Sweet Torture

by Dayna Quince

  “You left, Devon, not me. Had you stopped at my door even a second longer, things would have been so different.”

  “But they are not, are they?” He tore himself from the bed, leaned against the mantle, and stood motionless, his shoulders and back tensed in anger.

  “They could be. This is our chance, Devon, and that’s all I’m asking for. Please let go of what happened, and let us move forward together!”

  “I can’t just let it go, Lydia. It clings to me as much as the opium did—if not worse. You want me to forget what you did to me, to us, so we can be together, and save your reputation, but I don’t know how to do that,” he growled. “I’m not a saint.”

  “Its true I am ruined, Devon, but I don’t need you to save my social standing. I need you to save me from a life without you. I am ruined for any other man but you. I will never love again. If you can bring yourself to forgive me, we will have all that we want and more. Everything that is between us now and more, a home”—her voice dropped to a whisper—“a family.” Her tone reeked of desperation, but she didn’t care.

  “I need to be alone, I need to think,” he said.

  Lydia scooted off the bed. She looked back at him as she reached the door, but he still had his back to her. He looked so hurt and so alone. She wanted to go to him, wrap her arms around him and continue to beg, to prove that they could move past this, but at the same time she felt shut out. She didn’t know how much longer she would last. One moment she was gaining ground, and the next, she felt miles away from him.

  Chapter 20

  Devon turned to the door as it clicked shut. He was discovering he wasn’t good at forgiving. He had never been in the position to need to forgive someone who had hurt him so deeply. It was easy to forget. When he looked at her angelic face, felt her soft skin under his hands, all his anger faded, but when she talked about the past, his head clouded with pain again. How does one forgive?

  He didn’t know how to do it. It was that plain and simple. But he wanted what she wanted, that also seemed pretty simple…except it wasn’t. He wanted to drown himself in her body and not think about the past. He wanted to forget it all and give into her, but it stood before him like a wall. He wanted to break through it, but how?

  He felt a headache coming on.

  There was a soft knock on his door and his valet entered quietly.

  “Do you want to dress for dinner, my lord?”

  Devon considered it. Despite his black mood, he was tired of staring at the same four walls. He needed to get out more. The delightful afternoon picnic showed him that. He had said he needed normal; maybe the answer was to simply act normal—dinners, walks, tea, riding, cornering a certain blonde-haired woman in an alcove and kissing her witless… Normal. The idea was like a light in his black tunnel, an illuminated path forward.

  He would simply go on and be the man he is. He would continue to seduce Lydia, as was his plan, to which he was sure he wouldn’t find an ounce of resistance, and behave like his old self. It felt like a sham, but at some point, it would be real. For months now, he had buried himself in darkness and self-pity. That had done nothing for him. In all actuality, it had made him worse.

  He ran away like a coward, but now it was time to stand up like a man. He had nothing to lose because Lydia wanted him. Only his damaged heart stood in his way. He was a damn fool.

  His valet stood anxiously waiting; he probably thought Devon was demented by now.

  “I think I will.” Devon pushed away from the mantle and moved before the basin and ewer. He poured water into the bowl and splashed some on his face.

  His valet moved silently throughout the room, pulling clothing from the wardrobe and dresser. Devon finished drying his face and let his valet dress him. When he was finished, he turned to face the mirror and was taken aback. He looked different, older. He had lost weight, emphasized by the way his clothes hung from him. And—bloody hell—he could see faint streaks of silver at his temples. They were few and far between, but still he almost didn’t want to recognize the man in the mirror. He looked unhappy, and Devon—until now—had never known such an emotion. He didn’t like it one bit. He had lived a charmed life, blessed with family and fortune, endless opportunities, and the looks to ensure he would never want for feminine company. Where was that man? He knew the answer, and he was ashamed of it.

  So this was his answer, wallow in self-pity alone or let go of his anger and simply be with Lydia. It sounded so simple, too simple. Even he knew that nothing in life could be that easy. He excused his valet and left his room. Colton was coming down the hall, and he stopped in surprise.

