Charity and The Devil (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 11)

by Emma V. Leech

  The ease with which she’d fallen into his arms was unsettling. Yet he was certain he’d seen love in her eyes, surely he had, and if she loved him they could do anything, start again….

  Anything was possible.

  He allowed her a moment, watching as she tugged at the ribbons of her bonnet, her fingers trembling. She placed it on his dressing table, taking time to touch a finger to the fine silver backed brush it sat beside before turning her attention to her pelisse. Her hands were shaking so hard now she fumbled the buttons and Dev moved closer.

  He covered her hands with his own.

  “Don’t be frightened. I would never hurt you.”

  She let out a breath, huffing a little. “I know that. I … I don’t know why I’m being such a silly goose about it.”

  “Because it matters,” he said, frowning as he pulled her closer. “It isn’t silly at all, only I don’t want you to be afraid or to regret it. We can wait if—”

  “No.”

  He raised his eyebrows at the vehemence in her tone. Was there something wrong? Was that sadness in her eyes where there ought to have been joy?

  She reached up, pulling his mouth down to hers and kissing him, pressing against him and then tugging at the silken belt that held the banyan closed. All at once it slid open and she pushed it from his shoulders. He heard her intake of breath as she moved back to look at him and any doubts of what she was feeling fled at the desire he saw in her eyes as she looked at him. He dropped his arms, allowing the silk to slither to the floor in one, fluid movement.

  The colour at her cheeks blazed but she did not look away or pretend anything other than interest in the sight of him naked before her. She raised her hand tentatively, and Dev’s breath snagged in his throat as her fingers touched his skin. He couldn’t think, could do nothing but watch as her fingers trailed over him, igniting an inferno he feared would consume him if he couldn’t touch her in return.

  “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he said, aware of the husky sound of his voice as she looked up at him.

  “That must be why I’m so hot,” she said, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

  Dev laughed, delighted at her as his hands reached for her buttons. “Get this blasted coat off before I rip it to shreds,” he commanded, pleased that she laughed and squealed as he at turns undid a button and tickled her, hoping to put her more at ease. At last the buttons were undone, the coat thrown in a heap on the floor and the glittering light in her eyes told him she was amused and no longer in afraid of him or what would happen between them.

  He paused as he wondered where her brother was, and what the devil she was doing here alone in London?

  “Where’s Kit?” he asked, wondering if his door was likely to be pounded to dust by her irate twin at any moment.

  “Still in bed, I expect,” she said, a rather naughty grin tugging at her mouth. “I ran away from the lodgings we were staying in and neglected to give him your full address. He can scour London for all he’s worth, he’ll not find me.”

  Dev sighed, torn between scolding her for her recklessness and delight in her determination to see him alone. “You must never do such a thing again. This is not Dartmoor. London is dangerous, and in a far different way than your beloved moors. You must learn a new set of rules here.”

  For a moment the smile at her lips faltered but she returned her attention to her exploration of his person, and any further discussion of the matter was halted.

  “Turn around,” he said, alarmed to find his own hands were shaking as she did as he asked and he untied the fastenings of her dress. Gone was the practised lover he’d become over the past years, fled in the light of something that was new and outside his experience, something that mattered. He bent his head to press a kiss to her shoulder as the dress slid away, pleased by the shiver that travelled over her skin. He dispensed with the rest of the layers as fast as his trembling fingers could manage, until she stood before him in just garters and stockings.

  Dev trailed one finger from her shoulder down her arm, noting the change from porcelain white to tan, as that skin always hidden from the light was revealed to his heated gaze. He turned her back towards him, his heart expanding in his chest as he looked his fill.

  “Mine,” he said, meaning to smile at her but finding the word was every bit as possessive as it sounded. He pulled her closer, revelling in the feel of her skin against his, the gasp of shock she made as his harder body pressed against her softness. His hands travelled over her, her skin a finer silk than any material he could buy, no matter the cost. Dev cupped her face in his hands, pressing his mouth to hers. “Mine,” he said again, not caring if he sounded like a damned caveman, it was how he felt in this moment. “You’re mine now, mine alone. You know that don’t you?”

