Charity and The Devil (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 11)

by Emma V. Leech

  “No, no, of course not,” the man hurried on. “You must forgive me for being impatient, my love. I am left on tenterhooks here.”

  Dev cursed the man, clenching his fists against the fury of hearing his steward address Charity as his “love.” At least she looked as annoyed by his presumption as Dev felt. Why hadn’t he told her about the sale, though?

  The conversation carried on, covering mundane issues, but when Mr Ogden asked if they had begun to pack up their belongings yet, the terrible truth dawned on Dev. Ogden wouldn’t halt the sale. He’d pretend not to have received the letter. For, if he halted the sale, Charity would have no reason to wed him, and Dev damn well knew it. He must believe that Dev lay dead in a ditch somewhere for he’d surely not dare if he doubted it?

  Rage welled in his chest, the desire to knock Ogden down and beat him until he screamed for mercy almost too much to bear. As it was, he endured, watching the disloyal, wretched man as he dared to kiss Charity’s hand before bidding her farewell and riding away.

  Dev turned away from the window, his chest locked in a vice. He had to stop that bloody sale and he had to do it now. He looked up to find Kit’s eyes on him, full of curiosity.

  “Eavesdropping is a dangerous habit,” he remarked, looking ever more suspicious.

  Dev snorted. He was too angry and he had too little time to explain.

  “You’re damn right it is,” he muttered, his tone low and angry. “You never know what you might discover.”

  With no further explanation, he left and hurried towards his room, hoping to clean up before seeing Charity and making his goodbyes, and almost ploughing into her as he turned the corner.

  “David! I was coming to see you.” She let out a breath, a flush at her cheeks. “I… I feel odd calling you that now.”

  “I know,” he said, regret and guilt burning in his chest. A name seemed such a simple thing, yet his was the cause of such misery. He wondered if he’d ever hear his real name again without feeling the weight of blame upon his shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

  He truly was, yet the honesty in those words was the only thing he could give her for the moment.

  “Thank you so much—”

  “I’ve got to leave—”

  They both spoke at once, blurting the words out and then laughing, the atmosphere between them tense and awkward. Dev rubbed the back of his neck, uncomfortable with the gratitude in her eyes.

  “He’d have died, if not for you,” she said, the words simple but heartfelt.

  Dev shrugged, not sure what to do. He stood in the brightness of her thanks, feeling at once illuminated and on display, his pleasure at her gratitude dissipating under the guilt of the harm he’d done. He could not enjoy her thanks, not until she knew the extent of his duplicity. If she was still grateful after that, after he’d confessed the whole, he’d lap it up like a cat with a saucer of cream.

  Until then, he was merely trying to even the balance of debt between them.

  “I have no words for you,” she said, moving closer and taking his hands.

  There was scarce a finger’s span between them and the desire to close the gap was maddening, an ache beneath his skin he knew would never leave him if she was never to be his. Yet he made no move. He couldn’t touch her again until she could call him by his name, his real name, and he could hear something that wasn’t disgust in the sound of it upon her lips. She looked up at him and he lowered his head to rest against hers.

  “I’m so happy I was here to help, Charity. That in some way I could repay you for everything, for every kindness, every moment of being here. You’ll never know what it’s meant.”

  She snorted, giving him a wry look. “I was rude and hateful to you, and you well know it.”

  Dev grinned, touching her cheek with his fingertip and fighting the desire to do more as her warm skin lit up his senses. “I loved every moment. You are a remarkable woman, Charity Kendall. You’re bright and funny and clever and beautiful, and you have the worst temper of anyone I’ve ever known save myself.”

  Charity blushed and then huffed, and Dev laughed.

  “We were made for each other,” he whispered, hearing the way her breath caught. He cupped her face in his hand. “Wait for me. Please. I won’t let you down. Just don’t accept Mr Ogden’s offer. I will make everything right if you let me.”