  “Am I dreaming? Or rather, having a nightmare? I could have sworn Devon Brentton died, drowning in his own self pity?”

  Devon made a rude gesture and turned away from him.

  “Wait!” Colton said through his laughter. “I tease, Devon, you know I’m teasing.”

  “Yes, but your words are eerily similar to the mocking voice in my head.”

  “Your mind is not lost to us then if it sprouts such wisdom. Are you joining us for dinner?”

  Devon nodded. He already felt as surly as a gelded bull, but he was intent on spending the evening in the company of his family.

  “Everyone will be thrilled to see you. The prodigal son returns!”

  Colton’s shout echoed throughout the hall, and Devon cringed.

  “Must you make this more difficult?”

  “Always, ’tis what true friends do.”

  “Where is your wife?” Devon growled, sure Olivia would not be so insensitive.

  “She’s in the drawing room waiting with the others.” Colton grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop as they reached the stairs. “In all seriousness, Devon, it’s wonderful to see you up and about.”

  “Thanks, I had to escape that room, or I was going to lose my mind.” They both continued down the stairs. “I think I will go for a ride tomorrow, if the weather permits it.”

  “Excellent, your father will be pleased. He had your horse brought up to tempt you.”

  Devon smiled. He was surprised that it felt genuine, and he relaxed a little bit. Perhaps he was doing the right thing by forcing himself to act normal. “Glad to hear it.”

  They entered the front hall, and Devon had a moment of panic before stepping into the drawing room. He was afraid of acting like an arse and seeing that pitying-worried look on their faces as if he were the deranged black sheep of the family they didn’t know what to do with. But when he walked in and everyone turned to him, he saw only one face.

  Lydia’s face lit up with radiant joy. She smiled, and Devon’s heart quickened and warmth spread from his chest to his abdomen. He reluctantly tore his gaze away. Lady Covington sat next to Lydia, and she had smiled as well—a glad smile, much to his amazement. Next, he turned to his parents and Olivia, sitting across from Lydia and her mother. His father looked elated, his mother’s eyes were suspiciously wet, and Olivia was grinning like a fool. He was a little overwhelmed by their emotional welcome, but it was a wonderful sight, and he was reminded how truly blessed he was to have such a family. For a moment, he felt like he would actually cry, but he pulled himself together and stepped forward.

  “Devon,” his father clapped him on the back. “Good to see you about, lad.”

  “It feels good,” Devon responded.

  “You look well.” His mother took his hand and squeezed before letting it go.

  “I feel old,” he admitted.

  “It happens to the best of us,” his father quipped.

  “Speak for yourself.” Lady Covington stepped forward. “A lady ages like a fine china vase, and a gentleman ages like a fine whiskey. One remains timeless and elegant while the other is always improving.” She winked at Devon.

  “Very wise words,” Lady Lesley agreed.

  “While you’re all discuss aging, Lydia and I are starving to death. May we proceed to dinner?” Olivia asked.

  “It’s nice to see you too,
little sister.” Devon smiled.

  “You look spry, old chap. It’s about time you graced us with your presence.”

  “Now, now, Olivia,” their mother scolded.

  “It’s all right, she just doesn’t want to admit how much she missed me,” Devon chided.

  The butler announced that dinner was ready at that moment, and they filed into the dining room. Given the informal nature of the group of guests, the formal rectangular dining table was exchanged for a round table. Olivia sat to Colton’s right followed by Lady Covington, Lord and Lady Lesley, Lydia, and ending with Devon on Colton’s left. The seating was much more intimate and personal, perfect for a relaxed evening of close family and friends.

  Devon held Lydia’s chair for her as she sat. She kept her eyes averted, but he could see a telltale blush staining her cheeks. Good. He hid his smile as he took his own seat, inconspicuously scooting it closer to hers—or so he thought. Colton caught his eye, giving him silent warning. Devon winked at him. He couldn’t help it. Lydia fired his blood and brought out the rake in him. After all that she had put him through, she deserved a little sweet torture.

