Let Love Find You

by Johanna Lindsey

  He still wasn’t taking any chances. He tossed her up on his mount and leapt up behind her. But he even forced her to lean down against the stallion’s neck for added cover as he raced them out of the woods. No more shots were fired though. His enemy was either hiding, thinking he’d missed, or long gone, thinking he’d succeeded.

  He didn’t take her to the stable, but to her front door, dismounting before he helped her down. He started to touch her cheek, but she jerked her head back.

  “You can leave now,” she said stiffly.

  “Do you think it’s not killing me, to keep you on the proper path? You deserve better’n me. No one has to know what we did. Kendall’s too innocent to figure it out. He probably doesn’t even know what a maidenhead is, so he won’t know it’s missing on your wedding night.”

  She slapped him for that. “I’ll know! But you’re right, I can do better than a bastard who takes what he wants and doesn’t give a damn about the consequences. Sounds like your father, doesn’t it?”

  “Mandy—”

  She’d already entered the house, slamming the door shut behind her, so she didn’t see the effect her words had on Devin.

  Chapter Fifty

  HIS FATHER. SUDDENLY IT all made sense. The man who didn’t want him, didn’t want to even lay eyes on him, wouldn’t want to be confronted with a mistake. He probably hadn’t liked it when Devin moved to London where they might cross paths. That run of bad luck with the animals? That could have been his father trying to ruin him so he’d leave town again. When that didn’t work, he’d arranged that shot at the farm, not a poacher after all but a warning—or he’d already decided the easier way to make sure they never met was to kill him. Good God, even the attack on William could have been meant for him, since Will had been using the same coach that night that Devin used when he needed one in town. And now Devin was asking questions, which could have alerted his father that he was actually looking for him now.

  Was the man panicking? Afraid Devin would show up at his home and his family would know about his youthful indiscretions? Devin couldn’t begin to guess the workings of a mind like that. Hating his father as much as he did, he’d never once thought of killing him. All he’d ever wanted was answers, to know why he’d been denied a father so completely.

  He mounted his horse, but stared at the closed door for a moment more. He was glad Amanda was angry, better than that hurt he’d seen in her eyes, when there wasn’t a bloody thing he could say to take it away. She didn’t understand and he didn’t know how to fix it, short of letting her be stuck with him, which she wouldn’t thank him for. But he couldn’t think of that now. He had to protect her first. Talking to his uncle could no longer wait. He rode straight for London and his answers.

  Arriving at his uncle’s home, he was directed to Donald’s study, which was no longer a study. Furniture removed, easels filled the room now with canvases mostly finished, but some works still in progress. Donald spent his mornings here with the hobby he was surprisingly good at. Though he preferred park scenes, he’d tried his hand at a few portraits, and the one he’d done of Lydia now hung above the mantel in the parlor.

  Donald’s two hounds were lying outside the door, waiting for him to come out. They both sat up at Devin’s approach, probably hoping he’d let them in to be with their master. He didn’t, but it wasn’t easy slipping inside with both of them trying to follow him in.

  “Why do you keep your dogs out?” he asked as he closed the door again.

  Across the room, Donald laughed. “Because I’m tired of picking their hair off of my paintings, especially whichever one I’m working on that isn’t dry yet. I thought you were in Norford for the week?”

  “I came home for some information.” Devin wound his way around the easels to reach Donald. One distracted him though, a portrait of Devin himself. “When did you paint that?”

  Donald came over to stand next to him and gave his work a critical look. “Recently.”

  “Do I really look that unhappy?”

  “No, of course not, you’re just—always preoccupied with the business. And—” Donald paused to chuckle. “I was just never able to sketch you in a more lighthearted mood. The fault was mine. I should have just asked you to pose for me, instead of sneaking about to sketch you when you weren’t aware of it so I could present the painting as a surprise.”

  “It looks finished. Why did you never present it?”

  “For the very reason you just mentioned, you look too serious in it. I was going to try again.”

  “Remind me to sit for you then sometime soon, or maybe not soon. Actually, I have a feeling you won’t be seeing me lighthearted for a while.”

  “Has something happened?”

  “Much more than expected.” Devin briefly explained about the attempts on his life, ending with “This can’t be shrugged off with ‘better left unknown’ anymore. I need to find my father to put a stop to his nefarious madness.”

  “But you’re only guessing it’s him!”

  “Can you honestly think of a more likely culprit?”

  “Anyone other than your actual father, Devin. Truly, he would have to have the darkest heart imaginable—”

  “Who says he doesn’t?”

  “But he paid for your schooling! That’s not something a blackhearted bastard would do.”

  “You said that missive came to you anonymously. You only assumed it was from him. But I have since learned that Wolseley was the one supporting my mother. He loved her all those years in London, and he was a generous man. It’s much more likely that Wolseley paid for my schooling, as a final gift for my mother.” Devin wished he’d asked the man about it when he’d had the chance. “We don’t know a bloody thing about my real father. It’s time we did. I need a name, Uncle. Who was my mother’s solicitor? Her sponsor that first year in London? The name of her maid. Give me something to work with.”

