Devall's Angel

by Allison Lane

  “Is that why you jilted her so publicly? You are not cruel, Devall, despite allowing that perception to stand.”

  “It was the only way to free her.” He shrugged.

  “That’s ridiculous. If she wanted out, she had only to jilt you. Both of you would have survived.”

  He laughed without mirth. “You want the whole sordid mess spelled out, I suppose.”

  She nodded.

  “It was an arranged match.” He wandered to the window to peer into the blackness. “My father was a rigid disciplinarian. Her father was worse – and greedy besides. Both believed that women were chattel, lacking intelligence and sense, and that sons were duty-bound to obey every command without question.” His shoulders twitched as if remembering the touch of a switch, but his voice continued without pause. “They had been friends for years, though Quincy’s station was lower and his finances were considerably worse than ours. But Quincy saw his dutiful only child as the means to gain access to the Blackthorn wealth.”

  She shivered, understanding much of what he was not saying. Perhaps he was the devil’s spawn after all. How else could she explain this unsettling ability to read his mind? But the truths she found there banished the question.

  His father had been a brutal man who inflicted instant punishment on anyone resisting his orders. No wonder Devall abhorred abuse. So many of his traits had arisen in childhood. His remote self-containment had started as a defense against his father’s brutality. His cynicism and belligerence hid a lifelong need for affection. What had he suffered? His mother had died while he was still in short pants. He had no siblings to ease the loneliness he must have endured.

  “I learned of the match from the newspaper announcement,” he continued flatly. “I had never met her, but there was no point in refusing. He had already signed the settlements. And I didn’t really care. Girls had been throwing themselves at my prospects for years – the power and wealth of Blackthorn forgives any number of grievous faults. I liked none of them and could see little difference between them. If Father thought this one would do, it was fine with me.”

  He shifted his weight to his other foot. “When she arrived in London, I thought everything would be all right, for she was lovely and had considerable intelligence. But she seemed shy. At first I didn’t think much of it. I’ve never been at ease in company, either, but the problem always disappeared with acquaintance. Yet she didn’t improve. If anything, she grew more fearful, at times reacting as though I were her executioner. I finally cornered her and asked what troubled her.”

  He paused, and Angela waited silently for him to continue. Had he fallen in love with the girl? Maybe not, but whatever had happened still hurt. This was the pain she had long suspected lay at his core. It was even stronger than the agony inflicted by his father.

  “She was in love with a neighbor,” he continued. “Charles Gresham, the penniless younger son of a baronet, who had loved her for years. Her father had refused his consent to a match, barring him from the estate. If she objected to wedding me, he vowed to imprison her in a remote spot – assuming she survived the beating he would inflict.”

  She flinched.

  “I could not marry her under those conditions, Angela. But allowing her to break it off would destroy her. The only solution I could devise was to jilt her in a way that would leave her unmarriageable, which would prevent her father from tracking her down when she disappeared. I arranged for her and Gresham to remove to America where my cousin helped them acquire land. Jilting her ruined me, of course, but I was so sick of society’s toadying that I cared not. Yet I’ve wondered ever since if she used me to set her up with Gresham – I’ve only her word for her helplessness.”

  “Why would you think so?”

  “Having talked me into jilting her, she used the occasion to taunt her father, adding to what we had agreed on, exaggerating and fabricating, and starting many of the lies that have followed me ever since.”

  More pain. She could hear it in his voice, harsher than before. “And your father?” What had so cruel a man done to the son who flouted his wishes so publicly?

  “My one stroke of good fortune. He never heard. He had suffered several bouts of apoplexy that year, though few knew of it. While I was at Lady Jersey’s that night, he was overcome by another, slipping into a coma. He died two days later without ever regaining consciousness.” He turned back to the room. “How did we ever arrive at so maudlin a subject?”

  “We were proving that you are not the blackguard people think. But I suspect you overreacted to her tirade. Do you really believe she set out to take advantage of you?”

  “Why not? She played me for a fool. She had every opportunity to explain earlier, but she waited until just before the wedding to reveal how unhappy she was. Or maybe she planned to wed for power and keep her lover on the side, but discovered she couldn’t tolerate me.” His haunted eyes darted around the room, unable to meet hers.

  “Stop this, Devall! You act like you were madly in love with the girl.”

  He frowned. “Perhaps I was a little. I had tried to fall in love with her.”

  “Which explains how she hurt you so badly. What did she say that haunts you?”

  He shuddered, and for a moment she feared he would not reply. But he turned back to the window, resting his forehead against the cool glass. “I can still hear her,” he whispered. “Lord Quincy accepted my prepared lies, turning on her and calling her names he would never have uttered in mixed company had his temper been even tenuously controlled. One listener swooned. But instead of cowering, Penelope flew at him, shocking him with her unprecedented fury. ‘Selfish cad!’ she screamed in his face. ‘I am glad, do you hear me? Glad to be jilted! You would sell your own soul for a barrel of brandy. Why am I surprised that you sold me to a cold, heartless blackguard to pay your gaming debts? Did you care for even a moment that I would spend the rest of my days in thrall to one of Satan’s own, a notorious libertine who thinks nothing of ruining society’s daughters, a man whose father had to buy him a wife despite his prospects because no one would dare wed him? Of course not! You would sell me to the devil himself if it gained you the faintest hold over Blackthorn’s fortune.’ There was more – a lot more – but you get the idea. Then she slapped his face and marched out, leaving me to face society’s wolves.”