  The footmen set down the first course. Devon took hearty servings, a testament to the return of his health. Lydia raised a dubious brow but curiously kept her thoughts to herself. Devon wondered why she was being so meek. He thought about ways to bring her out of her shell that would entertain him.

  “Why are you smiling like that?” Olivia asked from across the table.

  “Pardon?” Devon looked up, his expression as innocent as a newborn babe.

  “You were smiling down at your plate like a wicked god about to steal a virgin. Very diabolical.”

  “Olivia!” Her mother scolded. “That is not dinner conversation.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes. “Oh please. Given the circumstances, the mention of a virgin is hardly shocking.”

  Colton coughed as he took a sip of wine.

  Said cough sounded suspiciously like laughter to Devon. He gave him a hearty slap on the back.

  “Can we please remain civilized, at least at the table?” her mother warned them both.

  Devon was truly smiling now. It felt good to be back in the company of loved ones and nothing but sordid intentions towards the woman who made his blood boil. It was going to be a wonderful evening. Said woman was studiously ignoring him and primly sipping her soup.

  That would not do.

  He pushed his leg closer to hers so their thighs were touching. He saw her eyes widen, but still she ignored him. He shook his head and suppressed a chuckle.

  “What do you find so amusing, Devon?” Again, Olivia called him out.

  “Mind your business, minx.”

  Lord Lesley set his spoon down and eyed his son. Then he turned to his wife. “Have we gone back in time? The way they bicker, I could swear they were children again.” He turned back to his offspring. “Are you children?”

  “No, Father.” Olivia and Devon said in unison. They hung their heads in contrition but looked across the table and smiled at each other.

  Colton merely shook his head and returned to his dinner, but when Devon peeked at Lydia, her lips twitched with a suppressed smile.

  Devon elbowed his spoon onto his lap. “How clumsy of me,” he said to no one in general, as he pulled a hand to his lap and proceeded to lay it on Lydia’s thigh. Her head snapped up and she turned to him with a glare.

  “Are you enjoying your soup, Lydia?” he asked benignly.

  “It’s delightful.” She smiled sweetly. Then she laid her hand over his…and dug her nails into his skin.

  Devon snatched his hand away and put his spoon back on the table. His knuckles now sported angry red half-moon indents. He returned her smile, but his was laced with challenge. “I was hoping to go for a ride tomorrow. Would you care to join me?”

  She eyed him warily. “That sounds pleasant.”

  “I think a ride is a lovely idea,” Olivia chimed in. “What time shall we go?”

  Devon glared at his obtuse little sister.

  “You won’t have time for a ride tomorrow,” Colton stated.

  “I won’t? Why not?”

  “You will be busy,” Colton emphasized.

  Olivia frowned at her husband. “Doing what precisely?”

  “Actually,” Lady Covington broke in. “I was hoping you could show me around the village.”

  “We should all go!” Lady Lesley nodded and smiled. “Except for Devon and Lydia, of course. Such a trip might be too taxing as yet, but a nice ride around the manor should do you some good. Don’t you think so, dear?” She turned to Lord Lesley.

  Devon’s father was always quick on the uptake. “Sounds grand.”

  “But I think a ride—”

  “You are our hostess, Olivia, and it is your duty to show your guests the surrounding beauty of your home,” her mother said sternly.

  Olivia blinked rapidly and looked around the table. She was outvoted. “A trip to the village it is, then.”

  “Wonderful, be sure to show Lady Covington Colton’s ship and the bakery by the wharf. They have the best pie you will ever taste.”

  Lydia’s head snapped up again. “Pie? Pie sounds lovely. What kinds of pie do they have?”

  Devon chuckled at her sudden burst of enthusiasm. “Anything you could possibly wish for—apple, cherry, lemon cream. Mrs. MacGabe, the baker, is an absolute artist with crusts. She makes designs on the top that make you feel guilty to slice into it.”