  Her hands covered his, her eyes guileless as she stared back at him.

  “Yes,” she said, her voice quiet. “I know it. I’ve known it since the first.”

  “Thank God for that,” he growled and pulled her into his arms.

  ***

  Charity could not argue with him. For all that she knew they had no future, it didn’t make the truth any less true. She was his, had been his since the first, when she’d seen him bloody and unconscious and her heart had gone out to him. He’d seemed so alone, hurt, and abandoned to the cruelty of the moors. She never had been able to resist trying to mend something broken. Kit had been right all along. She couldn’t help herself.

  For once though she would take something for herself, even if she had to give herself to have it. A memory she could keep to warm her when the winter nights were coldest, and Brasted Farm seemed to be the loneliest place in the world. She would remember him then, she would remember this, a shining moment of happiness in a world that would not allow them more than that.

  His hands moved over her and her heart picked up, her skin alive with sensation. Such large hands, so warm, and rough now too. She smiled as she remembered how soft they’d been at first.

  “What?” he asked, noting her smile and returning it.

  She took his hand and raised it to her mouth, kissing his palm and the calluses on his fingers. “You had such soft hands,” she said, shaking her head and sighing, a mournful tone to her voice.

  He snorted, knowing she was teasing him. “Oh, I will show you what these hands can do, my lovely hellion,” he said, smirking now and then laughing aloud as he lifted her with ease and she gave a yelp of surprise.

  She gasped as he tumbled her onto the bed and then prowled over the mattress towards her. Charity stared, still not able to believe what she was doing. Goodness, but what would Mrs Baxter say if she knew? Thinking about it, Mrs Baxter would probably encourage her, so long as she got a ring on her finger.

  She pushed away that thought at once. There was no point in dwelling on what was to come, what could never be. She would not spoil the moment worrying about what she couldn’t have. Instead she reached for him, smiling as he sighed under her touch. The press of his body against hers was astonishing and her breathing hitched even as she welcomed him, coiling herself around him. His body was at once so much larger and harder than hers, yet soft too, his skin satin beneath her fingertips and so warm.

  Charity lost herself in kisses that dazed her and made her blood surge. Kit had once brought them a bottle of Champagne and she remembered the fizz and tickle of the fine liquor. She felt as if the bubbles existed beneath her skin now and, as Dev lowered his head to her breast and took her into his mouth, they threatened to spill over. She arched beneath him, helpless with surprise and pleasure as he cupped her breasts in his hands and lavished equal care between them.

  “Luke,” she said, his name breathless as he raised his head, a startled look of pleasure in his eyes.

  “No one ever calls me that,” he said, his voice full of wonder. “But I like it when you say it.”

  “Then you shall be Luke for me alone,” she said, running her hands down his back, feeling the heavy muscles shift
as he moved, and wishing it wasn’t for such a short time.

  “Yes,” he agreed, covering her lips with his own as his body pressed closer. “Oh, yes.”

  His hand slid between them and Charity held her breath, knowing what he sought. She closed her eyes as he found the source of her pleasure, sliding his fingers through the curls, touching her where only she had ever touched herself before.

  “So beautiful, love,” he said, the sincerity in his voice tearing at her heart. “I want you so much.”

  “Yes,” she said, the word impatient now as he stoked a fire that had been lit weeks ago, one that had burned for him and longed for him and would not allow her to walk away. He soothed her with hands and lips as she moved, restless beneath him and then all at once he was there, where she needed him.

  Charity felt her heart as it raced, aware that there was no going back now. She had made her decision, sealed her fate, though in fact she’d made that decision a long time ago. He nudged forward, pressing into her as she held her breath, not knowing whether to breathe, to keep still, or urge him on.

