by Gaelen Foley
Dev turned back dazedly to the little girl. He could barely make his voice work. Her name slipped out uncertainly. “Sarah?”
“I remember now,” she answered, staring at him. “I remember everything. And I especially remember you. You’re Devlin. You’re my big brother.”
“Oh, my God, Sarah,” he breathed, reaching in to lift her out of the dumbwaiter.
She came out with her arms wrapped around his neck. They held each other tightly in joyous reunion, both of them crying. Dev reached for Lizzie and pulled her over to them, kissing her head.
She did not know how long they stayed like that, amazed, weeping and laughing at the same time, but it seemed that at least five minutes passed when Ben’s voice suddenly called out to Dev from the hallway above.
“Master Dev, are you there? I could use some assistance!”
Devlin lifted his head with tears of joy still shining in his eyes. “What is it?” he answered.
“Get the medicine box from the coach!” Ben yelled.
“This woman is still alive!”
“Mama?” Sorscha breathed. She released her brother and bolted for the stairs.
Dev ran to fetch the medical supplies, while Lizzie dashed up to the hallway to see if she could help.
Sorscha was already on her knees beside her foster mother while Ben ripped off his cravat, swiftly using it to bandage Mary’s wounded side.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
“Your father intervened to save my life, Lord Strathmore,” Mary said slowly as they sat in the sunshine a few days later. For once she wasn’t wearing her veil, simply enjoying the warm caress of the sun on her ravaged face. Now that she felt strong enough to talk with them, she knew the time had come to give the young viscount the answers he had sought.
For his part, Mary’s scars did not bother Dev in the slightest. He owed the heroic woman more than he could ever say. He and Lizzie listened intently to her tale while Ben sat on the porch steps nearby, keeping a protective eye on Sarah and her little friend, Daisy.
The girls were playing with—or rather, tormenting—Pasha at the far end of the garden at Dev’s house on Portman Street. Aunt Augusta’s haughty cat found himself dressed up in doll’s clothes and was not a bit pleased about it. The sound of the girls’ giggling laughter, however, softened the edges of Dev’s sadness at Mary’s account of the fire.
“Quint shot your father in the heat of the moment, all for the great crime of trying to talk sense to him. It was Carstairs who dreamed up the blaze as a means to hide their tracks.”
“But why go to such lengths?” Lizzie asked.
“I do not know,” Mary said. “Frankly, I think Carstairs panicked.”
Dev saw Lizzie shudder and knew she was remembering all too vividly that moment at the ramshackle inn when she had ended Carstairs’s life. He reached over to smooth a comforting caress up and down the tense line of her back. It was fortunate that he had visited Bow Street with Suzy and had warned the authorities that Carstairs, Randall, and Staines posed a threat to him and to Lizzie. This had simplified matters greatly when the time came to explain what had happened at the inn. Johnny had been questioned extensively and remained in custody until his fate would be decided by the courts. In the meantime, “Mortimer” and his wife had proved excellent witnesses, and the influence of Lizzie’s beloved Knight family had helped, as well.
As it turned out, one of the twins, Lord Lucien Knight, had connections in the justice offices. He had assisted in sorting the whole thing out with minimal unpleasantness. Still, Dev and Lizzie had faced the investigators together—just as they would face every challenge for the rest of their lives. She sent him a grateful look askance and relaxed slightly under his touch.
Dev turned his attention back to Mary as she continued her tale.
“As I told Miss Carlisle, your mother refused to leave your father’s side when he was hit, not even to save herself from the fire. She kept trying to lift him in the hopes of carrying him out, but she could not.”
Lizzie linked her fingers through his, offering silent reassurance.
“I tried to help, but we were not strong enough, and there was no one else to aid us. Most of the other people on the second floor had already fled downstairs to escape the smoke. Your mother begged me to get the child out safely. To save her, I had no choice but to abandon your parents. The building was already going up in flames. I had Sorscha—Sarah—in my arms,” she corrected herself, “and finally…managed to get out.” She sighed. “We were among the lucky ones.”
He noticed that Mary’s gaze wandered to Ben’s as she spoke, as it often had since she had first laid eyes on her soft-spoken rescuer. She seemed to recognize a kindred spirit in him. They were a pair of life’s battered survivors, Dev mused, stronger in all the places where they had been scourged. But he lifted his eyebrow, quite sure that Ben had just blushed at Mary’s glance. She smiled faintly at him and lowered her gaze.
“I took your sister immediately to Ireland,” she continued, “and we have lived peacefully there ever since. But when I saw in the newspaper that you had returned from your travels, I knew it was time to bring your sister home.”
“You are a woman of extraordinary valor,” Dev told her softly.