  “That’s sounds wonderful. Mother, please purchase a pie,” Lydia said beseechingly.

  “Whatever you wish, dear.” Lady Covington shared a smile with Lady Lesley. “But oh,” she turned back to her daughter with a frown.

  “Yes, Mother?” Lydia asked.

  Devon watched them with bemusement. Lady Covington was clearly thinking about what to say next. “Perhaps you should go for a drive instead. I don’t believe we packed your riding costume.”

  “Oh,” Lydia said with concern. “I am fairly certain I have it.”

  Lady Lesley chimed in. “Oh, but you cannot ride without a proper riding costume. Devon, take Lydia for a nice drive around the hills. That will be less taxing on you, as well.”

  Devon watched the women with growing puzzlement. Was riding without a costume that taboo, given they were sending them off un-chaperoned quite gleefully? “If you say so, Mother.” He shook his head.

  Everyone resumed eating and talking to the person closest to them. It was finally Devon’s chance to corner Lydia into talking to him.

  “I hope you have the sufficient clothing for a drive?” he asked.

  “I do, actually. I am also certain I have my riding habit, but our mothers seem adamant that we go for a drive.”

  “Mothers,” Devon shrugged. “Even when one is two and thirty they still treat you like a child.”

  Lydia smiled. “Especially when one acts like a child?”

  “I do no such thing. I am an absolute gentleman, a respected peer,” he said in mock seriousness.

  “I’m sure you are when the occasion calls for it. It’s the other times that are concerning.”

  “Other times? Please explain yourself at once.”

  She stifled a giggle. “You do have a tendency for wickedness.”

  Devon leaned in close. “You have no idea.”

  She blushed beautifully. “I’m fairly certain I do.”

  Devon leaned back in his chair but never took his eyes from her. He felt as if there were liquid fire in his veins, and all he wanted was to be alone with Lydia. Alone and naked.

  The party finished the rest of the courses and dessert, and while the gentlemen stayed for port and cigars, the ladies returned to the drawing room. Devon sat back in his chair and swilled the liquid in his glass. His mind was filled with Lydia—as it always was. She had looked simply edible in her satin emerald green dress, a square cut bodice emphasizing the creamy expanse of her shoulders and breasts. He wanted to see her tonight, w
ithout the watchful eyes of their family, and set his lips to that porcelain skin of hers. If only he had the opportunity.

  The gentlemen moved to join the ladies, but as they crossed the foyer, Devon caught sight of an emerald green hem escaping up the stairs.

  He halted. “I’m feeling rather tired. I think I will retire for the evening. Please give my excuses to the ladies.”

  His father and Colton nodded in understanding and continued without him. As soon as he was out of their sight, he raced up the stairs and caught Lydia before she entered her room.

  “Boo.” He pulled her into a small alcove that led to a balcony. Heavy curtains shielded the French doors that were left open during the day to bring in the cooler ocean air during the warmer months.

  She squeaked in surprise. “Devon, you startled me!”

  “I know, I meant to,” he admitted boldly.

  “What—what are you doing?” She pushed at his chest and looked around them as he pulled her into the privacy of the curtains and opened the doors.

  He pulled her onto the balcony and closed the door. They were completely alone now, shrouded in the darkness with faint moonlight to see by and a spectacular view of the hills spreading out to the water. It glittered like diamonds even in the weak light.

  “It’s beautiful,” Lydia gasped.

  “I’ve seen better,” Devon said as his gaze washed over her face. Her skin was silver in the moonlight, her hair as pale and glowing as the moon.

  She met his eyes. “Why did you bring me out here?”

  “For this.” He leaned in and caught her lips. She didn’t resist him. Instead, she melted into him and slid her arms up his chest to wrap around his neck.

  “I need you, Lydia,” he said against her lips.

  She clung to him, pushing her body against his with knowing undulations. “We talked about this, Devon. You know where I draw the line,” she moaned.

  “Yes,” he growled, but he would take what he could get.

  He surprised her when he dropped to his knees before her and began to draw up her skirts.