THE SENSE OF HONOR

by Ashley Kath-Bilsky

  “No more.” He glanced inside the mug then set it aside on a nearby table.

  Before she realized what was happening, Christiana found herself being escorted toward the doors. The combination of potent ale and medicinal herbs had started to warm her insides with a curious feeling of dreamlike relaxation. Within the quickly gathering mist of her mind, she realized the draught must be taking effect. She tried to fight the pull of sleep.

  I must tell him the truth—now—before ‘tis too late.

  Once Devlin read all of her diary, his anger would know no bounds.

  “Devlin, you must understand I had to protect them.” Her head felt wobbly, an unwanted weight upon her shoulders. She struggled to see where her diary had been tucked away. “I-I could not bear for the White Monks to suffer because of me. I took no pleasure smugglin’.”

  “I know.”

  “The earl would have put them in prison.”

  “At the very least,” he replied.

  “Then you understand why Pemberton must never know. It will be difficult to make rest...too...tution for the loss of rev…nue, but I have a sub, sub—”

  Goose feathers! Why can I not make my mouth work properly? Determined to speak correctly and coherently, she tried again. “I have a substantial amount tucked away.”

  “Do you now?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I think you’ll be im…um…im—”

  “Impressed?” he queried.

  “Yessss”, she said with a heavy nod.

  “Oh, my dearest Christiana, I am exceedingly impressed.”

  She stumbled, whereupon he placed a strong arm about her waist. Stopping at the base of the staircase, he studied her with narrowed eyes. “How do you feel, sweetheart?”

  “Strange,” she whispered. “I-I feel . . .”

  Unable to speak another word—or fight the potency of the sleeping draught—she closed her eyes, swaying helplessly until Devlin lifted her into his arms.

  “Curious,” he said. “That ale had the same effect on me. Then again, I suspect you already know that.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Courtship to Marriage, is but

  as the Music in the Play-House

  ‘til the Curtain’s drawn.”

  ~ William Congreve

  (1670-1729)

  The Old Bachelor

  A woman shouldn’t do certain things upon waking. Screaming is one of them. Nevertheless, Christiana pulled open the bed curtains and screamed.

  “Good heavens, you frightened me.” She held a hand against her breast.

  “That makes two of us,” Devlin murmured.

  “I am not accustomed to having men in my bedchamber, Devlin.”

  “I am inordinately pleased to hear it.”

  Seated in a chair beside the bed, a rather tedious book about crop rotation in his hands, Devlin studied her coloring. Concerned the drugged ale had been too potent for her, he’d been tormented with guilt. And spent most of the night worrying about her welfare, as well as what possible ill effects might result. In the wee hours of the morning, once assured she rested peacefully, his guilt slowly turned to anger.

  She’d done this to him. Rather than meet him face-to-face, she’d opted to simply drug him. How many others had she practiced this witchery upon? A deadly dangerous habit, especially since she couldn’t know how each person might react to the potion.

  Resting his hands upon the spine of the tome, he crooked a brow. “Feeling rested?”

  She nodded, but he noted wariness in her expression.

  “Imagine my surprise when, in the midst of our conversation last night, you fell asleep. So deeply, in fact, I feared for your health. I had no choice but to carry you upstairs to your room.”

  Christiana looked down at her bedclothes, a slight frown marring her feminine brow.

  As he’d intended, what happened next took her by complete surprise. He all but leapt into bed beside her. She tried to inch away but he adroitly maneuvered himself very nearly on top of her.

  “We really must do something about your bedclothes.” With practiced skill, one hand deftly toyed with the collar and bodice of another prim nightdress. “This simply will not do.”

  He caressed her breasts through the fabric, squeezing the soft fullness within his palms. Circling responsive nipples in a languid manner with a fingertip, he sighed. “Bedclothes are such a nuisance. Personally, I prefer you wear nothing at all.”