  “I love you,” he said, tearing her attention from her anxious wondering, bringing her eyes to his and the honesty that shone from them, the love and desire that made her heart hurt and her body clamour for him.

  “You too,” she managed as he eased inside her, making her breath catch as she clutched at his shoulders. “I love you too.”

  It seemed all the reassurance he’d needed, and he surged inside her, thrusting forward in one fluid movement that made her cry out, but more with the shock of the intimate invasion than from any sense of pain.

  From that moment on she was lost, caught in the tide of pleasure he swept her up in. His hands touched her like she was the most precious thing in the world to him, his lips upon her skin as though he needed her to breathe, overwhelming her senses and filling her poor heart until the enormity of what she’d done crashed down upon her.

  It was only as she cried out, holding on to him as his body held her close and he called her name, that she realised she had tasted what her life could be like if she’d been born into his world. It was only as the waves of pleasure receded and she clung to him that she realised she should never have tasted the gift that loving him would have given her.

  For now, she had to walk away, knowing everything she could never have, and she knew she would never be whole again.

  ***

  Easing out of his embrace was the hardest thing Charity had ever done.

  Luke.

  She found she liked thinking of him so, using the name that no one ever called him, even though it was strange to give him yet another name. He stirred in his sleep and she paused, leaning in to kiss him, smiling at the stubble that prickled beneath her lips. She would have liked to have shaved him again, but she didn’t dare stay any longer.

  If she stayed, he would voice the proposal she had seen in his eyes and it would force her to refuse him, and to explain her reasons. He was so damn stubborn that she knew he would argue, would keep on and on until he wore her down and persuaded her that black was white, when she knew damn well it was dark as pitch and just as unforgiving. She could not ask him to give up his world and live in hers, and the world would never allow her to inhabit his, even if she’d dared make the attempt. They would end up betwixt and between, neither fish nor fowl, belonging nowhere, welcomed by no one. She couldn’t do it to him.

  So, she swallowed down the sobs that tore at her throat, afraid to cry in case he heard her, though the tears fell thick and fast in the silence of the room as she dressed. Every rustle of clothing seemed to roar in her ears, every sound loud enough to wake him, yet he slept still, a contented smile at his lips. Her heart ached at the sight, but she tied the ribbons of her bonnet all the same, finding her hands shook harder now than when she’d untied them. When all was done and there was nothing left to keep her she reached inside her reticule for the letter she had written last night.

  She had thought to put it into his hands if things had become too heated and her explanations jumbled in her distress. She had written it when she’d been cool-headed, the future clear to her. At least it ought to illustrate all the difficulties he’d been so obstinately ignoring.

  She wondered if he’d be angry. and hoped for his sake he was. Anger was so much easier to bear than heartache; that much she had learned to her cost.

  Charity moved to the bed, staring at his sleeping figure with her heart so full of regret and longing that the pain was like a knife wound. The desire to bend down and steal a last kiss was tantalising, but she dared not risk waking him. So, she put the letter on the pillow beside him and turned away, creeping from the room like a thief.

  ***

  Dev stirred, finding a smile at his lips as he remembered. Charity. Charity was here.

  He turned, reaching for her, only to find the bed cold and empty. His heart lurched, terrified that it had been a dream after all, though his body refused to believe it. She had been here—her scent lingered on his skin, the taste of her upon his lips—and then he saw the letter.

  No.

  No, please God….

  He snatched it up, praying it said only that she’d gone to see Kit, to tell him not to worry, that they were to be married… even as he knew in his heart it was nothing of the sort. He broke the wafer that sealed the sheet, sending it shattering into crumbs over the bed. His trembling hands almost tore the paper in his haste to read her words, his heart stuttering as his worst fears were realised.

  He crumpled the letter with a shout of distress, casting it across the room in fury. When had she left? Moments ago? Hours? Had he still time to catch her?

