The Devilish Mr. Danvers

by Vivienne Lorret

  He felt the brush of her fingers in his hair, just above the line of his cravat. Somewhere, far away, he heard the sound of a door closing. Still, neither of them pulled apart.

  He moved his foot away from the door and stepped forward, pressing Hedley against the wall. Subtly, her hips shifted against his. A low, breathy moan escaped her. A quiet, delectable sound. He wanted to devour it. They were alone now. He could devour it.

  Her first kiss.

  His thoughts turned primitive. Kiss. Mine. Want . . .

  Yet . . . she is innocent, he reminded himself. Hedley knew nothing about flirting, or pleasure, or about the natural progression of kisses like this.

  He could easily show her. Too easily. Never in his life had he been so tempted to take a virgin to bed. And not just any virgin but a Sinclair.

  A Sinclair.

  Rafe pulled away. For good measure, he dropped his hands and staggered apart from her until his back was against the opposite wall in the corridor. His lungs burned with each rapid breath he drew.

  A Sinclair.

  “Did you”—Hedley took a breath—“kiss my sister like that?”

  Kiss Ursa? He almost laughed. More than six years ago, that thought had been the focus of each day and every frustrated evening. However, since his father had received the cut direct shortly after their betrothal, she’d rarely deigned to accompany him in public. While he had managed to lure Ursa away from prying eyes on a few occasions, she’d been quite stealthy at avoiding his attempts. At the time, he’d thought she was simply shy and innocent. She’d refused him coyly but always with enough heat in her gaze to keep him hoping. To keep him chasing after her. All along, she’d only been toying with him. Ashamed of him.

  “No. I never kissed your sister.”

  Hedley sagged against the wall in a way that tempted him to return to her. “If you had, she would have married you. I’m certain.”

  Rafe stared at the guileless creature across from him, his thoughts turning in so many directions that his head ached. He wanted Greyson Park. He wanted to win the wager. He wanted the legacy that belonged to his family.

  And with the sweet taste of her on his lips, he wanted . . .

  “Lesson learned,” he said, extending his hand for hers. When she slipped the fingers of her tattered gloves into his palms, he was reminded again of the parcel at Fallow Hall. Not trusting himself to return with it later and not linger, he decided in that moment that he would send a footman with it.

  Drawing her out into the hall, he noted the plumpness of her lips and the becoming shade of pink on her cheeks. She knew little of society and far too little of the ways of men. “This was a lesson to you as well. You should never entertain a gentleman without a proper chaperone.”

  She sputtered as he tugged her down the stairs beside him. “As you’ll recall, I mentioned that very thing to you earlier.”

  True. Although at the time, he’d never intended to kiss her in a servants’ passage. Now that he had, he wasn’t certain if he could ever trust himself alone with her again.

  “You shouldn’t have listened to me, and now you know why.” Odd. He’d kissed scores of women in his life, but none had ever made him forget himself the way she had. He shook the queer notion away as they reached the base of the stairs. “I’m not certain I should have agreed to assist you after all.”

  She jerked her hand from his. Those large cornflower blue eyes stared at him in a mixture of pique and confusion. “Are you saying you’ll not return to help me save Greyson Park, and all because you kissed me?”

  “No.” He drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. “It’s because you kissed me.”

  She scoffed at that, her temper rising with her color. “I am hardly to blame. You are a veritable devil. If it wasn’t for your stolen kiss, none of the rest would have followed.”

  Of the two of them, she was a far better thief, because she’d managed to steal his sanity as well. And if there was a devil among them, it was also she. After all, who better than a devil to know precisely how to tempt him to continue a discourse that would inevitably lead to more kissing?

  Before he could confess that the true blame was hers—in the flavor of her mouth, the shape of her body, and in the soft sounds from her throat—he bowed to her.

  “Good day to you, Miss”—but Sinclair soured the sweet taste lingering on his tongue, so instead he addressed her as—“Hedley.”

  She gritted her teeth and walked past him to open the door. “Don’t forget your umbrella, Mister Danvers.”