  Looking into his eyes she made a strangled sound, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “I must be out of my mind. I want so much to trust you, and yet I don’t even know who you are.”

  Dev smiled, though regret made his expression taut and unnatural. “You’ll know everything soon enough, my love, and then… and then perhaps you will allow me to court you properly, as you deserve.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, looking up at him, such hope and such fear shining in her eyes. “But please hurry. There is so little time.”

  He nodded and dipped his head to steal a kiss, the barest touch of his lips against hers, as much as he dared, or he’d not leave the house as he needed to do.

  “I must get ready to leave now. Remember what I said?”

  She nodded, her smile tentative as he released her hands, and hurried away.

  ***

  Dev turned his horse, taking one last look at the farm, lit up in the late afternoon sun. A curl of smoke twisted from the chimney in the kitchen and Dev knew Mrs Baxter was there, preparing the dinner. Boiled ham tonight, with some of her best preserves, and buttered new potatoes. There had been carrots too, and runner beans sliced thin, their pink beans glittering like jewels. The longing to return, to immerse himself in the warmth of their messy, noisy, loving family caught at his throat, making it ache. It took a deal of effort to swallow it down and turn his back on the place.

  If he didn’t do this, if he didn’t put things right, then it wouldn’t be just him that lost that life. They all would.

  By contrast, when Devlin Hall came into view, its grandeur shouting out the pride and wealth of the Devlin name, he felt nothing. The only memories he had of this place were of isolation, of bone deep loneliness that could eat away at your soul and deaden your heart until you cared for nothing and no one. That had been him, he realised now. Dead inside: a creature barely alive, and certainly not living, not until Charity and her fire and fury had breathed life into him. It was like being reborn, the knowledge that there was goodness and hope and love to be had in the world, even for a man so lost in the dark as he’d been.

  There was still hope.

  His voice echoed around the vast entrance hall as Dev stalked in, ignoring the horrified look upon Jennings’ face at the sight of his master dressed like a common labourer. The shocked butler blinked, but said nothing.

  “Ogden!” Dev shouted, clenching his fists with rage as he received no answer.

  “Mr Ogden is not here at present,” Jennings volunteered, though with some trepidation, knowing all too well his master’s tempers were to be treated with caution. “I believe he had gone into town. He said had some things to arrange.”

  Dev cursed and fought the desire to smash something in his fury. “I’ll bet he has, the blackguard, and what, pray tell, is he doing about the fact I have been missing for some weeks?”

  Jennings opened and closed his mouth and Dev stalked a little closer.

  “Well?” he demanded.

  “Mr Ogden told us you had stayed a little longer with your friend than you’d anticipated as you did not arrive in London as expected,” he said, the words as careful as the look in his eyes. “We assumed you had written and informed him, we never …” Jennings trailed off, a dawning look of horror in his eyes.

  Dev snorted, only now realising the depths of Ogden’s duplicity. If he cared to investigate the books, he wondered if things were really in as dire straits as he had been led to believe, or had Ogden been creaming a little off the top all these years?

  “Please inform Mr Ogden on his return that I am anxious to speak with him. Ensure he does not leave my property again unti
l he has done so. I also want someone sent to the post office in Tillforth. They will enquire about a letter that was posted there on the twenty third of July, sent to this address and for Mr Ogden’s immediate attention. I want to know exactly what happened to that letter.”

  “Very good, my lord,” Jennings intoned, a glitter of curiosity in his eyes.

  He suspected that the dismissal of his steward would be a source of great entertainment and discussion when the rest of the staff discovered it.

  “I suppose my valet still awaits me in London?” Dev asked, unable to keep the impatience from his voice.

  He could have been dead, and they’d not have raised an eyebrow. Yet this was his doing. If he’d been a better master, a man they’d respected, perhaps they’d have worried at the possibility he was lying in some undiscovered ditch. If he’d been kinder, they’d have investigated, rather than doing nothing when Mr Ogden gave them no reason for alarm at his unexplained absence.