  Her breathing hitched then turned shallow. His hand moved slowly down the front of her gown, ever closer to her now clenched thighs. All the time, he kept his gaze upon her face, watching every nuance of arousal and desire in her expression. Then, through the barrier of her nightdress, he suddenly and quite possessively cupped her woman’s mound, prompting her to inhale sharply.

  The fabric of her nightgown, combined with the agile movement of his fingers, created a slick, erotic friction. In no time at all, she trembled and quaked with uncontrollable desire. Yet as she neared the peak of pleasure, he took his hand away.

  Panting and confused, she swallowed hard and looked to him in a rather petulant manner. Gently brushing a strand of unbound hair away from her face, he whispered against her slightly parted lips. “Do you want to know why I stopped?”

  “Yes,” she whispered on a panting sigh.

  “Sex can be wonderful and very addictive, but it must never be forced. It is not just a matter of consent. Both lovers must want to make love. Yesterday, I was appalled to learn I had not only forced myself upon you in such an uncivilized manner, but could not even remember the act. Then there is your reputation to consider.”

  “Devlin—”

  He silenced her with a soft kiss. Pulling back, he grinned. “But since you have no desire to claim your identity as the Bellewyck ward, I see no reason to deny ourselves carnal enjoyment of one another. You obviously do not mind making yourself available to me whenever I want. So, I think now would be a good time to discuss the arrangements.”

  “Arrangements?”

  He trailed a fingertip down the front of her nightdress again. “A man has certain needs and I am without a mistress at present.”

  “You want me to be your mistress?” She eyed him suspiciously. “Have you been drinking?”

  With all the melodrama of an overzealous actor, he pressed one of her hands against his chest. “I am drunk with desire, my pet. You are the air that I breathe, the ground beneath my feet. And when two people enjoy such wild, impulsive passion for one another, it would be nothing less than a sin to deny it.”

  “You have been drinking.”

  He feigned a wounded expression. “Is this not what you want from me, Christiana? To be so enticed by your charms that I have no will of my own? To be so undone and without honor that I would drink myself into oblivion then slake my lust with you—whether you are awake or asleep—willing or not?”

  He saw the exact moment when she realized his act. Her lips thinned and she tried to push him off the bed. “I think it despicable you make sport of me in this cruel manner.”

  Devlin came to his feet, all pretense of seduction gone. Hands resting low on his hips, he tried to control his spiraling anger. “You dare speak of despicable? You drugged me.”

  She paled. “What are you talking about?”

  “Is it your intention to now claim ignorance? Very well then, I shall remind you. The ale you drank last night was the same ale served me the day I arrived at the abbey. I now understand why you were so surprised I woke before dawn after being so heavily drugged.”

  She averted her gaze, paying particular attention to smoothing the bed covers about her body. “I am quite certain I do not know what you mean.”

  “And I am quite certain you do. You also lied to me yesterday morning. Or, do you not recall the devious trick you played? We both know nothing happened in that bed, but you wanted me to believe otherwise.”

  “I am not to blame for what you believed. I merely said good morning.”


  “You did more than say good morning, my sweet. I can say, with absolute certainty, that I have never had the need or inclination to tear a woman’s clothing from her body—not even when deep in my cups. That was your doing, Christiana. You wore my shirt in an effort to infer, in no uncertain terms, that I had stripped you bare and bedded you. You also attempted to undress me as well, though why you did not complete the task remains a mystery.”

  Noting her significant blush, Devlin shook his head. “I hope you have a reasonable explanation for this eccentric, if not scandalous, behavior. Just what in God’s name did you think to gain by employing such a manipulative trick? Do you have any concept of the insult you paid me as a gentleman?”

  “And what of the insult you paid me?”

  “When did I insult you?”

  “You said I looked like a child.”

  Devlin blinked. “That is the reason for your calculated maneuverings? I said you looked like a child?”

  “I gather that does not seem a cruel insult to you, but ‘tis to me.”

