Deverell's Obsession: A Risqué Regency Romance

by Sahara Kelly

  “I know. I know.” Dev soothed the Roman snout. “Brenna, what will you do with him? He’s a big lad.”

  “Och, ‘t’isn’t a worry, sir. I’ll take ‘im round back into the mews. We’ve a hitchin’ post there. Give ‘im an apple, mebbe. Would ye like that, feller?”

  She reached up her little hand and touched his nose.

  Dev blinked as his damned horse, whose temper was notorious, dipped his head and whuffled affectionately into Brenna’s palm.

  “Well look at that.”

  “That’s our Brenna. Got a way with animals, she has.” The voice came from a woman with greying hair and a modest dress, who stood in the doorway.

  “Mary, isn’t it?” Dev surrendered the reins to wee Brenna and moved toward the door. “Thank you for the note. It’s a mystery we must solve, I believe.”

  “Indeed it is, Mr. Deverell. We’re obliged you took us seriously.” The other half of this delightful couple welcomed Dev into the house.

  “A pleasure to see you again, Eileen.”

  “Kind of you to recall us, sir.” She dropped him a quick curtsey.

  “Stop,” Dev held up his hand. “None of that, if you please. I’d like to think we’re friends, thanks to Lady Julia. So you don’t curtsey, I don’t bow, and it’s Dev, not sir.” He headed toward an open door. “Right. That’s settled. Now, where is she?”

  “Keep going, s…Dev.” Mary blinked and caught herself. “Right through. She’s resting on the chaise.”

  He walked into the room, finding it filled with sunlight. So bright that for the first few moments he could see little detail.

  But he put his hand up and in the shade he saw the chaise, up against the wall and beneath the windows.

  On it was a figure, lying down with her head on several cushions. She seemed to be in a nightgown with lots of ruffles, and covered with a blanket.

  He walked over, looked down…

  And his heart stopped.

  It was her.

  He fought for some semblance of control over himself, since his first reaction was to fall to his knees and babble uncontrollably.

  However, since his practical nature reasserted itself and reminded him that any kind of magic spell or mystical illusion wasn’t likely to have manifested near the London docks, he just stood and stared at her.

  She was real. A tiny pulse throbbed at the base of her neck above her collar, and her features were clear, distinct, in way they hadn’t been in his painting.

  Her hair was the same color, dark, dark brown blended with black, but flashing a lighter shade where the sun touched it. Her skin was creamy, her cheeks pale now, but still with a touch of rose petals.

  She was a beauty for certain, yet her features weren’t the perfection required of an Incomparable. No, she was unique in her loveliness, and perhaps he was the only one who could see it.

  He wished she’d open her eyes.

  “Here’s the note, Dev.” Eileen touched his arm and he started a little.

  “Ah, good. Thank you.”

  He took it and read the carefully-penned words, frowning as he reached the end. “This was all there was?”

  “That’s it.” Mary nodded. “That note—and this.”

  She held out a piece of grubby silk and in the center was a small, perfect golden ring, the center of which held an embedded green stone that danced in the rays of light.

  Dev was no jeweler, but even he knew a good emerald when he saw one. He let Mary tip it into his palm. It seemed warm against his skin, but maybe it had just been lying in the sunbeams.

  Looking at it closely, turning it one way and another, he was at a loss to make out a jeweler’s mark of any kind, which was unusual for such a piece. Although he did notice something that looked like it might have been tiny scratches here and there, near the stone’s setting inside the circle.

  “It’s lovely,” he murmured. “And I would think it’s very old. Not to mention valuable.”

  “It’s mine.”

  He turned to meet a gaze as green as the stone he held in his hand.

  “Give me back my ring. Now.”

  Chapter Two

  Everything was so confusing, she thought as she stared into the eyes of the man standing next to her. Her head hurt. Where was she? Who was he?

  She held out her hand and repeated her demand. “My ring, sir.”

  “Of course, Miss.” He leaned over and placed it on her palm. “Nobody would steal from you. We’re here to help.”