  “Send me someone capable of taking a letter and sending it immediately to my man of business; a footman who knows his way around a cravat and can pack a valise, and have a hamper prepared for a long journey. I leave for London. My carriage must be ready to leave within the hour.”

  Jennings acknowledged his orders and, within moments, the house was a flurry of activity. Little over an hour later, Dev had shaved and dressed, and appeared to be the Viscount Devlin once more. With his heart and his hopes held tight, he began his voyage to London, to face Lord Luther Blackehart.

  ***

  The club was busy as ever, the shouts of triumph and disappointment melding with the thick fog of cigar smoke. Dev followed one of Blackehart’s men through the melee and out the back of the club to his office. That he’d come here of his own volition was something he couldn’t quite believe, but there you had it. He only hoped he’d leave again with all limbs intact, and not in a box as the look he’d been given by the hired thugs who patrolled the place might suggest.

  Lord Blackehart was not a lord at all. Not in the real sense. It was a title given through fear and respect. He was lord and master in this manor, and no one forgot it, though there was not a drop of noble blood in the man’s body. He’d been born in the workhouse and fought his way out of the filth via a life of crime. They said he couldn’t die, that the devil wouldn’t take him, and that he was untouchable. He’d been shot, stabbed, and even hanged. He’d survived both the shooting and stabbing, and by some miracle the rope had broken when they’d hanged him. Not right away, though, he had the scars about his neck by all accounts and hid them beneath a cravat. Dev had never cared to ask about the veracity of the rumours. Blackehart wasn’t a man you questioned.

  Dev entered the man’s domain with his heart thudding so hard his lungs felt tight. He was doing this for Charity, he reminded himself as anxiety had sweat prickling down his back. It was for her, for Kit and for John and Jane, and even Mr and Mrs Baxter, for all the worry and hurt he’d caused them. This was his penance. He prayed his offer would meet Blackehart’s approval, because if not… he was already dead.

  Dev had always considered himself a large man, tall and well built. Blackehart, however, was more mountain than man. He was perhaps thirty, a huge bear-like figure that dominated the room. His eyes were as black as his name, his hair dark too, and an ugly, jagged scar lined the right side of his face. It tugged a little at his eye, drawing it down and giving him a look of permanent anger. Not that he needed the help.

  “My Lord Devlin,” he said, as he watched Dev enter. His voice filled the room, deep and rumbling, coarse with an accent born of the gutter. “Well, well. You’ve got balls coming here, I’ll give you that.”

  Dev inclined his head and gave taut smile. “I owe you an apology, Blackehart, and I determined to do it in person. I had an unfortunate accident and was indisposed for some considerable time, but I owe you a debt and I mean to settle it in full.”

  Blackehart leaned against the edge of a massive oak desk, and Dev still wondered at its ability to hold his weight. He gave Dev a cool smile, raising one dark eyebrow.

  “Some might reckon the time for making deals is long past, my lord,” he said, an edge to his voice Dev could not mistake. “We had a deal, and you reneged. Men die for less.”

  Dev sucked in a breath, holding his composure, aware he could be spirited away, his body dumped in the Thames, and no one ever the wiser. “I think a man like you always has time for a deal which is in his interests. Just hear me out, and I think you’ll like what I have in mind. You’ll never get another offer like it.”

  A spark of interest lit the man’s eyes now and Dev held his breath, knowing he was curious at least.

  “Very well,” Blackehart said, moving to sit back down behind his desk and gesturing for Dev to take a seat. “You have my attention. Now tell me… what exactly is it you’re offering?”

  Chapter 16

  “Wherein our hero lives to fight another day … and fight he must.”

  Dev returned home, still rather astonished that not only was he alive, but his offer had been accepted. The enormity of what he’d done still stunned him. His father would be turning in his grave. That thought alone made a smile curve over his lips.