  “If you want me to reconsider, then I suggest you call me Rafe.” He brushed by her. Outside, he reached for his umbrella, only to find it gone. Automatically, he looked over his shoulder to the road where Mr. and Mrs. Nathan Cole had gone. Hadn’t Ursa already taken enough from him?

  “It will only get worse,” Hedley warned. “She’ll continue to take what she wants until Greyson Park is no more. That is why I need your assistance.”

  It was the perfect reminder that the Sinclair women were brought up to take what they wanted. “And you?” He faced her. “What will you take in the end?”

  She set her hands on her hips and cocked her head. “Only what’s mine. Nothing more.”

  While she might believe herself, he did not. In fact, he suspected that she was already taking even more than she knew.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Hedley found treasure at Greyson Park.

  Or perhaps it was more correct to say that the treasure had been among the meager belongings she’d brought with her from Sinclair House. Either way, it was a treasure in the sense that it would help her purchase food to replenish the pantry and seeds to begin a garden.

  Standing in the village shop, Lynch & Twyck, she brushed her hand over the beautiful perfume cask that had once belonged to her grandmother. An inlay of gold and mother-of-pearl accented the intricate rosewood grain.

  “Two shillings,” the portly Mr. Lynch said with a sniff.

  Two shillings wouldn’t buy much. Hedley had to make sound decisions. She was on her own, after all. Foolishly, she’d hoped her mother would relent and offer her an allowance, but she’d refused to help in any way. Even Mr. Tims had confessed that he hadn’t received a salary since her grandfather died. Apparently, that had been the reason the caretaker had gone to Sinclair House on the day that he’d overheard the conversation about the treasure.

  “A crown.” She pointed to the lovely detail work. “This is gold.”

  To her, the cask was worth much more. It was a keepsake. Even though she’d never known her grandmother, Hedley had often found herself imagining that Grandmother never would have permitted Hedley’s imprisonment in the attic.

  Mr. Lynch opened the lid of the cask and waved his hands over the six slender bottles within. “Tell me this: what use are these bottles with no stoppers?”

  There once had been stoppers, made of silver and adorned with a swirling S on each top. Then Mother had discovered the cask in Hedley’s attic room and sold each one.

  “You could offer the lot as an assortment of small vases,” Hedley suggested. It was the first idea that popped into her head, but the more she thought about it, the more she liked it. “A single bloom per vase for . . . six days of the week. You could adorn each vase with a different colored ribbon.”

  “Did I hear a mention of vases?” This question came from a woman who’d been admiring a display of combs. Several locks of dark blonde hair escaped from beneath a blue bonnet as she moved toward the clerk’s counter. Stopping beside Hedley, she smiled in such an amiable manner that it almost felt as if they were friends. “I am forever in want of them. Right now, Fallow Hall has an inordinately high number of lilies of the valley.”

  “Fallow Hall?” Hedley started. “I live at Greyson Park.”

  Recognition shone in the woman’s lively brown eyes. “Ah, then you must be the infamous Miss Sinclair who inherited the property.”

  “I am she.” Infamous. Hedley might be able t
o guess who would cast her in such a light. So then, was this woman someone close to Rafe? Without reason, Hedley’s stomach began to churn and twist into knots.

  “My name is Calliope Croft—oops—I mean, Ludlow,” the woman said with a laugh. “You see, I’m newly married and still not used to the name.”

  And suddenly, those knots loosened. She exhaled a breath. “Hedley Sinclair.”

  “Miss Sinclair.” Mr. Lynch cleared his throat. “Since there appears to be some interest in your stopper-less bottles, I will increase my offer to two shillings and sixpence.”

  “Only half a crown?” Calliope asked, pursing her lips. “Surely, that price is for the vases alone. Why, the cask is worth its own price. Just look at that detail. Did you say gold and mother-of-pearl, Miss Sinclair?”

  “Um . . . yes.” Hedley was too stunned by her newly introduced neighbor’s support to speak. This had never happened before. In her of years living at Sinclair House, no one had ever stood up in her favor. “Quite.”

  Mr. Lynch squinted at Calliope and then at Hedley, as if he suspected them of trying to cheat him. “A crown for the box, stopper-less bottles, and . . . the shawl.”