  Unable to speak, Devlin stared.

  “I did not mean to upset you,” she continued. “I only wanted to prove a point. How was I to know you would become half-crazed at the thought of bedding me again? And just what is this mysterious vow you made? Are you so concerned with Pemberton’s good opinion that you now think to act the man’s puppet?”

  He pinned her with his most reproving ducal glare, biting back what he’d like to say.

  At least it had some effect. She sighed and nibbled nervously on her bottom lip.

  “I am sorry, Devlin.” Her voice trembled slightly. “You have every right to be angry. ‘Twas cruel of me. A deceitful, manipulative trick.”

  With a derisive snort, he crossed to the window.

  Christiana buried her face in her hands. Could her life possibly get any worse? Through a break in her fingers, she peeked at the man she loved. He stared out the window—arms folded across his chest—a familiar pose when truly upset.

  She got out of bed and, with an efficiency honed from years of managing a household, proceeded to make her bed. Once finished, she turned to find he hadn’t moved.

  “I did try to tell you nothing happened yesterday morning, but you refused to listen. And I only drugged you that first night because I had to meet Blackjack. I promise you, it will not happen again.”

  He turned to face her. “Oh, I quite agree.”

  The deadly quiet of his voice and the piercing glint of his gray eyes gave her a moment’s unease. Still, against her better judgment, she said, “Just please do not treat me like a child, especially now. In truth, I am no man’s child. I have been taking care of myself for a long time. I do not need you, or the noble Duke of Pemberton, telling me what to do. I belong to myself, Devlin. And I alone will make decisions concerning my life…and my future.”

  “Indeed.” With a sardonic smile, he crooked a brow. “Then perhaps we should address how skillfully you have steered your life into some rather dangerous waters. Not the least of which is treason. Or, has it escaped your memory that you could be found guilty of conspiring with the enemy through acts of smuggling? You do recall we are at war?”

  “Why are you being so cruel? I had no choice.”

  “The truth can be quite cruel, Christiana. Do you honestly believe that if captured there would be leniency given you because you smuggled to protect your friends? Godolphin said the village was under suspicion by authorities not six months ago. Had your coded letters been identified by that besotted lieutenant, no power on earth could have saved you from hanging.”

  Icy chills raked down her spine. Shaking, feeling as if she might swoon, she sat down on the edge of the bed. He knew everything. All the dark secrets she’d tried to hide for so long—even from her beloved friends.

  It mattered not that she wrote those letters with invisible ink to protect Blackjack from being captured. The authorities had indeed come to Bellewyck searching for him and other members of the Ravens. No one knew better than she how closely they had escaped the hangman’s noose. Or, how much longer could they survive.

  Considering his devotion to the duke, asking Devlin to remain silent about her identity had been difficult enough. She doubted he would remain silent about treason when doing so would make him an accomplice?

  And now he has my diary…evidence that will condemn us all.

  “Do you intend to turn us over to the authorities?” she asked.

  He stalked over to the bed, eyes narrowed and lips compressed into a hard, unrelenting line. Grabbing her hard by the shoulders, he pulled her once more to her feet and glared down at her. “You question whether or not I will see you hang?”

  “Then tell me what you intend to do.”

  “I intend to protect you!” he all but growled. “I intend to see you freed from the blasted Ravens, and from any further association with smuggling.”

  “And then what? What about Pemberton?”

  He released her and raked both hands through his thick hair, making several locks stand on end in a somewhat wild display. “For God’s sake, Christiana, I have repeatedly told you the Duke of Pemberton will not learn who you are from me.”

  “But you are so loyal to the duke. Why will you not tell him?”

  “Does it matter? Is it not enough to accept I care about you?”

  “Enough to stay at Bellewyck Abbey?”

  He laughed, a caustic, foreboding sound. “Hear me well, Miss Petrovsky. Until you are willing to come forward and admit the truth about who you are, we have no future. For I will not take you as my mistress, and I most certainly will not wed a woman who thinks it perfectly acceptable to live a lie.”