“Hear, hear,” Lizzie murmured with a nod.
“How can I ever repay you? You saved my sister’s life.”
“And mine,” Lizzie reminded them.
Mary smiled. “Just let me remain in Sarah’s life—and yours.”
Lizzie reached out and squeezed her hand, then smiled. “I have something for you.” She reached into her pocket and handed Mary a wedding invitation.
The woman’s smile widened as she read it. “Congratulations.”
“You will be there?” Dev prompted with a lordly stare.
Mary slid a sideward glance at Ben. “If I can find an escort.”
His valet blinked. “Would you, er, care to take a turn about the garden, ma’am? I’ll push your chair for you.”
“That would be lovely,” she answered softly. Still recovering from her wound, she had resorted to a wheeled Bath chair like Lady Strathmore had used. Ben and Dev carried her, chair and all, down the few porch stairs. As Ben took the handles of the chair and assumed the honor of wheeling Mary through the flowery garden Dev sent him a mirthful glance. I think she likes you. Ben scowled at him behind Mary’s back, but Dev believed he detected another blush in his friend’s brown skin.
“Mama, look at the kitty!” Sarah cried, holding up a disgruntled Pasha.
“Reeer.”
They all laughed to see the bonnet the girls had tied on the scowling Persian cat’s furry head, but Lizzie laughed the loudest.
“Ah, the little terror has finally reaped what he’s sown!”
Dev bounded back up onto the porch and, with everyone else preoccupied, drew his bride into the house with a beguiling stare and a gently insistent hold around her wrist.
“You need another kiss, I presume?” she whispered with a vixenish smile, wrapping her arms around him.
“Deeply,” he murmured.
She obliged with unstinting adoration, but for Dev, a kiss—even two, three, four—was not enough. Whenever he held her, they had the most scandalous habit of getting carried away.
The shades were drawn in the parlor, and soon the door was locked. She straddled his lap on her knees as he sat on the sofa, her skirts hitched up about her slender thighs. They moved together in fevered urgency, making love as swiftly as they could before anyone noticed they had been gone together for a while.
There was only one problem. Dev did not want to hurry. The girl made him insatiable. He wanted to savor every lingering moment. Even the rest of their lives might not be enough for him to get his fill of her. He was in love and had never known such happiness before. His tongue quested into the welcoming softness of her mouth; then she gave herself to him again—gave him heaven. He groaned against her neck, his whole body tingling wit
h bliss as she rose and sank again slowly, taking her pleasure of him, riding the rock-hard length of him at her leisure.
The minx had the nerve to tease him, sliding up to flirt with the tip of his cock, letting it skim the threshold of her body, until he panted for her to take it all. She shook her head with a naughty look. He smiled, let out a playful growl, and dragged her down lower, until his straining rod throbbed within her to the hilt.
“Oh, Devlin.” She held very still, merely savoring the satisfying fullness of him inside her; then she pressed a fevered kiss to his brow. “I love you so much.”
“I love you, Lizzie. Never leave me,” he whispered, and gazed up at her, hopelessly smitten.
“Leave you, sir?” She dragged her beautiful gray eyes open and regarded him with an arch look that smoldered slightly. “Do you take me for a fool?”
“No, my darling,” he purred, “I take you for my bride.”
“Fair enough,” she whispered, spilling onto the sofa to pull him atop her. “As long as you take me.”
At this, he let out his most devilish laugh and eagerly obeyed.
EPILOGUE
24 June, 1817
The bells of the old Norman church pealed their joyous carillon down the sleepy River Medway, resounding through Maidstone town, for a local lord was wed today there in the ancient chancel, like all nine Viscounts Strathmore before him. But none of his esteemed forebears, Dev was sure, could have felt as dazzled as he did on this picture-perfect Sunday morning. He tried to fix his attention on the priest, but could not stop looking at his bride.
The celestial radiance of the sun-ray streaming through the great nave window played upon her creamy satin skin. She was following the vicar’s every word with that open, earnest stare of hers that made him tremble inwardly with tenderness. The depth of her beauty could have brought him to his knees, so warm, so pure, so gentle and serene.
As if sensing his stare, she chanced a cautious sideward glance beneath her lashes. Her eyes told him she loved himeven as they warned him to behave. A faint smile curved his mouth as he returned his gaze obediently to the vicar, lifting his chin.
But good behavior could last only so long.
He chose his moment when the priest informed him he might kiss his bride.
Dearest Lizzie offered him her blushing cheek.
Dev smiled broadly, arching one eyebrow.