  Dev flung back the covers, intending to shout for his valet but something stopped him. He sat on the edge of his bed, chest heaving as though he’d run for miles, the pain beneath his ribs so fierce he couldn’t breathe, and yet the truth was clear to him. If he went after her, she wouldn’t listen to him, stubborn, pig-headed creature that she was.

  He took a breath, allowing his lungs to unlock, pushing his terror and misery away as determination took their place. She loved him. He knew the truth of it now, the truth of her. She couldn’t take the words back or pretend them unsaid. He’d seen it in her eyes, known it with every fibre of his being. He didn’t doubt that she’d been crying when she’d left, and his heart ached for her too, for that she still didn’t realise what he was prepared to do to have her in his life.

  Charity believed he would have to give everything up to be with her, make a sacrifice he would regret for the rest of his days. He’d been so swept up in the joy of finding her here, in his desire for her, that he had not troubled to explain, not shown her the truth of his existence before he found her. Selling Devlin Hall had been like cutting a cancer from his life. It had been liberating, setting him free from a world he’d been born to, and yet despised. But if he tried to explain this now she would think he was just countering her argument with one of his own.

  So, he wouldn’t argue with her. He wouldn’t discuss it at all. He would act. He would show her they were meant to be together, and nothing on God’s green earth would keep them apart. Not if he had a say in the matter.

  Dev may have sold his ancestral home for far less than its value, but that hardly made him a pauper and he was still a viscount. Charity was about to find out just what it meant to have power and money, and the ability to move heaven and earth for the woman you loved.

  Chapter 21

  “Wherein broken hearts, schemes, and breaking ground.”

  “Where the bloody hell have you been?”

  As she’d expected, Kit was incandescent with rage by the time she made it back to their lodgings. His fury fell away in a moment however, when he saw she was pale and miserable and close to tears.

  “Charity? Charity, what happened? Are you hurt?” He pulled her into a fierce hug and any remaining grasp on her emotions fell away. She clutched at his jacket and sobbed, knowing it would only make him fran
tic but unable to stop herself.

  “Damn it, Charity, tell me what’s wrong! Did something happen?”

  There was terror in his voice now, real fear in his eyes and she tried to look at him, to shake her head and reassure him, but they were twins and he’d always seen more than she cared to show him.

  “You saw him and he… he…? By God, I’ll kill him.”

  “No!” Charity shouted and grasped hold of his arm as he turned from her. “No, Kit! No! He’s done nothing wrong, nothing at all. He asked me to marry him.”

  Kit spun around, staring at her, his confusion clear, “He did?”

  Charity nodded, tears rolling down her cheeks. She wasn’t about to tell Kit that he’d never actually said the words. The words had been in his eyes, in everything he’d said and done. If she’d stayed to watch him wake, she knew they’d have been the first words on his lips.

  She sat down and Kit crouched before her and took her hands. “I don’t understand. You’re in love with him, Charity. It’s so obvious it’s painful. If he wants to marry you, why—”

  “Why do you think?” Charity demanded, snatching her hands away, incredulous that her brother couldn’t see the obstacles before them, but then he was the romantic one. For Kit, love was everything. The practicalities of where a body would eat and sleep were nothing compared to living the emotion. He felt the experience should encompass you heart and soul and that nothing and no one should hinder it, no matter the who, what, or where. She was the practical one. She was the one who read his poems and pointed out that a night on the moors would be cold and damp and far from romantic, no matter how beautifully he wrote of two star-crossed lovers spending the night there. They’d more likely end up with wet feet and a nasty cold rather than a night of passion.

  Kit shrugged, clearly at a loss, and Charity gave an exasperated laugh, shaking her head.

  “Oh, Kit, he’s a viscount. They marry noblemen’s daughters and spend half the year in town, going to parties and the theatre and who knows what else people like that do. Look at me.” She waved an arm to encompass her sun-browned face, her well-worn clothes, and her hands already rough from work, which would become red and chapped in the winter. “I’m not made for that world, Kit. I don’t belong in it and… and I don’t want to belong. Can you imagine me spending half my life here?”