  His voice cracked, breaking her heart. How many nights had he passed reliving that scene? “Of course it was painful,” she said steadily. “Far more than anything I’ve faced. But you are wrong about her motives.”

  “How?”

  “Think, Devall. You know how difficult it is to withstand a brutal and domineering parent.” She met his eyes, letting him see that she understood the pain of his childhood. “But her position was worse than yours. Girls have little control over their lives in even the best of circumstances. With an abusive father, she would have had none. How could she oppose his wishes? The polite world would not have supported her. Society is too rigid. No one dares counter a father’s arrangements. Few believe girls have the intelligence or the experience to decide how they wish to live their lives. She was not of age, so she had no chance of striking out on her own. And how could she have expected anything different from you? You were strangers. Did experience convince her that anything would change? Your father was just like hers.”

  “But we were past that. I was different. I proved it by agreeing to help her despite knowing what it would do to me. So why did she lash out at me?”

  “Unintentionally, I’m sure. That tirade sounds spontaneous. Every grievance she had against her father rose up in that one moment when she could finally turn on him with impunity. Every assault. Every incarceration. Every threat that had commanded obedience. Blinded by rage and pain from a lifetime of suffering, she would have flung any charge that had even a remote chance of hurting him. I doubt she knew half of what she said. If she had realized how badly she’d injured you, she would have tried to make amends.”

  “Have I be
en wrong about everything?” he whispered to himself.

  Her eyes itched. “That was how it started, wasn’t it? You sacrificed your reputation so she could be happy. Even when you believed she had betrayed you, you refused to waste the sacrifice – very like your lecture on turning bad events to good use. Instead of setting the record straight – which you could have done once she was safely gone – you decided to use your ostracism to protect society from its real predators. Tell the truth, Devall. You have more than paid for your sins. It is time to rejoin the world.”

  He nodded. “You were right, you know. I had allowed anger to corrupt my thinking. Perhaps Jack can perform one more miracle before he leaves.”

  “I must get back,” she said, changing the subject before she betrayed herself by pulling him into her arms. Music announced that supper was over. “Thank you again for all you have done. You are the truest friend I have made in this town. One can never rely on them.” She gestured toward the ballroom. “They bend with every breeze.”

  “Have you a set I could claim?” he asked as they moved toward the door. “I would like a real dance before you go.

  “Andrew will give you his. Three sets from now. Why should I not publicly thank the man who rescued me from certain death. And what a Banbury story you made of that,” she said, laughing.

  “I’m glad you like it. But the truth would not have served.”

  “Agreed. Until then, Devall.” The hall was empty, allowing her to slip unnoticed back to the ballroom.

  She did not tell Andrew of her meeting. It was better to make it appear a spontaneous action. After all, she was not supposed to know the man. She could only pray that her instincts were right. Her current elevated status just might convince society to at least let him plead his case. She must see that Jack took advantage of the situation.

  Their meeting did indeed appear spontaneous. Devall arrived as the second set was finishing and immediately moved to her side.

  Andrew performed the introduction. She nearly giggled when she recalled her challenge that Devall find a respectable person to supply her name.

  “Miss Warren,” he said, the laughter sparkling in his eyes proving that he, too, recalled that meeting. “I am delighted to see you recovered from your ordeal.”

  Heads craned to watch. Ears strained to take in every word.

  “I must thank you, my lord, for your timely intervention. I am told that you saved me from certain destruction.”

  “Would it be presumptuous to ask if you have a set free?”

  She looked at Andrew, who nodded, his suspicions flaring as he caught that glint of shared mischief. “This one is open,” he confirmed.

  She smiled. “It will be a pleasure.” Placing her gloved hand on his arm, she accompanied him onto the floor. The orchestra struck up a waltz.

  “At least I know the steps,” he murmured softly. “It is six years since I last danced at a society ball. If this had been something complicated, you would have been in trouble.”

  They spoke little as they twirled around the room. She was resigned to never knowing his love. He had bestowed his heart on Miss Quincy, her apparent betrayal scarring him deeply. Never again would he leave himself vulnerable. But with a little luck he could at least dispel some of the loneliness in his life. She would spend the rest of the ball urging society to accept him.

  Devall savored her softness, stifling his fury at her lingering bruises. This was the last time he would hold her – or even see her. All he could do was enjoy it and store up the memories that must last a lifetime.

  Several brows rose when he led her out, but these were quickly lowered. How could she not thank her savior? And Blackthorn was not as black as once thought. Was there a worthy person under the dramatic looks and lurid reputation? Jack fanned the suspicions with judicious observations and questions of his own. New rumors spread through the ballroom, quickly growing in intensity as more and more people hailed him as society’s lord protector.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Angela settled onto a low bench in the folly, her eyes drinking in the beloved view of lake and forested hill as she imposed peace on her mind. Calm. Order. Forgetfulness. Ten days of feverish activity had left her drained of all energy.