  For once it had not been about revenge, however. That his father would have howled with rage was merely the icing on the cake, not his motivation. For once, he had his future in mind; a future in which he would build the foundations for a new life, one where the Devlin name was once again respected, but respected most of all by the people who mattered the most… his family.

  The Kendall family were not his, he knew that, yet they had crawled under his skin and made him long for their acceptance. He wanted to see John grow into a young man and help guide him in a way his own father had never done for him. He wanted to see Jane turn into a bright and vivacious woman like her sister, yet without the cares and worries that had blighted Charity’s life. Kit he would see fit and healthy, and a successful poet. Such things were much easier when you knew the right people. Mr and Mrs Baxter would be safe too, and a crucial part of their lives as always. More than anything though, he would see Charity by his side, always. He would protect her and those she loved from storms and fears and anything that threatened her happiness, he would fight with her and make her furious and love her so thoroughly that she need never regret putting her trust in him.

  By the time the carriage rolled to a halt before Devlin Hall, Dev was exhausted. He’d been on move for almost six days, only stopping when there was no other choice. He’d dozed on and off as the carriage lurched and pitched him all the way home, but his mind was too full of hope and anxiety to let him rest for long.

  The same question was circling around and around his brain with no clear answer. What would Charity say when she discovered that he was the man she hated with such passion? What would she do when she realised the villain who had upended her peaceful existence and caused her family such distress was the man they had cared for and sheltered for so many weeks? When she realised the depths of his betrayal, the extent of his lies? Fear of it made his chest grow tight. The all too real possibility that she might never forgive him stole his breath, as the fear of being without her again prowled in his heart.

  If she could not forgive him, he would be worse than lost. He’d been lost and alone his whole life and endured it as he’d known no other way of living. Now, however, he’d seen what was possible, what had been within his grasp all along, if only he’d been honest and kind. God, how he wished he’d been kind. Yet he hadn’t known how. He’d needed to be taught what it meant to give with no expectation of receiving anything in return. Charity had taught him that. They all had.

  He stepped down from the carriage, his limbs protesting after so much time confined in a small space. The ground beneath him felt odd, as if it still moved with the sway of the carriage. Moving forward and hurrying up the stairs he rubbed a hand over his face to wake himself up. He needed to wash and change and get back to the farm as
fast as he could. Though he felt sick with anxiety and fear for Charity’s reaction, he was impatient to tell her everything. He’d get down on his knees and beg for her forgiveness if he had to. At least he hoped his actions would speak for his intentions; that they would show her how much he’d changed, and just how far he would go to make her happy.

  He burst through the doors of the great house, casting hat and gloves at Jennings as he went, and was about to run up the stairs when Mr Ogden appeared.

  Dev stopped in his tracks, rage chasing any sense of fatigue from his bones as his blood surged in his veins, the desire to do the man harm prickling over his skin.

  “Mr Ogden,” he said, fighting the desire to just knock the man down without a word. Not yet.

  He watched as Ogden gave him the taut, supercilious smile he always reserved for Dev. The one that implied he knew he was the better man, and it was only the vagaries of fate that had given Dev money and power.

  “My lord.”

  Strange, how he’d never noted quite how insolent his tone was before. Or perhaps that was new, now he had another job to go to.

  “Why have you not stopped the sale of Brasted Farm as I instructed?”

  “My lord?” Ogden replied, his eyebrows raising in surprise. “But why would I? Your instructions on leaving were clear. I was to ensure the sale of the property proceeded without a hitch.”

  Dev turned to face Jennings who was watching proceedings with avid interest. “Did you send someone to the post office as I instructed?”

  “I did, my lord,” the butler replied, his face a mask, though there was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

  “And?” Dev demanded, folding his arms. “What did they tell you?”

  “The post was collected as usual, my lord. Only one letter that particular day. I spoke to the staff and the second footman confirmed that he put the letter into Mr Ogden’s hand as soon as he received it.”

  Both men turned to stare at Ogden, who looked a little less sanguine than he had a moment before. In fact, he looked rather pale.