  “We were ten years apart in age, Devin. I never involved myself with her come-out. Our mother arranged it before she died.”

  “You don’t have any name you can give me?”

  “No, I’m sorry. But I kept all of her personal belongings. They are stored in the attic in Lancashire, even that last missive from her. You do still have that figurine she sent with it? There was something else in the note, that wasn’t appropriate to tell you at the time, something about that figurine.”

  “What?”

  Donald rubbed his brow for a moment, then sighed. “Damned memory, I can’t recall the words. But I do remember thinking, ‘Why would she be so concerned about a damned figurine when she was dying?’ ”

  “Why do you say ‘concerned’?”

  “It’s all that missive, written from her deathbed, was about, that porcelain horse. You do still have it?”

  Devin looked down at the floor, remembering the night he’d buried it next to her grave. “Yes, it’s in Lancashire, too. And if I leave now, I can probably get there before midnight.”

  Donald snorted. “You know that’s not possible. I’ll go with you, to make sure you break the trip with some sleep.”

  Devin grinned. “I was joking, but I’m still going to be riding hard. I’ll let you know what I find out as soon as I get back.”

  Devin left immediately. It was a long trip, but the fastest he’d ever traveled the route—and Amanda wouldn’t stay out of his mind. He’d never thought he’d want a woman this much, so much he wanted to spend every day of his life with her. But that was impossible. He recalled his mother’s words to him so long ago: You don’t know what it’s like to love like this. I hope you never find out. But he’d done exactly what his mother had warned him against doing, he’d fallen in love with a woman and it was breaking his heart that he couldn’t have her.

  He wasn’t racing to Lancashire, he was racing away from his thoughts, and exhaustion kept them away. Sleep didn’t want to find him anyway. Between two nights of trying, he maybe got a total of ten hours of sleep. And he was too close to the farm t
o stop a third night, so he did actually arrive around midnight after all. Ironic. Hadn’t he buried that figurine around the same time?

  He still didn’t know what it was supposed to tell him, but he dug it up and took it up to his old room. He set it on the mantel, then got a fire going. He doubted he’d ever live in this house again, yet the servants still kept it at the ready for him, logs beside the fireplace, fresh towels on the washstand, clean bedding, which he was definitely going to appreciate tonight. But first things first.

  He lit the lamps and took one with him up to the attic. Elaine’s things were all in one corner of the huge room, five trunks of clothes, two small chests. He wasn’t about to go through all of that tonight, but he did open the two little chests. One was filled with her jewelry, the other contained her correspondence. Quite a few letters and notes were stuffed in it. That ought to put him to sleep, reading through those, so he took the chest back to his room and dumped it out on his bed, then lay back and started reading.

  Most of the letters were from old childhood friends from Lancashire. Two were from Donald, but he decided not to read those, written at the time of their estrangement. Donald had already told Devin he wasn’t proud of the things he’d said to his sister back then. Countless notes were from Lawrence Wolseley, mostly silly love notes. The man hadn’t lied, he had really loved Devin’s mother. Nothing yet from a man whose name he didn’t recognize. Then he finally found the note written by Elaine that Donald had added to the pile.

  Give the figurine to Devin. It’s very important that he not lose it. He’s too young to understand now, but when he’s older, he will, and will realize how much I loved him. When he’s a man, remind him of the horse.

  That was it? How the devil were cryptic words like that supposed to lead him to his father? He stared hard at the figurine, still covered in dirt. Could a name have been etched into the porcelain or painted on it, too tiny for him to have noticed when he was a child? Had he even examined the horse before he buried it? He couldn’t remember, but doubted it.

  He got up and grabbed a towel to wipe the horse clean. He got all the dirt off it except for what had lodged in a thin seam on the underbelly where the porcelain halves had been joined. The seam on the upper horse had been polished to smoothness, but less care had been taken with the underside, which wouldn’t be in view while the horse stood on display. But no hidden words were written in the fancy trappings painted on the horse.

  He was too tired to figure out Elaine’s cryptic words. Even if he did find a name etched on the figurine, it would probably be the name of the artist who made it. My God, still no answer? Angrily, he started to throw the horse at the fireplace, what he should have done years ago. He wasn’t sure what stopped him this time, but he went downstairs to the kitchen instead to find a knife to dig the dirt out of the seam. He had to examine every single inch of the figurine first, then he’d break it for good.

  Back in his room, he grabbed the horse and sat on his bed with it, next to the lamp. But as soon as he picked at the dirt with the tip of the knife, it was pushed inside the figurine and the blade slid in with it. An open crack and wider than it should have been, as if it were intended that way. So something could be slipped inside?

  Excited now, he inserted the blade as far as it would go and twisted it. It didn’t pry the horse apart, merely broke off a piece of the porcelain. To hell with trying to preserve the thing. He wrapped the horse in the towel, went to the fireplace, and hit it against the granite mantel, then opened the towel and picked out a folded piece of paper from the broken pieces.

