Dev took a step closer and when he spoke, his voice was low and husky. “If I’d known Leamington-Rudney had dared to touch you, I would have challenged the blackguard to a duel on the spot.”
She was very glad he hadn’t. “He wouldn’t be worth the effort.”
Dev grinned, looking more like a youth than a mature young man. “Then I take it you would never have proposed marriage to the viscount?”
“Under no circumstances and no matter how desperate I was,” she firmly agreed.
“I’m relieved to hear it. Otherwise I would be jealous of that toad.
“You look as if you don’t believe me, but it’s true,” he went on, his deep voice soft and sincere. “You’re a lovely woman, Thea—and it’s not the fine new clothes or the way your hair is dressed, either, that makes me think so. It’s the light in your eyes, your courage, your determination, that make you special, Thea.”
As her heart raced and her body warmed, he gathered her in his arms and kissed her—not with fiery, primitive, demanding urgency, but tenderness. He caressed her not with lust, but with gentle desire.
And when he took her to bed, he made love to her that same way, although with no less passion.
* * *
Waking from a deep and restful sleep, Dev opened his eyes, then felt for Thea beside him.
She wasn’t there.
He sat up abruptly and was relieved to see his wife standing by the window as the pale light of dawn touched the sky outside the tall window. Her hair was loose, and she wore only that silken nightgown.
He got out of bed and tugged on his trousers, then went to stand behind her. He wrapped his arms about her, enfolding her in the warmth of his embrace. “What are you thinking about so early in the morning?” he asked softly.
“Gladys.”
That was unexpected. “Gladys?”
Still in his arms, she turned to face him. “I want her to be as happy as I am.”
“Naturally, if she’s your friend.”
“She is, and I haven’t had many friends.” Thea laid her head on his naked chest, her breath warm on his skin. “Do you think the duke’s son will come home this time?”
“Perhaps, but I wouldn’t count on it. Trying to live up to his father’s praise and expectations would be difficult for any man.”
“If he does, will he really be so popular among the ladies?”
Dev put his hands on her shoulders and, confused, pulled back to look at her. “Paul’s a nice fellow, but he’s no Apollo or Adonis, either. He was the skinniest fellow at school and has a true Roman nose, a truly large Roman nose.” He frowned. “What does it matter what Paul looks like or if he’s popular?”
“I was wondering about Gladys’s chances of securing his affection. I think she cares for him a great deal.”
“You think Gladys...and Paul?” Dev returned, genuinely shocked.
“Why is it so strange to think they could fall in love?”
“For one thing, Paul doesn’t like her. They’re both nice people, but proud in their own way, especially Paul, and she’s proven time and time again that she can run faster, ride better and shoot straighter than he can.”
“That doesn’t mean Gladys doesn’t like him,” Thea pointed out.
“You’ve never heard them quarrel. Normally she’s the most genial and accommodating of women, but not with him. She contradicts everything he says until he loses his temper.”
“That would be one way of getting his attention, at least.”
He had never considered Gladys’s actions in that light. And yet... “Even if they did fall in love, I doubt the duchess would allow their marriage.”
“Why not? Gladys is an earl’s daughter and the family is obviously wealthy.”
“She may be an earl’s daughter, but she’s clumsy and not pretty or witty and she talks too much. Nor would Lady Byford be pleased.”
“I think the countess would capitulate if the match made her daughter happy. As for the duchess, it would be Paul who would be marrying Gladys, not his mother. Do you think the duke would object?”
“He believes everything his son does is wonderful, and he’d be relieved Paul’s choice is English.”
“Then why shouldn’t they marry, unless you think Paul won’t stand up to his mother?”
“He would if he loved the girl enough. But this is Gladys we’re talking about.”
Thea raised her chin. “She’s a fine woman and she’ll make any man a fine wife, if he’s wise enough to see it. And as for any previous enmity Paul may have because of her athletic prowess, he’s been gone so long he must surely have had time to get over it.”
“Perhaps,” Dev answered warily. Thea had never seen his friend in a temper after losing another footrace to Gladys, or how that usually most amiable of girls could gloat.
“I think we should have a ball to welcome Paul home.”
Dev suspected this was not a change of subject. “If you’re thinking of having a ball with the intention of playing matchmaker for them, I’d reconsider. He may not come home for a long time yet, and even if he does, he’s so quiet and shy—despite what his father believes—I doubt most people would even realize he’s there.”
She crossed her arms. “We should have a ball anyway, whether or not it’s to welcome your friend.”
“So Gladys can meet other eligible young men?”
“Perhaps, although it’s also important that we start to make a place for ourselves in society here, too.”
A ball in his home meant noise and disruption. Nevertheless, she did have a point. “Very well. Choose a date and plan your ball. Mrs. Wessex will help you.”
“I’m counting on that,” Thea admitted. She put her arms around him and hugged him. “Thank you.”
“As for Paul and Gladys, I wish you luck.”
