He could hardly fathom he’d made love to her three times this morning. He’d thought twice had done him in until he’d gone to his bedchamber and begun to dress. He couldn’t remember what he’d thought he needed so urgently to tell her when he’d returned to her chamber and caught her rolling a stocking up that impossibly long, slender leg of hers.
Her foot had been perched on a stool, her petticoat slung back over her knee, and the only urgency of which he’d become acutely aware was the necessity to bury himself in her up to the hilt and then some.
In the last two years of his marriage to Margaret, he’d barely been able to work himself up for a weekly romp. He’d blamed his lack of interest on his schedule, on her disappointments, on his failings as a husband.
He’d certainly never expected to again feel as randy as a schoolboy, as eager as a young man in his prime. Nor had he expected to tease in bed, to enjoy her so damned much.
“Cognac?”
“Yes, I believe I shall.” Distractedly he reached for the glass his cousin offered. “Thank you.”
Ravenleigh pressed a shoulder against the window casing. “Am I to deduce since you’ve been staring at your wife for the better part of two hours that you are not finding marriage to Gina quite as objectionable as you feared you might?”
“You’re welcome to deduce anything you wish.” He sipped the cognac before shifting his gaze to his cousin. “I will admit she has turned out to be quite an unexpected boon.”
A treasure, actually, although he was loath to admit it so soon after the vows had been spoken. He dared not trust that she would continue to be as giving once they arrived at Huntingdon. Yet why should she find fault with him there when she hadn’t here?
With her father’s money in his hands, he could make certain that she never discovered the unpleasant side to his life that had so turned Margaret against him. The baser part of him that had caused self-loathing.
“Indeed?” Ravenleigh asked.
“I would not say so if I did not mean it.” He swirled the liquid in the glass. “Tell me. How does Lady Ravenleigh address you?”
“As Christopher.”
“And your first wife?”
“The same.”
He nodded speculatively. “Margaret always called me Huntingdon. Even in the throes of passion.”
“I doubt that’s unusual. After all, you and I are first cousins and yet we call each other by our titles rather than our given names.”
“Perhaps.” But he could not help but he haunted by the realization that Margaret might have considered herself married to his title more than married to him. She’d never called him Devon. He found it endearing, the manner in which Gina cried out his name as though he’d carried her into a realm of such magnificent beauty she could hardly believe it.
Damnation, but he liked the way she said his name, a slight hesitation as though not quite certain it was acceptable. As though she cared about acceptability. Not his wife. Not a woman who went without a chaperone and rode bareback at dawn.
But she did care that she pleased him and that made him care all the more about pleasing her.
Georgina sat on the cool stone bench and drew her shawl more closely around her. With a heavy sigh her father dropped beside her and took her hand. His was like ice.
“You need to wear gloves, Papa,” she reproved softly.
“I’m tough, gal.”
She wrapped her hands around his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder. He loved her as no one else ever had, probably as no one else ever would.
“Was your husband kind to you last night?” he asked gruffly.
She felt the heat suffuse her face. They’d strolled the gardens speaking of everything except her marriage.
“Papa—”
“Don’t Papa me. Did he hurt you? Because if he did, by God—”
“No, Papa, he didn’t hurt me.”
She still couldn’t believe how attentive he’d been or that he seemed to be insatiable. The expression on his face when he’d walked into her room while she was putting on her stocking…She’d been surprised she hadn’t burst into flames on the spot. By the time he left, she’d felt lethargic.
“Good.” He patted her thigh. “Good.”
She was so aware of Devon that even now she knew he was watching her within the shadows of the window. Not possessively. She knew she gave him no reason to be jealous, but she was flattered he had more of an interest in her than she’d expected him to have. She actually had hope for their marriage.
“He mentioned we’re going to go ahead and return to his country estate and not wait until the end of the Season. You’ll come with us, won’t you?”
“What’s in the country for me?”
“Lauren mentioned her father goes foxhunting. I’m sure Devon would let you hunt on his property.”
“Foxhunting,” he scoffed. “Gal, I’ve hunted renegades, outlaws, and to put food on the table. Where’s the sport in going after a little critter just to kill it?”
“You could keep me company, then.”
He slid his gaze toward her. “Your husband’s supposed to do that.”
He shifted slightly and cupped her cheek. “And he will, gal. You’re as beautiful to him as you are to me.”
She smiled warmly. “Oh, Papa, you always see beauty where none exists.”
“I see with my heart, not with my eyes. You’re like your mother with a beauty so deep a man has to be willing to look long and hard. I miss her something fierce.”
She squeezed his arm. “I know you do.”
“Everything I’ve ever done I’ve done for you.”
“I know, Papa.”
“This fella, this husband of yours, I know he ain’t wealthy, but life is much more than money. It can slip through your fingers without you even knowing. But love, once you’ve got hold of it, it never lets go. That’s the way it was with your mother and me. That’s the way it’ll be with you and this fella.”
She thought of her wedding night. “He respects me, Papa, and he has a care for my feelings.”
“As he damn well should.” He grimaced.