  “Is that an ultimatum?”

  “Yes, it is. Do you not see? You have surrounded yourself with deception and intrigue to such an extent it has become second-nature to you. Are you not brave enough to be the person you were born to be?”

  “You think me a coward?”

  “Far from it. In truth, I consider you the bravest woman I know. But your destiny is not to be a housekeeper. Why do you suppose Reliance struggled to protect you? Why do you think Mrs. Snow educated you so extensively? Servants and villagers risked their lives and sacrificed so much to see you were given opportunities they felt you deserved. I daresay not so you could reward their efforts by becoming a servant. Or, end your days swinging from a rope.”

  “I only wanted to keep them safe.” Her voice trembled with emotion.

  Devlin gentled his voice. “I know why you did it. What I want to know now is why you continue to do it. Lord Bellewyck is dead. The threat to the servants no longer exists. Why then are you still smuggling? It cannot simply be a desire to do charitable deeds as the White Monk, not when you admitted to me in the grotto you hate smuggling. You must tell me the truth now, Christiana. Why are you still smuggling?”

  “Because they won’t let me go!” Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I have tried, Devlin. The night you arrived, I told Blackjack I wanted to quit the Ravens. And not for the first time either. He said ‘twas not possible.”

  “What Blackjack says does not signify. Rest assured, the first thing I intend to do is get you away from that bloody gang.”

  Something powerful in the way he spoke combined with the steely determination in his storm cloud eyes compelled her to believe Blackjack would have no choice but do exactly as Devlin demanded. At the same time, she couldn’t help wonder what other plans this man had for her.

  She sniffled and wiped her face dry. “Very well, suppose you do win my release from the Ravens. What next do you have planned for me?”

  A slow grin came to his lips. “You have plans of your own, is that it?”

  “I daresay my plans depend on what you do about certain things you have now learned, namely what the White Monks did for me and how.”

  Devlin shrugged. “I have no intention of bringing the false set of books to light. What is done is done. Under the circumstances, the fact the servants s
tole from the brewery to care for you proved rather commendable.”

  She realized her mouth was open yet could do nothing but stare at the man.

  He truly is my knight in shining armor.

  A slightly mischievous quality came to his expression. “So, my dear Christiana, if you are free of smuggling and no longer hiding as a servant, what do you want from life?”

  “I-I only want the people I love to be safe and happy, to be cared for always.”

  Devlin smiled again, his gaze filled with understanding and compassion. “You need not worry on their behalf, my darling. Pemberton will be benevolent toward your friends, especially after learning all they have done to protect you from such an unscrupulous guardian.”

  “You truly think the Duke of Pemberton will be good to them?”

  “I have no doubt whatsoever,” he said with a rakish wink. His gaze quickly sobered and the desire in his eyes caused her heart to skip a beat. “So tell me, Christiana, what do you want for yourself?”

  Her throat constricted. “You,” she whispered. “All I want is you, Devlin.”

  “There is still much you do not know about me.” His voice sounded somewhat hoarse as his gaze drifted down to settle upon her lips.

  “I only know I want you. I will always want you.”

  With a deep groan, he pulled her into his arms and captured her lips with an almost wild display of uncontrollable passion. She moaned, melting into his embrace, twining her fingers through his dark hair. He no longer needed to coax and tutor her in the varying degrees of kissing or the intensely erotic copulation of their tongues. Neither was she reticent to return his kiss with equal ardor. The result turned explosive, making it difficult to stand, to think, or even breathe.

  Then, with an almost wild roar of frustration, Devlin pulled back, his voice gruff with passion. “Do not think for a moment I do not want you. But there are things I must do to ensure we have a future together. When all is settled, you will understand. Have no doubt, when that time comes, I will take you to my bed and never let you leave. But until then—make no mistake—you are mine.”