“Luck,” she said with a sudden flash of temper. “How I hate that word! Luck and the wishing for it have been the bane of my existence for as long as I can remember.”
In the next instant, the temper turned to sorrow.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I shouldn’t be upset with you because my father lived to wager.”
No, not for that, but if Sir John truly was her father and she ever learned the truth about that last game...
He moved away to hide the flush of shame stealing over him. “I’d best leave you to get dressed. I wouldn’t want your maid to find me like this.”
He bussed her lightly on the cheek and fled.
* * *
Two rainy days later, freshly shaven and dressed in his riding clothes, Dev trotted down the stairs heading for the dining room. It was a fine morning at last and he was looking forward to a good gallop, as well as the chance to decide what to do about Thea, or more precisely, his feelings about her.
Never had he felt for any woman the affection, respect and desire he felt for her. Never had he wanted to be with a woman as much as he wanted to be with her, both in bed and out.
Was that love?
And was it love that made him question whether or not he wanted the marriage ended even if Thea had lied about who she was?
He found Jackson at the bottom of the steps waiting to present him with a letter addressed in Roger’s familiar hand.
He opened it and read the few lines his solicitor had written. Frowning, he glanced at his butler. “Please tell my wife I’ll be gone for most of the day.”
* * *
Sometime later, Dev scanned the dim confines of the tavern in a town a few miles from Dundrake. Ever since receiving the letter that morning, he’d feared Roger had brought him bad news. Otherwise he would surely have come to Dundrake Hall instead of asking to meet in this out-of-the-way place.
He spotted Roger leaning back against a none-too-
clean wall. Drawing in a deep breath redolent of ale and sawdust and smoke, Dev threaded his way through the tables until he reached Roger and took a chair across from him. He’d no sooner sat than a serving woman in clothes that were also none too clean, her bodice loose and her breasts swaying, sauntered up to them.
“Ale, sir, or will it be wine...or maybe somethin’ else, eh?” the woman asked, smiling and displaying a mouthful of teeth that made Dev suppress a shudder.
“Ale, if you please, and another for me friend,” Roger replied, his accent slipping back to that of his poverty-stricken youth.
Dev waited until the serving wench had moved off, then inched his chair closer to the scarred wooden table. “Why are we meeting here instead of Dundrake Hall?”
“I thought it best not to meet there lest I encounter your wife.”
Dev’s heart sank. “You’ve discovered that Thea’s not who she claims to be?” he asked, the extent of his pain beyond anything he’d thought he’d feel if that were so.
“She is indeed the daughter of Sir John Markham.”
Dev felt as if he’d come back from the brink of a long and steep drop. “Thank God!”
Roger’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly before he spoke again. “My man found the vicar in whose home she was burned. He also found the record of her baptism at St. Patrick’s. Given everything he found in confirmation of the information provided, I think it most likely she is indeed Sir John’s daughter.”
Smiling with relief, Dev sat back in his chair as the serving wench arrived with the ale. One look at the beverage in the pewter mug and Dev decided not to drink it. Nevertheless, he paid for the drinks, then waited until the wench was out of earshot before he asked, “So why are we meeting here?”
“Even if your wife’s identity is not in doubt, I’ve learned things about her father that are cause for concern. He gambled away the family fortune and he’s been fleeing his creditors for years.”
“Thea told me he’d lost all his money—that’s why she proposed,” he reminded his friend. “It makes sense that creditors would follow.”
It also didn’t take a great deal of imagination to envision Sir John letting his daughter cope with those creditors. That would explain her ability to appear calm and composed in almost any situation.
“There is something else,” Roger said, dropping his voice lower, his expression as grim as Dev had ever seen—even worse than his father’s at its worst. “My man was able to trace Sir John to Liverpool, but there is no evidence he actually boarded a ship there to Canada or anywhere else.”
“What are you saying?”
“That Sir John may still be in England.”
Dev frowned with both dismay and dread. “If he’s not on a ship to Canada, where the devil is he?”
“My agents are trying to find out, so far without success.”
“Could he have lost his passage money gambling?”
“It’s possible. He did indulge in some wagers, but as far as my men have been able to ascertain, he won enough that he should have been able to pay for his passage. However, they may yet discover he had lost what he’d gained.”
“Perhaps he chose another destination, or decided to sail from another port.”
Roger’s grim expression didn’t change. “I’ve sent men to Glasgow, Wales, Dover, Plymouth, Cornwall and Lincolnshire. They have found no record of Sir John on any manifest of any vessel leaving England. Has your wife had any letters from him?”
“How could she? He’s supposed to be in the middle of the Atlantic.”
“Or so she told you.”
A rock seemed to settle in Dev’s stomach. “What are you implying?” he demanded, even though he knew full well what Roger suspected, as he immediately confirmed. “That she may be in contact with him and has kept that from you.”
Another explanation occurred to Dev, one that offered little comfort. “Or Sir John could be dead.”
Although he hoped for Thea’s sake that he was wrong, her father could have bet against the wrong person and been murdered, his body hidden or tossed into the sea.