  Andrew had agreed to her plans for the dower house. It gave the staff one more project to work on, for preparations had halted when Lady Forley eloped, but they were coping. She hoped to take possession the day after the wedding. Mrs. Giddings was excited at the prospect. She had already moved into the Court and was proving to be of invaluable assistance with the wedding preparations.

  But it was not the incessant activity or even her impending change of status that weighed so heavily on Angela’s mind. Guests had begun arriving three days before, and she had been inundated with questions, comments, and well-meaning solicitude ever since. Though none of the family had been in London for the Season, all had heard of recent events through correspondence.

  “How could your mother leave you in the middle of such a muddle?” exclaimed Aunt Frances, Lady Forley’s sister, hardly greeting Angela before posing the question. “But it is all of a piece. She always was a selfish one. Why I remember the time—” And she launched an involved monologue detailing a childhood slight, following it with a thorough examination of Angela’s Season.

  “I never would have believed Lord Atwater to be unstable!” protested Aunt Prudence, her father’s sister. “Surely the tale I heard from poor Lady Cunningham cannot have been accurate. He has always been the most thoughtful, caring gentleman in society—” And she recited a litany of praise and support that had Angela clenching both teeth and fists. The pointed interrogation that followed was even worse.

  “How could you have allowed Blackthorn near you?” demanded Cousin Peregrine. “The man is a blackguard of the worst sort. Your reputation is bound to suffer.”

  So Angela was forced to recite the story again. As she had done with Uncle Bertrand, Cousin Michael, Cousin Patience, Peregrine’s wife Phoebe, and so many more. Oh, to be back in town where society’s sheep docilely followed a single lead, and no one judged anything for himself.

  In retrospect, she should have kept to her rooms until everyone had arrived, then called a family meeting to enlighten them all at once. And Andrew was no help. A victim of endless jovial teasing over his rapidly approaching nuptials, and nervously excited on his own account, he had no time to consider the very different attentions his sister was receiving. Having agreed to give her the dower house, he forgot all about her.

  But even worse was her restless dissatisfaction. She could not resume the routine she had lived with for so long. Memories beset her, intruding on every activity during the day and disturbing her sleep at night. But they were not the horror and lingering nightmares from her encounter with Atwater. Pushing Devall from her mind was proving to be far more difficult than she had expected.

  She had never considered how often he had joined her on her morning rides. Nor had she understood how enjoyable those meetings had been. Their conversations, even their arguments, left her glowing for the rest of the day. Lone rides felt flat. His sympathy and encouragement had kept her from falling apart when all of society condemned her. His timely rescue had saved her from death.

  But stimulating discussion and emotional support were not all he had provided, for any close friend could fill that function. It was the man himself that she missed. His physical presence never failed to affect her. Even that first encounter when neither had spoken a word had imprinted strongly on her soul.

  Why had she fallen in love with him? Her treacherous mind recalled every word, every touch, every look. That last waltz had been the most exhilarating of her life. His glittering eyes had softened into tenderness as he gazed into her own. His touch had burned through her gown. The swooping whirl of the dance had affected her more than ever before.

  Increasingly treacherous memories washed over her – the protective way he had comforted her that awful day in Kensington, stro
king her hair, murmuring in her ear – very like Atwater, but with very different results – and gently kissing her to banish her fears. That kiss had been magical, even more so than the lustier one they had shared in Lady Lawton’s garden, filling her with warmth and a desire for more – much more. The need was stronger than anything she had ever imagined. If this was what Andrew had been feeling for the past year, it was no wonder he was so frustrated at the long delay. How could anyone endure unfulfilled desire?

  The thought brought a blush to her cheeks, and she immediately thrust it aside.

  None of this served any purpose. Devall was a friend. No more. His initial interest had been piqued by her confrontation with the street vendor. He had pursued the acquaintance as part of his campaign against Atwater. Beyond that, they had no future. She must put him behind her and embark on her new life. If he—

  She cut her thoughts short, thankfully noting the arrival of yet another relative – Cousin Leonard and his French wife Francine, if her eyes could be trusted. Sighing, she headed for the house and another round of interrogation. Which aspect would they seize on first?

  * * * *

  Devall twisted a wine glass between his fingers, his eyes focused on the fractured lamplight radiating from its cut planes. Garnet flashes sparkled across the papers on his desk. He tried to concentrate on the ever-changing patterns, but stray voices kept surfacing in his head.

  I must make a match this Season … unfair to my brother … can’t waste his sacrifices…

  What had Angela’s problems to do with him? She was too good to be saddled with so black a villain. It was true that Jack had succeeded in raising enough doubt about his past that men were actually asking him for the facts. And it was true that for the first time in his life he was willingly supplying those facts. Why?

  He snorted. He had seen disapproval in a pair of moss-green eyes, had heard a wistful note in the musical voice that urged him to work within the law to change bad laws. She wanted him to take his rightful place in society. So he was violating his own reserve to do it. Would she think better of him?