desperate for funds—and with nothing more at the estate he could sell to moneylenders in London—his lordship forced the people who loved me to engage in smuggling.”
“How did he force them?”
“He had dealings with many unsavory people. One of them ran a brutal smuggling gang from Calais that operated along the coast several years ago. The abbey’s brewery was used as a means to hide and transfer contraband. Specially made barrels with false bottoms were used to bring this contraband to London or Bath. Had the servants and villagers refused to participate, his lordship threatened to take me away. And the place he chose to place me was such that I would have had no hope whatsoever for a life of decency or virtue.”
Devin swore under his breath.
“You must understand, I only learned of the smuggling five years ago,” she insisted. “I was terrified for all of them. I knew what would happen if they were caught.”
She looked imploringly at him. “Was I to do nothing? To let them continue to risk their lives because of me? I had to get them out of the Calais gang. And there was only one person who could help me. On a chance meeting years earlier, I had befriended Blackjack. He trusted me, and I knew I could trust him. I needed someone powerful on my side, Devlin. Not only did Blackjack help our people get out of the Calais gang, the Ravens are now the only smuggling operation in this area of Kent.”
She stared at the papers strewn across his desk, and the discarded quill that, he now realized, had dispelled a few blots of ink across one of the open ledgers. Her eyes narrowed slightly upon the rows of numbers she’d tallied in the book. “Unfortunately, his lordship had grown quite accustomed to the income smuggling afforded him. He threatened to see everyone hanged, accusing them not only of theft from the brewery, but of stealing the very items he took himself from the estate to sell in London.”
Her eyes lifted to his, bleak and weary. “My friends were getting old. Their health had suffered terribly. They gave all they could and more because of me. It had to end. And so, I took their place smuggling by joining the Ravens.”
“You have been a Raven for five years now?”
“Yes, and I have hated every moment. But I did it to fulfill my promise to his lordship. The only thing I asked in return was for him to leave the servants alone, and give me all the proof of my identity upon his death.”
“Which he did,” Devlin confirmed.
She looked at him with an expression that conveyed all the years of hurt and perhaps broken promises Lord Bellewyck had made over the years.
“Do you not understand?” Her voice sounded hurt, fraught with emotion. “When Higginbotham came to the estate asking questions and looking for the ward, I knew his lordship still wanted to make us pay and suffer. The truth about stealing and smuggling would be revealed, and meant imprisonment or death to those I love. And he also knew how much I did not want my life controlled by yet another nobleman.”
“Because all noblemen are like Lord Bellewyck?” When she made no response, Devlin rubbed his jaw. “Considering everything he put you through, your feelings are understandable. But I do not think his lordship was trying to make you or anyone else here suffer when he gave you that strongbox. Had he wanted to do so, he could have
told Higginbotham outright that you were the ward, and the servants were thieves.”
“Ah, but where is the revenge in that?” she scoffed. “No, he knew my greatest fears was to see the people I love suffer, and to be taken away from them. That was his intent by this cat-and-mouse game.”
Devlin folded his arms across his chest, his lips pursed together thoughtfully. “I can see how it seems a cat-and-mouse game, but somehow I doubt you or your friends are the mouse.”
“I knew his lordship, Devlin. You did not. Even on his deathbed he admitted not needing or wanting forgiveness—even from God. I saw in his heart and in his eyes as he lay dying, the only person Lord Bellewyck ever cared about was himself.”
He studied her a long moment in silence. After everything Christiana and the servants had been through, her opinions about the ruthless earl and his intentions seemed warranted. In truth, he didn’t know Lord Bellewyck. And from what little he’d learned about the wretched bastard, he certainly wasn’t going to argue with her.
“So, Lord Bellewyck never had a ward, eh? Quite the clever play on words, my sweet.”
“I thought so,” she said with a faint smile. “After all, you kept talking about my brother, not his father. And I did tell you there was no child.”
Unable to find any humor about the situation, Devlin stared at the woman he loved. “My God, do you comprehend the life you might have had? Well, if nothing else, you can end this charade and take your rightful place in the world.”
“My rightful place? If the Duke of Pemberton learns I exist at all, he shall take charge over my life—my very future.”
“And you hold that against him?”
“Devlin, the moment he meets me, the moment he learns about the things I have done, he will want to rid himself of both my presence and any obligation. Oh, there may be some kindly pretense about finding me a suitable husband. But the truth is Pemberton will not want me underfoot. I would be a scandal, an embarrassment. I have nothing to offer any man of good family. It would likely cost Pemberton a small fortune just to marry me off.”
“You forget I know the Duke of Pemberton. He would never force you into a marriage you do not want. His own sisters married for love. Besides which, as isolated as your life has been here, no one need ever know about the past. With very little effort, you can learn how to behave as a lady befitting your true station in life. You already know a great deal. I have no doubt you could make a stunning transformation.”
“And thus begin a whole new deception? No, I am too far removed from that world.”
“Nothing you have been forced to do changes your birthright, Christiana.”
“I would rather die in servitude with people who love me than go to London and be made to feel a fool amongst snobbish people who will never accept me. Can you not imagine what Pemberton and his set would do if I showed up now? The man is looking for a child, not a troublesome, uncivilized hoyden who rides astride and associates with smugglers.”
“For God’s sake, the Duke of Pemberton is not Lord Bellewyck.” Devlin raked his hand through his hair, frustrated beyond reason with her stubborn attitude. “What about your parents, Christiana? Do you honestly believe this is the life they wanted for you? Even Count Petrovsky cared about your future happiness.”
“I have no memory of Count Petrovsky or my parents. What they wanted is of little consequence now.”
“What of love and marriage? Do you not want children? A husband and family of your own?”