  She slipped the ring back on the third finger of her right hand where it slid home easily, and she sighed with relief.

  Struggling to rise to a sitting position, he was there before she had time to think, helping her with a gentle arm around her shoulders, and then lifting her feet by the ankles, taking care to keep the blanket snug around them as he placed the on the floor.

  “Be careful, Dev.” Mary started forward. “She has a nasty bash on the back of her head.”

  That explains the headache. She nodded with a great deal of care. “My thanks, sir.”

  “Are you thirsty, my dear?” A woman leaned toward her, a motherly look on her face.

  She nodded. “A little, yes. Do you have tea…?”

  “Of course.” Both women scurried from the room, leaving her alone with the man.

  “May I know your name?” His voice was cultured, pleasant, and his face…well it was not hard to look at him.

  She thought for a moment. “I am Léonie Petrova Girard.”

  “Well, Miss Girard, my name is Delaney Deverell. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  She inclined her head, a much easier move that caused less pain. “And you, Mr. Deverell.” She looked around. “Do you live here?”

  It was casual polite conversation, meaningless but acceptable. She could not—would not—tell him that she didn’t know where she was, or why, or what had happened since her ship sighted London. From that moment on, everything was a blank and she was, beneath her social veneer, terrified.

  “No, I don’t. Now tell me why you’re afraid, Miss Léonie.”

  She gasped.

  He smiled reassuringly. “Please don’t lie to me. It’s in your eyes, my dear. All I want to do is help and the note wrapped around that ring summoned me here today.”

  “Note? What note?”

  He reached to a side table and picked up a folded piece of paper. “This was wrapped around your ring, and—as I understand—the whole stitched into your collar. One would assume for safety. When you were found, it was all you had on you.”

  She swallowed. “Found?”

  “Yes.” He looked at her, his eyes intense and dark. “Found. Unconscious in an alley beside the docks.”

  Refusing to betray surprise, she gripped her hands together. “Really. I must owe many thanks to whomever rescued me.”

  “That would be Mary and Eileen, the ladies who are at this moment making you tea. And if I know them, there will be fresh biscuits as well.”

  “Oh, voskhititelnyy!” She smiled. “I do love fresh biscuits.”

  *~~*~~*

  Her smile went to his heart like a perfectly aimed arrow fired at point-blank range. He felt the ping.

  Her words, however, brought him down to ground with a bump. Dev did not consider himself a brilliant man, a wit or the equal of so many of the intellectuals populating London’s salons.

  He had travelled with an open mind, absorbed a lot of mostly useless information, and knew Russian when he heard it, even if his own ability to communicate in that language was limited.

  “I’m glad to hear it. Wonderful indeed.”

  She bit her lip and lowered her eyelashes, hiding her expression from him. “You understand Russian, sir?”

  “A few words, no more. But that was one of them. You are well traveled, Miss Girard. I have to assume that the Petrova in your name betrays some family connection with that country.”

  “You are correct. My mother was a Petrova. It is the name granted to the
descendants of Peter the Great.”

  “I had heard rumors to that effect.”

  “She was a singer, you know. They said she sang like a lark in the sunshine or a nightingale when the moon is full.”

  “Birdlike, was she?”

  “Pardon?”

  Dev waved a hand. “Never mind. I take it from your use of the word ‘was’ that your mama is no longer with us, so my condolences. I also feel that her departure was not of recent date, so with your permission, I believe we should return to your situation.”

  She looked up as the door opened.

  “Here we are then,” Mary walked in with the tea things and Eileen followed with a tray filled with the promised biscuits.

  Dev bit his lip. She’d avoided his questioning by the arrival of the ladies, but he’d bet his new hat she would be hiding things. She was too careful, too polite, too perfectly behaved to be doing anything else.

  There were the usual comments exchanged over the teacups and Léonie was as polished as if they were sharing biscuits with the Prince of Wales. Her manners were impeccable, but Dev could see they were not forced in any way. This was the way she’d been taught to behave.