  Hedley drew back, laying a protective hand over the pin that held the two ends of the shawl together. Rafe had given this to her. Even though it had meant nothing more than recompense for him, this shawl, and the other items, were the first new clothes she’d ever received. “The shawl is not for sale.”

  The clerk’s mouth twisted with regret. “Half a crown for the box and bottles. That is all I can spare.”

  It was better than leaving empty-handed.

  Reluctantly, Hedley nodded. She cast one final look at the perfume cask and took the coin from the clerk. Beside her, Calliope was silent as they left the shop.

  Together, they stood outside in the narrow alleyway that served as the village market. Shop fronts displayed their wares from boxed windows with freshly whitewashed trim. Men, women, and children alike crowded the serpentine cobblestone path. Spring had arrived, and everyone, it seemed, had decided to venture out of doors.

  Calliope shook her head and frowned. “I don’t understand it. My sister-in-law has a knack for bargaining, where in most instances, the shopkeepers end up giving her things. Obviously, I have been a poor student. I was certain Mr. Lynch would give the crown you were after.”

  Hedley offered a genuine smile to her neighbor. “I thought you did splendidly. And I cannot thank you enough for your efforts.”

  Still, without many items to sell, Hedley wondered how she was going to live. She would have to find work. Unfortunately, she didn’t have enough education to be a governess or even a laundress. She could sew quite well. However, she’d been informed on a previous jaunt to the village that nearly every local girl could sew. The dress shop wanted only an experienced modiste. What was she to do?

  If circumstances didn’t change in her favor soon, she would end up starving to death in Greyson Park. In the end, it might have been better if she’d stayed invisible.

  At the depressing thought, Hedley automatically looked down at her shoes. Still red. Not invisible. Good.

  “You’re very kind to say it,” Calliope said, her expression remaining piqued. Then suddenly, it transformed into one of pure radiance as her gaze shifted over Hedley’s shoulder.

  “Here is my bride, at last,” a man said as he approached the two of them. He was an uncommonly handsome man with pale blond hair and blue-green eyes that never left Calliope’s face. With a broad grin, he slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “I can’t tell you how many times I returned to the bookstore in search of you. And then I remembered how you told me that you needed a comb, after I so carelessly broke one last evening—”

  “Everhart,” Calliope interrupted, rosy color rising to her cheeks. “It is inappropriate to speak of such things or hold me so close while I am meeting our new neighbor.”

  Though Calliope scolded her husband, she did nothing to dissuade him. In fact, she leaned into him. Hedley had witnessed this type of response from a few of the servants at Sinclair House. To her, it was indicative of a close personal relationship. She’d often wondered if it was a conscious reaction or something that a person was unaware of doing. Yet after kissing Rafe, she realized that the reaction was beyond a person’s control.

  “Neighbor, hmm?” Calliope’s husband grinned at Hedley. “Are you the young woman living at Greyson Park?”

  Calliope spoke for her. “My love, this is Miss Hedley Sinclair. And Miss Sinclair, this is my husband Gabriel Ludlow, Viscount Everhart.”

  He inclined his head. “Miss Sinclair, a pleasure.”

  A viscount? Hedley fell into a panicked curtsy. Was she supposed to kiss his hand or something? “It is an honor, sir—my lord—Your Grace.”

  The viscount chuckled. “Everhart will do.”

  She looked to Calliope, embarrassed that all this time she’d been talking to her without knowing. “And that makes you—”

  “A friend,” Calliope answered, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Someone to talk to over tea, perhaps. There is a lovely shop on the corner. Mrs. Dudley bakes the most scrumptious scones and biscuits.”

  “Why not invite Miss Sinclair to Fallow Hall instead?” Everhart asked, directing the question both to his wife and then to Hedley. “We could all travel together. I’m certain Danvers is nearly finished sifting through washing soda by now.”

  When he nodded in the direction of the far corner of the market, Hedley’s gaze followed. There stood Rafe Danvers, wearing a burgundy coat and buff breeches and looking every bit the dashing rake.