“I did once”—she retrieved her cloak and draped it over her arm—“but I stopped believing in knights in shining armor and living happily ever after a long time ago.”
“Forgive me for being blunt, but there is the distinct possibility you have conceived a child—my child as it so happens.”
Christiana studied him a long moment. “Do you regret what happened between us, Devlin?”
His lips compressed into a firm line. “Do I regret it? I regret not that it happened, but how it happened. The truth is, had I known you were the Bellewyck ward, I would not have bedded you.”
“Yet you had no problem seducing me when you believed me just a servant. Is that it?”
“Do not distort my words, Christiana. Contrary to what you think of my character, I am not in the habit of seducing virgins—be they servants, wards, or ladies of the ton. The point remains that I had an obligation to find the Bellewyck ward, not seduce her.”
“I am so much a fool,” she whispered.
“What did you say?”
“Only that you need have no concern I will cast aspersions upon your honor, Devlin. I will not tell Pemberton you unwittingly seduced the mysterious Bellewyck ward.”
“Why am I not surprised you think nothing of deceiving Pemberton about that as well?” He shook his head. “Tell me, Christiana, what if you have conceived a child? What then would you do?”
“Have no fear, Devlin. I will not see you trapped into marriage with me. I have known from the day you arrived at Bellewyck Abbey that you have higher aspirations for yourself than remaining a mere steward. Heaven forbid you do anything to lose the favor of the Duke of Pemberton.”
Though insulted by her words, they caused Devlin to remember his own deception. Not only had he fallen in love and bedded the missing ward of Bellewyck Abbey, but he’d seduced her whilst pretending to be someone else.
Bloody hell.
“I need a drink,” he mumbled savagely. Oblivious to anything but the blinding truth of his own despicable lack of honor, he opened a desk drawer. Removing the bottle of whisky he’d purchased at The Green Dragon the day they rode to the village together, he poured himself a glass. After downing the drink with one quick swallow, he studied the young woman before him. Pale, aloof, distant, she bore little resemblance to the woman who professed she loved him in the grotto the night before.
“Devlin, I am rather tired. I should like to sleep now.”
He said nothing.
“Please remember, the others were protecting me.” She spoke in a calm, matter-of-fact manner, void of any emotion. “I do not want them punished for the past or blamed for the decisions I have made in my life. Right or wrong, they were mine.”
“Might I point out your decisions have put your life in grave danger. You could have died last night, and for what? Was the plunder worth it, Christiana?” He spoke with intended sarcasm, angry by her serenity as much as with his increasing upset over their situation.
“Do forgive me,”—he shrugged then refilled his glass—“but I fail to understand why you have continued to smuggle. After all, Lord Bellewyck is dead and buried. The threat of exposure no longer exists.”
She stared at him wide-eyed, her lips parted as if she might speak. He waited, and saw the workings of her delicate throat as she swallowed hard. Still, she made no reply.
“You could have stopped smuggling after his death.” He continued, wanting her temper to flare, needing her to help him understand why she wanted no future for herself, or with him.
“And I might never have learned about it, Christiana. So, tell me, what do you find so damnably intriguing about this life of crime? If it is a question of income, there are far more pleasant ways for a beautiful woman like you to earn some extra coin.”
She stepped back, and her already pale face turned ashen. Devlin immediately regretted his words. “Christiana, dearest, I am sorry. Forgive me, please. My head is spinning with all that you have told me. I daresay we are both tired. It would be best if we talk more about this situation in the morning”
With a barely detectable nod, she crossed the room. Pausing at the door, she looked back at him, a look of earnest entreaty in her eyes. “Devlin, do not tell Pemberton I am the missing ward. Let him think me dead. What harm can it do now? Please, will you keep my secret?”
Devlin’s gut clenched.
God help me, she truly thinks Pemberton is no better than that monstrous half-brother of hers. The irony is—without realizing it—she’d just
told the Duke of Pemberton everything.
Emotion burned like a fire poker embedded in his damn chest.
“The Duke of Pemberton will not learn who you are from me, Christiana.”
Tears shimmered in her eyes, and she offered him a tremulous smile. Then, without another word, she walked out of the library and into the darkness beyond.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“He that will win his dame
must do, as love does when
he draws his bow;
With one hand thrust the lady from,
and with the other pull her home.”
~ Samuel Butler
(1612-1680)
Hudibras
Unable to sleep, Devlin sat before the fireplace in his bedchamber. Each twisting flame and flicker of firelight prompted memories, questions, and guilt. His head felt as if it might explode from everything he’d learned about Christiana over the past twenty-four hours. Adding to his surly disposition were all the things he’d said and done since beginning this blasted masquerade.
How could I have been so blind?
He’d been looking for a child. Ignoring the fact Lord Bellewyck’s Will had been dated ten years ago—or that children grew up. How many times had he seen Christiana’s frustration whenever he’d asked about a missing child? Not once had he considered the ward might be an adult.
What a pompous fool he’d been since coming to the estate.
“Bloody hell, have I always been such a judgmental clodpoll?”
Loath as he was to admit it, there had been another reason why he never suspected the beguiling Christiana might be the ward. Quite simply, in typical rakehell fashion, other thoughts had occupied his mind. Truth be told, even with his suspicions about her, from the morning he saw her standing at the foot of the staircase, he’d thought of little else but bedding her.
Not only did he think about it, he’d acted upon it.
If only he had concentrated on learning the secrets of Bellewyck Abbey and not permitted himself to be distracted by an unruly passion? He might have behaved more like a man of honor. Instead, he’d taken every opportunity to touch her, to kiss her, to seduce her.
THE SENSE OF HONOR Page 21