  Then he noticed her eyes.

  She was in pain.

  “Mary, I believe Miss Léonie is in need of rest.”

  She glanced up at him, a slight frown creasing her brow. “No, not at all—“

  “Och, yer head. I’m forgettin’ that nasty lump. Let’s get you settled, dear, you take a wee nap and just rest. It’ll help you get better.”

  “I think…” she winced. “Yes. I think I will.”

  Dev and Mary got her back into a comfortable position, while Eileen cleared away the tea.

  He tucked the blanket around her shoulders as Mary stroked her forehead.

  She smiled weakly. “Merci.” Then closed her eyes, her face white now as she rode out the headache that was doubtless cracking her skull.

  The two of them left her, leaving the door a little ajar in case she awoke and called out.

  He followed Mary back into the kitchen, pulled out a chair and sat at the table as if he was quite used to being in this part of a house.

  Two pairs of eyes stared at him.

  “What? You don’t think I’ve ever been in a kitchen before? Come on, ladies. We all know it’s the warmest place in the house.” He grinned. “And you have biscuits.”

  Eileen shook her head and pushed the plate toward him. Mary sat with a sigh. “What are we to do with that poor girl? Such a blow she was given, Dev. Lump the size of a goose egg and scratches an’ all.”

  “Lucky she made it,” added Eileen. “I’d say the lass has a head like iron because that kind of thump could’ve killed her.”

  “And this is the first time she’s spoken?” Dev munched thoughtfully.

  “Yes indeed. Lovely voice, she has, I must say.”

  “No accent, and yet there was that French thank you.” Mary raised her eyebrows. “Gotta wonder.”

  “Indeed.” Dev nodded.

  “So, Dev.” Eileen finally sat and leaned her forearms on the table. “Can you place her? Got any ideas at all about who she is or where we should send her?”

  He looked at the two good souls who had opened their house to a wounded stranger. They were a couple, without a doubt. And would be shunned by his society if their relationship became known. Thankfully they weren’t in any danger of that.

  But it did remind him of why he had little use for his “society” and chose his friends with care.

  “As you say, she spoke French with fluid ease. And before you came in, she also spoke Russian with equal facility.”

  “You don’t say.” Mary’s eyes widened.

  “I do indeed,” affirmed Dev. “I don’t recognize her name, of course. There are no Léonies in my family as far as I know. She herself said that the Petrova was Russian, from Peter the Great’s line, and her surname—Girard—might account for the French. When it comes to the ring, no, I’ve never seen it before, but I will do a little legwork and see what comes to light.” He paused, thinking.

  “It does seem that the name Elwyn is familiar.“ Frowning, he rose and began pacing, as he was wont to do when pondering a problem. Not the best course of action in a small kitchen, since he almost tripped over the back door mat, but he needed to stretch—both his mind and his legs.

  He came to a decision. “I don’t believe she remembers how she got here, ladies. Beneath that lovely polite exterior is a young woman scared out of her wits. It’s in her eyes.”

  “It is?” Eileen blinked.

  He took a breath. “I have a painting at home. Part of the Deverell estate. Came to me from an uncle about eighteen months ago. This portrait is the identical image of that young lady sleeping in your parlor.”

  “Good God. What are the chances of that?”

  “Two,” answered Dev. “Slim and none.”

  “So she must be, if not related, then associated somehow with you?”

  “That’s the question. She had my address and now her resemblance to my portrait. Yes, you’re right. She must have some connection to the Deverells somehow.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “But right at this moment, I have no clue what or when.”

  “What should we do, Dev?” Mary’s voice betrayed her concern. “She can stay here, of course, but I’m not sure it’s the best place for her. I’m worried about that wound of hers.”

  Dev smiled then. “I can’t tell you how happy I am that Julia introduced us, ladies. You have the warmest hearts of anyone I’ve ever met. And the most generous souls.”

  Both Mary and Eileen blushed.