“Yes, he could be dead,” Roger coolly agreed, “but my men have found no evidence of that, either.”
That brought Dev a bit of relief, for Roger’s men were very good at their jobs. But only a bit. In spite of whatever he’d done in the past, Thea loved her father and he would hate to have to tell her Sir John was dead.
“What if she has heard from him?” he asked. “If he stayed in England because he gambled away his passage money, she could be too ashamed and embarrassed to tell me.”
“Or she might have known he never intended to leave the country and lied about that to gain your sympathy.”
“She’s never appealed to my sympathy. Ever.”
“Experts in deceit excel at hiding their intentions. However, let us suppose she does believe he had sailed. He may have changed his mind for some unknown reason and chosen not to tell her. Perhaps he hasn’t contacted her because he doesn’t know where she is, or has yet to discover that she’s married. If he does find out, though, and comes to you or your wife for money or to pay his debts—”
“I can afford it.”
“No doubt, but that might only be the beginning of the demands he might make.”
“He could demand all he liked. I need not agree.”
“And your wife? What if she is not able to refuse his pleas?”
Dev thought of Thea’s strength, her resolve, but also her apparent capacity to forgive her father almost anything. Against anyone else, including her husband, she might be strong, but her father? “She has her pin money and that’s all. Even if Sir John asked, she would have to come to me for more money. She hasn’t so far.”
“You have a fair number of valuables in your house, Dev. Silver and jewelry, easily pawned.”
That was also unfortunately true. “I haven’t been told that anything is missing.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.”
Not nearly as much as he was to be able to truthfully say it.
The serving wench approached, until a look from Roger sent her scurrying back to the kitchen.
“I don’t believe Thea is aware her father hasn’t sailed—if he hasn’t,” Dev said in his wife’s defense. “Mistakes have been made in ships’ manifests before.”
Roger’s stern features softened a little. “I hate being the bearer of any news that causes you distress and I don’t fault you for wanting to believe in your wife’s honesty. I can see that in spite of your hasty nuptials, you care for her.”
“You can, can you?”
Roger made a little smile and nodded. “You forget how well I know you. And it’s possible that even if her father has contacted her, she wishes to distance herself from him and so has said nothing. But wherever he is and whatever your wife may or may not know, my first responsibility is your welfare and so I must voice my concerns.”
“I appreciate that, Roger,” Dev said. “Is there anything else you think I need to know?
“Only that there’s no need for you to do anything immediately.”
Dev did not agree. “I’m going to Liverpool myself,” he said, rising.
Roger put out a detaining hand. “My agents—”
“Have no doubt checked all the well-known gambling hells,” Dev interrupted. “But there are places in Liverpool that no agent of yours would ever be allowed to enter even if they knew they existed, places where men like Sir John and me are welcome.”
Roger also got to his feet. “Then I should go with you. When are you planning to leave?”
“Now.”
The solicitor’s dark eyebrows rose. “Without returning to Dundrake Hall?”
“Yes.”
“What about your wife? Won’t she wonder where you are?�
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“That’s why you must go to Dundrake Hall and tell her I’ve gone to Liverpool on business. No need to say more.”
Roger looked as if he’d rather walk over hot coals, which was probably true. Nevertheless, Dev had made his decision. “She’ll believe my solicitor if he tells her there’s no cause for alarm, because there isn’t yet.”
“And should she ask questions?”
Dev gave Roger the grimmest of grim smiles. “There is no one in the world better at discouraging queries than you.”
Chapter Eleven
Finishing a late morning walk, Thea shivered and quickened her pace as she returned to Dundrake Hall. Soon it would be too cold to walk outside at all, so she had taken the opportunity to do so while she could. She had walked through a wood thick with pine, ash and oak and gone as far as the border of Dev’s estate, where it abutted the Duke of Scane’s vast acreage. The damp, misty air smelled of evergreen and rich earth made of leaves lost over the years. Startled squirrels scampered away through the undergrowth of bracken where the sun could reach the ground, and once a rabbit bounded away, its white tail like a sudden sighting of snow.
Just before turning back and beyond the boundary, she’d seen what appeared to be an abandoned cottage, perhaps used during the hunting season or by a charcoal burner. Despite its state of disrepair, it would have seemed palatial to many of the poor families she’d encountered in large cities, and it was a forceful reminder of her own days of poverty and fear.
Even so, she couldn’t help feeling a sense of relief that she was free, if only for a little while, of the duties and responsibilities that came with being the mistress of a manor. It was more work than she’d anticipated, and now she’d added the planning of a ball—not that she was sorry for that. As she’d told Dev, it was important that they take their place in local society.
She glanced at the French doors leading to her husband’s study, vividly remembering her trepidation the first time she’d approached Dundrake Hall through the garden. She’d had no idea what would happen. How glad she was that he’d agreed to marry her, especially after that frightening dream. All the terrors of the past, real or imagined, seemed to be behind her and a happier, secure life beginning.
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