The congregation burst out with cheering laughter and thunderous applause as he lifted her up onto her toes and kissed her heartily there on the altara full two weeks before the deadline specified in Aunt Augusta’s will, not that it mattered now. But it had served the wily old dragon’s purpose in the end. Dev knew there was no better gift his aunt could have given him. With a prayer of thanks for the old woman and all her eccentric notions, he deepened the kiss, sliding his hands more firmly around his bride’s slim waist.
“Oh, Lord, is that really necessary?” Alec huffed, standing next to Lucien in a pew three rows back on the bride’s side of the aisle.
Lucien’s answer was a chuckle. “Don’t worry, little brother. The right one will come along soon.”
“Want to bet?” Alec muttered with a cynical glance.
“Incorrigible,” Lucien chided under his breath. “So, you’re back to gambling, are you?”
“We all have our vices.”
“I thought you promised Lizzie you would stop.”
“In light of recent events, I decree that contract null and void,” he said pointedly, but he applauded along with the rest of the congregation, conceding victory to his rival with his usual aplomb.
Lucien smiled at his younger sibling’s glum look. “Someday, little brother, some woman’s going to come along and make mincemeat of you, do you know that? And when she does, I want to shake her hand.”
“As long as she’s rich,” he drawled.
“Ah, I see. The great losing streak continues?”
“Easy come, easy go. Don’t worry, old boy, my luck will turn around. In the meantimelend me twenty quid?”
Lucien arched an eyebrow at him. “Not if my wife finds out.”
Alec harrumphed and turned his attention back to the front of the church, where Strathmore finally released Bits from his grasp. “Your wife. His wife. You’re all a lot of dupes in the vicar’s mousetrap, if you ask me. He’d better love her,” he added wistfully.
“Are you blind? The man’s a goner,” he replied, and as usual, Lucien was right.
Dev and Lizzie beamed as they strode past them, hurrying down the aisle. They were followed by the rest of the bridal partyJacinda and Billy, and of course, young Sarah, looking as fresh as the dew.
Outside, they plunged into glorious sunshine. The wedding carriage waited, festooned and garlanded, an elegant landau with the top folded down and gold plumes on the four white horses’ heads.
As the guests crowded out of the church, Lizzie laughed for sheer happiness and threw her arms around her husband’s neck; Dev swept her off her feet, lifting her into the open coach. She kissed him while a confetti of white flower-petals dusted them like swirling snow.
When she opened her eyes, still hugging Dev, her rapt gaze lifted to the fine, gray church tower standing tall against the azure sky. Behind it, fleecy clouds drifted past, their movement as dizzying as her love.
“Are you really mine?” she whispered, gazing at her husband.
“Forever. Come, wife. Let’s go home,” he murmured, taking her hand.
She sat beside him and waved to the sea of well-wishers, who soon piled into the long line of stately coaches.
The triumphal parade to Oakley Park wound through the Kentish fields of white and purple clover, the perfumed breeze rippling through the new wheat in ear.
Come autumn, these rolling acres would turn to gold, Lizzie thought. Like the ring on her finger. As Devlin lifted her hand to his lips, she smiled with all her love for him shining in her eyes.
It would be a good harvest.
By Gaelen Foley
Published by Ivy Books
THE PIRATE PRINCE
PRINCESS
PRINCE CHARMING
THE DUKE
LORD OF FIRE
LORD OF ICE
LADY OF DESIRE
DEVIL TAKES A BRIDE
Lizzie blushed at the intimate warmth in his smile and lowered her lashes, feeling shy. “Who ever would have thought you and I could have something in common?”
“Yes,” he murmured. “We’re both alone.”
She lifted her gaze slowly and found him watching her.
Words failed her. There was something almost possessive in his stare as he studied her, desire gentling the hard, angular precision of his face. With a measured balance of boldness and caution, Devlin lifted his hand to touch her, running his knuckle lightly along the line of her jaw.
She trembled at the contact, a tingling spark of sheer thrill rushing down her spine. He slid his hand beneath her hair, clasping her nape, drawing her to him. She went willingly, leaning toward him, as eager as he. He tilted his head, and her eyes drifted closed at the first gliding caress of his lips on hers—smooth, satin bliss. He brushed his hungry kiss back and forth across her mouth, entrancing her, his hand cradling her head all the while.
Then he bent lower, pressing a kiss full of hotter intent to her throat. She tilted her head back with a catch in her breath, her lips parting, all her awareness fixed on his open-mouthed kiss on the curve of her neck….
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
An Ivy Book
Published by The Random House Publishing Group
Copyright © 2004 by Gaelen Foley
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Ivy Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group
, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto.
Ivy Books and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.
www.ballantinebooks.com
eISBN: 978-0-345-49410-8
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