  “There are so many in this town who have so much, but they are nowhere near as wealthy as you.”

  “Oh, my.” Eileen blinked.

  “Goodness.” Mary looked shocked.

  “I know. I’m getting maudlin. Old age, I expect.”

  Two almost identical snorts greeted this statement.

  “However,” he continued, “I’ve decided that Léonie shall come home with me.”

  “Wait, Dev.” Mary held up her hand. “You’re a bachelor. She’s a lovely young lady. Reputations have been completely ruined by a lot less than what you’re suggesting.”

  “True. I might have been responsible for a couple of ‘em.” He grinned.

  “No. I don’t believe it.” Eileen narrowed her eyes at him.

  “I’m jesting.” He came back to the table. “I do, of course, have any number of ladies in the family who would be only too eager to come running into my house to act in the capacity of chaperone to Léonie. Unfortunately, I’d never get rid of ‘em, and I’m not about to house an indigent relative for the rest of my life.”

  Mary raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  “All right, they’re not exactly indigent.” He spared a thought for his imposing Aunt Elspeth, Dowager Duchess of Woodbury. She had a fortune as respectable as the dear departed Duke, but if he let her into his house as a guest?

  He shivered at the mere notion of facing her across the breakfast table.

  “I’m going to send a message to one of my aunts. Aunt Bertrande.”

  “Oh, if she’s French, that would be wonderful, wouldn’t it?” Mary’s face lit up. “So nice for the poor girl to be able to converse with someone who understands her.”

  “Er…yes.” Dev left that one alone. “Actually Aunt Bertrande isn’t French. But she picked up a lot of the language on her travels.” He didn’t mention that her real name was Bertha and that most of her languages came from being a courtesan in Paris for several misspent years. Before she met and married a sweet elderly gentleman with a massive fortune. Who happened to be a Deverell.

  He sighed. It was complicated.

  “So Aunt Bertrande it is.” He nodded decisively. “Now. As to the arrangements. I’m going to ride home…” he turned and looked around, “if wee Brenna can be persuaded to part with my horse?”

  Mary reached for a small bell pull. “She
’ll bring it round front for you.”

  “Good. Once I get back to Deverell House, I’ll have the guest rooms prepared, then return in the carriage.” He thought for a moment. “I think, if you agree, that it might be a good idea to have our family physician check on Léonie? He’s a trustworthy man…”

  “Of course, Dev.” Eileen was emphatic. “She needs some solid doctoring. Just to be safe if nothing else.”

  “Agreed,“ added Mary. “We’d both feel a lot better knowing she’s had a proper doctor.”

  “He won’t do any better than you have, but as you say. Just to be sure.”

  The sound of hooves clattered on the street and Dev knew wee Brenna had obeyed the summons.

  “So if all goes well, I should be returning no later than two hours or so from now? And Aunt Bertrande lives near enough to arrive before nightfall, so that eliminates any cause for concern.”

  “Excellent.” Both women smiled.

  “Right then. I must be off.” He walked out into the hall and toward the front door.

  “Dev…” Mary spoke hesitantly.

  “What is it?”

  “Take care of her?”

  He paused. “Of course I will. Trust me?”

  “We do, lad.”

  And he found himself hugged by two grateful women. Which wasn’t the worst thing that had ever happened to him, but came close to being one of the most embarrassing.

  “All right now,” he disentangled himself. “I’m not going off to war, you know. Just Deverell House. And I’ll be back shortly.”

  “Yes, but it’s just that you’re such a dear lad.”

  He took the reins from wee Brenna and patted her on the head. “I must remember to pass that on to my mother. She’d be quite surprised.”

  A coin passed surreptitiously from his hand to wee Brenna’s. “Thank you little one. You took good care of my friend here.”

  He swung himself up into the saddle. “I’ll be back soon, ladies. Thank you again.”

  All the way home he turned over the morning’s events in his mind. And one particular problem gnawed at him.

  How on earth was he going to explain what he’d just done?

  Chapter Three