With concern etching her brow, she cupped his face between her hands. His cheeks were a bright red. “Are you all right, Papa?”
He nodded briskly. “Something I ate ain’t agreeing with me, that’s all.”
“I don’t understand why the food isn’t agreeing with you. Most of it is so bland.”
He shook his head. “My digestion isn’t something I want to discuss with a lady.”
She laughed lightly. “You can discuss it with your daughter. Do you want me to brew you something to ease the discomfort?”
He waved her away. “No. I want you to be happy. Everything I’ve ever done I’ve done for your happiness, because I love you more than life. I want—” He grabbed his left arm, his face contorting.
Alarmed, she dropped to her knees in front of him. “Papa?”
“No matter what happens, know I loved you…more than life.”
In his eyes she saw love that knew no bounds, but she also saw pain, incredible pain.
“Papa!”
He toppled off the bench, gasping and clawing at the collar of his shirt. In spite of the cool weather, beads of sweat popped out on his brow as he curled into a ball.
“Oh, my God! Papa! Papa!”
Frantically she worked to free his buttons while she yelled for help, for the servants, for Devon. Anyone!
She heard the pounding of hurried footsteps. Her father stilled.
“Papa!” Her father stared straight at her, but she didn’t think he saw her.
She barely noticed when Devon knelt beside her.
“Oh, dear Lord,” he whispered.
Clutching her father’s hand, she watched as though from a great distance while Devon ran his hands over her father. Her father didn’t object to the intrusion, didn’t move, didn’t blink.
Devon took her in his arms and rocked her gently. “Sweethe
art, I’m sorry. He’s gone.”
Chapter 11
W earing her nightgown, Georgina sat in a chair, her feet tucked beneath her. How could a person who felt incredibly numb hurt with such ferocity? Her chest ached with each breath she drew into her lungs. Her eyes constantly stung from the tears she’d shed.
She’d never considered a life without her father. He’d doted on her as though she was the one who hung the stars in the night sky. He’d purchased her gaudy jewelry, atrocious gowns, and a husband.
Because he’d loved her.
He’d never cared that she possessed gaunt features. He’d never been bothered by the fact she didn’t walk as though she had a book balanced on the top of her head. He’d never been concerned she’d been more interested in climbing trees, exploring caves, and riding horses than stitching handkerchiefs.
With him she’d never been afraid to be herself. He’d embraced both her strengths and her weaknesses. He’d loved her simply because she existed. She was his, and he was hers.
Now she had nothing but the memories to sustain her. In the blink of an eye, he’d left her alone. So alone.
Not physically alone. She had Devon, a few friends, and the servants. But emotionally alone, because she knew no one would ever love her as deeply as he had.
She lifted her gaze to dark sky. She longed for the vastness of a Texas night. “I hope Mama was waiting for you when you arrived,” she whispered.
A tear leaked onto her cheek, and she brushed it away. She wondered how long it would be before tears no longer accompanied thoughts of her father.
She didn’t turn when she heard the door open. Servants knocked. Devon didn’t. It was his house after all. And she was his wife.
Her father’s last gift to her—a husband who would give her children to fill the emptiness in her heart.
Devon crouched before her and took her hands, running his thumbs over her knuckles. Her father’s hands had been callused and rough. Although Devon’s were strong and comforting, they weren’t her father’s. Reaching up, he grazed his knuckle against the corner of her eye, causing her eyelashes to flutter.
“It’s late. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”
Sleep. How could she explain that sleep only increased the loneliness, a loneliness that seeped deep within her bones, chilled and frightened her? She had Devon and therefore no reason to be lonely.
But loneliness had nothing to do with the number of people who surrounded you. Only acceptance and love could hold it at bay.
Blinking back her tears, she shook her head. Her throat tightened. “I just miss him so much.”
With gentleness he tucked her hair behind her ear. “I wish I could tell you that time eases the yearning for their presence, but it doesn’t. The hollow ache will always be there, and I suspect with you, so will the tears.” He gave her a sad smile. “I shall do all in my power to ease the burden of your grief, and you need not worry that I shall take advantage once your father’s wealth is absorbed into my estate. I shall give you adequate pin money, and you shall never do without anything you wish.”
She angled her head slightly, studying him at his reminder that their marriage was grounded in money, not love. “That’s the last thing I’d worry about.”
“Good.” Standing, he lifted her into his arms. “Now, come to bed.”
She felt small and fragile within his strong embrace. He laid her on the bed and drew the covers over her before removing his clothes and slipping in beside her.
She snuggled against him, relishing his warmth and sturdiness. He held her close, his fingers skimming lazily up and down her back.
Nice. Pleasant. She thought she might easily become accustomed to having a husband who offered comfort with such finesse.
“Relax and go to sleep, Gina. We won’t make love tonight.”
Disappointment surfaced, but she was also grateful for his concern. She had little doubt most husbands put their own needs first. Her father had obviously chosen well.
She closed her eyes and amazingly began to drift off.
“Everything will be all right, sweeting,” he murmured. “You’ll see.”