  My dearest Devin,

  I hope you have found this when you are old enough to understand. I couldn’t tell you the truth when you were a child, though I always intended to when you were grown. I’m sorry you must read it instead of hearing it from me, but fate decreed it so. I make no excuse for myself. I loved your father, even after I found out he wasn’t worth loving. The heart is so foolish that way. But Lord Garth was charming, handsome, and he professed to love me, too. I was young enough to believe him without question. It was a lie. He told all his women that, it’s how he seduced them. Don’t ever be that way, Devin. Don’t ever say those words unless you mean them.

  I thought he would marry me, even though he stopped pursuing me after he got what he wanted from me. I didn’t know he was already married, that he even had children. He didn’t confess that until I found him and told him about you. I was devastated. His true nature was revealed. He was no more than a heartless rake, not a father for you to be proud of. He didn’t even apologize for what he’d done to me. He thought giving me a house to live in was ample payment for ruining me. He even suggested that I leave you at an orphanage, the easy solution. This is the man who sired you. I kept you, of course. You weren’t even born yet, but I already loved you.

  You may ask why I am telling you this now. I should also confess that I continued to love Garth Culley despite his callous treatment of me, though I was miserable because of it. Yet there was that foolish hope that someday he would forsake his family and come to us. His curiosity about you after you were born gave me hope. He didn’t actually want to meet you himself, but he sent his friend Lord Wolseley to check on you. That was the only nice thing he ever did for me. Lord Wolseley was a man whose love I could depend on. But this letter isn’t about Lawrence.

  Eventually I came to feel nothing for your father other than the contempt he deserved. That is all I feel for him today. You are a man now. You have a right to know who he is and form your own opinion. He may even have found you before now. He may have changed and now regrets the man he used to be. Anything is possible, I suppose, and if this is so, then I’m sorry for telling you this.

  Lastly, please know that it broke my heart to send you away with my brother, but it was getting harder and harder to lie to you. You were such a smart boy. You were figuring things out for yourself much too soon. And I was afraid I would give in and tell you the truth before you were old enough to really understand. My worst fear was that you would want to meet Garth and would be impressed by him, might even want to be like him. He could be so charismatic when it suited his purpose. I couldn’t bear the thought of that happening. But I wouldn’t have left you in the country indefinitely. I missed you too much. And now, I’ve waited too long to bring you home to me.

  The knot in Devin’s chest formed before he read the last words. His anger at his mother, which had been so painful to live with all these years, slowly faded away as the tears ran down his cheeks. She hadn’t abandoned him. She’d tried to protect him from a man she despised, a man who now wanted him dead. It was ironic, though, that for his sake she had hoped Garth Culley might have changed for the better, when instead, he’d changed for the worse. But at least now Devin knew who his enemy was.

  Chapter Fifty-One

  “I NEED A WORD with you, Raphael, if you have a moment,” Devin said.

  Amanda’s brother stepped outside and closed the front door behind him. Understandably, Devin’s having sent the butler to find him, Rafe looked a bit confused, particularly since Devin was holding the reins of his mount.

  “You don’t want to come inside, I take it?”

  “No, I don’t want to see Amanda yet.”

  “And why is that? She’s been acting deuced strange these last couple days since you disappeared.” Then Raphael grinned. “Pining for you?”

  Considering Raphael’s complete turnabout where Devin was concerned—he’d even implied that Devin should be courting his sister!—Devin was about to deal a double blow to him. The easiest way to do that was to say, “I’m on my way to London to confront my father.”

  “Thought your father was dead.”

  “My real father.”

  Raphael’s eyes widened, then abruptly narrowed. “I see. Well, bloody hell. You couldn’t have mentioned this the other day when I was shoving you in Mandy’s direction?”

  “I did tell you she could do better’n me.”

  “So
you did, but that meant absolutely nothing in the scheme of things. That you’re a bastard bloody well does.”

  Devin winced. “Until this week, I didn’t even know who my father was.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  Frustrated, Raphael demanded, “Why are we even having this conversation?”

  “Because while I know I’m not good enough for her, and that I’d only be an embarrassment to your family, that didn’t stop me from falling in love with her.”

  Raphael snorted. “You and half of London. And your point is?”

  “I’ve compromised her. I’ll marry her if you see fit, but I’m in agreement with you that—”

  Raphael’s blow landed on Devin’s jaw. It merely snapped his head to the side. The next blow to his middle doubled him over and cost him his breath. Raphael grabbed a handful of Devin’s hair, lifting his head for the third blow, which cracked against the side of his cheek.

  But after that one he snarled, “Why aren’t you fighting back?”

  It took a moment for Devin to straighten and start breathing again. “Because this is what I came here for. You can’t imagine the guilt I’m dealing with.”

  Raphael backed away. “So I’m giving you what you want? To hell with that!”

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen! I found Exter in her room, terrifying her with his threats to marry her by force. I got rid of him, but our emotions were heightened from the incident—it just happened, Rafe.”

  “I didn’t need to hear the bloody details! Good God, I can’t believe I haven’t killed you already. Go away, Baldwin, and don’t come back.”

  “I can’t oblige you in that. I’ve hurt her. I have to make that right before I bow out of the picture.”

  “Don’t bother. I’ll let her know you’re a bastard.”