  Yet he wasn’t alone. A woman with inky black hair stood with him. Hedley recognized her as the laundress, the widow Richardson. The widow laughed and brushed her hand over his shoulder in a familiar gesture, as if the two were well acquainted. Very well acquainted, indeed.

  Hedley’s stomach churned anew, twisting end over end. The surface of her skin pricked with heat. And for a moment, she envisioned herself marching down the alleyway and jerking the widow Richardson away from Rafe.

  The thought stunned her. She’d never done anything remotely like that in her life. But this rise of . . . annoyance was foreign to her, and she couldn’t get the idea out of her head.

  Then, as if he felt her gaze, Rafe glanced to where she stood. For an instant, she saw recognition flash in the depths of his dark irises. Something else flared to life as well. She would have sworn that his gaze had dipped to her shawl, but he looked away too quickly for her to be certain. So quickly, it was as if he hadn’t seen her at all.

  Hedley pulled her gaze away and fought the urge to glance down to her shoes to ensure she wasn’t invisible. She even managed a smile for her new friend. “Thank you for the kind offer for tea, but I have business I must attend before returning home.”

  Calliope cast a quick glance down the alleyway, her eyes bright. “Might I call on you for a visit?”

  Hedley felt a rush of excitement at the idea of having her first guest at Greyson Park. Well . . . if she didn’t include Rafe’s two visits. And those hadn’t truly been visits; they’d been . . . more. She broke away from the memory with the sudden sting of heat to her cheeks. “I would be honored.” Inclining her head in the same way Everhart had, she added, “It was a pleasure to meet you both.”

  Then, before she was tempted to let her gaze stray to the far corner of the market, she quickly headed off in the opposite direction.

  Rafe tugged at his cravat. The early spring sun was brighter than he realized. A flood of heat coated his skin, as if he stood before a furnace instead of before the widow Richardson. Yet he was almost certain that it was not his companion who’d put him in this state, but more so the glimpse of a young woman wearing a pink paisley shawl.

  Wasn’t it bad enough that she’d haunted his dreams for the past few days? Must she also tempt him in the light of day?

  The very fact that he’d seen her the moment before he wa
s prepared to make plans for a tryst with the widow irritated him. He needed a release from the state Hedley and her damnable kiss had put him in.

  “I’ve missed you.” The widow trailed her fingertips along the outer edge of his sleeve.

  Rafe refocused his attention on the woman before him. Her features were lovely—slanted dark brows, seductive eyes, and a mouth experienced in pleasure. Yet for the first time, he felt no automatic stirring within. “Business in London kept me away for too long.”

  “Usually, when you return, I’ll see you the same evening,” she crooned, wetting her lips. “This time, I learned from one of the maids at Fallow Hall that you’ve been back for a few days.”

  A prickle of irritation tightened his grin. Knowing that she spoke of him behind his back was too reminiscent of the way the ton had whispered about his family. “Gossip rarely leads to good.”

  The widow knew enough about his family’s disgrace to know how much he despised the practice. Though, for a laundress, she had made an effort to curb her tongue. At least, around him.

  She dismissed his comment with a flick of her wrist as she moved her hand to the buttons of his waistcoat. “I was worried that I’d have to find a new lover. Mr. Abbot has spoken of his interest.”

  The village butcher? If this was her attempt at trying to make him jealous, she would have to try harder. By the size of the man’s belly, he would not be able to pleasure her in all the ways that Rafe had.

  Not surprisingly, the comment didn’t bother Rafe in the least. He’d never been the jealous sort. Not even when Ursa had left him. Her betrayal had bothered him far more than her marrying another man.

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t be too hasty to discount him.” Rafe tipped his hat. “For now, I bid you good day.”

  The widow took hold of his sleeve. “I didn’t mean it. I just wanted to make you realize that other men find me desirable as well. And you shouldn’t discount me.”

  “You are right. I shouldn’t have.” But the truth was, he had. In fact, in the recent weeks, he’d barely given her a passing thought. There was someone else occupying his mind—though not in the same way. Not entirely. Hedley’s presence in his mind was like a fire that slowly consumed him. And the only way to save himself was to set his plans firmly in motion. She would marry Montwood. She would leave Greyson Park and take those tempting lips and beguiling eyes with her.