Mr. Ludlow reminded Devon of a ferret. Slender body that might have been tall, although it was difficult to tell, since his stooped shoulders detracted from his height. Black, beady eyes peered through the spectacles perched on the bridge of his long, narrow nose.
Nathaniel Pierce’s solicitor. The man who, along with Devon’s own solicitor, had overseen the drawing up and signing of the settlement papers. The Monday morning following the wedding, the morning of the day that he died, Pierce was to have placed fifty thousand pounds into Devon’s account at the bank.
Devon was not overly concerned that the man had failed to do as he’d agreed. After all, the entire bulk of his holdings would be transferred to Gina and thus to him.
Ludlow had arrived, satchel in hand, an hour earlier. He’d spent his time sipping tea and patting Georgina’s hand, telling her not to worry, all would be well.
“Mr. Ludlow,” Devon announced.
The man snapped his head around as though only just remembering Devon was in the library. Ludlow raised his thin brows.
“You came to discuss my late father-in-law’s estate,” Devon reminded him.
Ludlow set aside his teacup, grabbed his satchel, and stood. “I came to discuss his leavings, yes, my lord.” He tilted his head toward the desk. “May I?”
“By all means.”
While Mr. Ludlow removed papers from his satchel and meticulously sorted and arranged them, Devon led Georgina to a plush chair in front of his desk. He sat beside her and took her hand, not at all surprised to find it chilled. It had to be incredibly difficult to listen to her father’s life shrunk down into assets and liabilities, to hear a value placed on all a man had accomplished in his lifetime.
Mr. Ludlow finally stilled, his eyes blinking rapidly as he read the document that rested on the top of the pile. He cleared his throat. With his forefinger, he shoved his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. He cleared his throat again. Then he lifted his gaze.
“My lord.” He cleared his throat yet again, his Adam’s apple sliding up and down. “My lord, regarding Mr. Pierce’s leavings, the sum total comes to roughly twenty thousand pounds.”
Devon felt as though he’d been poleaxed. “Twenty thousand pounds? I assume that amount does not take my wife’s dowry into consideration.”
Georgina’s hand flinched within his, and he regretted his abruptness. He could only be thankful the settlement ensured they would have a livable income.
Mr. Ludlow’s shoulders rose to his ears, as though he wished to hide. “I fear, my lord, there is no dowry.”
“But we had a signed settlement.”
“Yes, my lord, so I am aware. But it appears Mr. Pierce did not set aside any money before visiting the gaming hells, where it appears his luck deserted him.”
“What the deuce are you talking about?”
“I am speaking of his debts.”
“Debts?” he forced out.
“Yes, my lord.” Ludlow riffled his thumb through the stack of papers. “I have bills from every London establishment to which he owed money.”
Devon heaved a sigh, striving to rein in his impatience with the man’s apparent ineptitude in handling the transfer of an estate. “I am not concerned with what he owed his creditors. I shall make good on all. I would, however, appreciate your giving me the sum total of his assets.”
Ludlow blanched. “I apologize, my lord. Apparently I’m not being quite clear. There are no assets.”
Devon shifted his gaze to Georgina. She looked as confused as he felt. He came up out of the chair and planted his palms on his desk. “What nonsense is this?”
“No nonsense, I’m afraid. Mr. Pierce came to see me the morning of the day of his demise. He was quite distraught. It seems he had frittered away a substantial amount of his holdings in an unbelievably short amount of time. Wagering on
one thing and another. Unsuccessfully, I’m afraid.
“He knew that he was to hand over a sum of money to you, and he no longer had it at his disposal. He feared you would be able to nullify the marriage. I assured him that was not the case. He felt confident that in time he could make restitution to you. Unfortunately, it seems he misjudged the amount of time he had as well.”
Georgina shifted in the chair. “But my father hadn’t gambled in years.”
Devon jerked his attention to her. “You knew of this?”
“I knew of his penchant for gambling, but as I said, he hasn’t gambled in years.”
“Apparently, my lady, in celebration of your wedding, he gambled to excess.” Ludlow cut his gaze to Devon. “He seemed to have no restraint where wagering was concerned, my lord, as you’ll no doubt discover once you’ve reviewed his debts.”
“My father had amassed a fortune. You can’t tell me that in the space of a few days he lost it all,” Gina said softly.
“I fear, my lady, that is exactly what I’m saying.”
“What of his holdings in America?” Devon asked.
Gina looked up at him, dazed, and slowly shook her head. “We never put down roots long enough to own a house. He sold off all his business ventures. He didn’t want to worry about business. He brought all his money here because he didn’t know how long we’d stay, and he contemplated traveling elsewhere.”
“He must have left something behind,” Devon insisted.
“No,” she said.
“Debts,” Ludlow murmured.
Devon glared at the man, who quickly drew his head in, his chin touching his chest.
“Are you quite certain there is nothing?” Devon stated, surprised by the calmness of his voice.
“No assets, my lord. Of that I am certain. Mr. Pierce had given me an accounting of his assets before we drew up the settlement papers. I have verified that nothing remains available to you or his daughter.”
Devon walked to the window and stared out. Damn Pierce. What had the man been thinking to gamble everything away?
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