Miranda threw her clothes into her suitcase and snuck out of the house, wondering where they might have put her rental car. She knew there were garages over by the stables so she began to drag her suitcase over the bumpy pebbles that seemed determined to thwart her escape.
If that wasn't just like the nobility, she complained to herself. They didn't need a paved driveway because they never had to worry about things like luggage. Some servant would tote their things around. She gave an angry yank on the suitcase.
"Need a hand?" The deep voice caressed every one of her nerve endings, bringing her nipples to instant attention.
She jerked around. "What are you doing up so early?" she hissed. "The party went on until dawn."
He grinned at her, as fresh as if he'd had a full night's sleep. His gray t-shirt clung to him, without even a hint of wrinkles. The jeans looked clean and crisp. But his feet were bare. Maybe he had hurried a bit.
"You think I don't know you?" he asked. "I told Lotter to keep an eye out for you."
"Why?" She really couldn't think of any reason to prolong this agony. "I'm tired of fighting with you."
"We aren't going to fight," he said. "I have something a lot more interesting in mind."
She yanked the suitcase around so it stood between them. "I am not having sex with you, if that's what you mean."
"So suspicious," he said, his tone laughing at her. He edged around the suitcase. Somehow, his arm draped itself around her shoulders. "Whatever we do, let's not do it out here in public." Before she knew what had happened, she was sitting in the golf cart.
He reached for the key. "Wouldn't you like a cup of coffee before you embark on your journey?"
Oh, that would be good. She hadn't dared to stop in the breakfast room for fear of running into someone.
"No," she said.
"Well, I would." The golf cart began to bounce down the driveway and she knew instantly where he was headed.
The office. So she could have another lecture, no doubt.
"Control freak," she muttered.
He laughed. "I've heard worse."
When they arrived in his office, Lotter was there, laying out a full breakfast.
"Devon," she said. "I really can't stay. Sharmie and I are flying back to New York tonight."
"You still need to eat." He pulled out a chair for her as he nodded to the butler. "Thank you, Lotter. I'll let you know when we're finished."
"Very good, your grace." The butler pushed his trolley out and closed the door behind him.
The rich scent of the coffee was her undoing. Who could resist? She picked up the china mug, and it warmed her cold, nervous hands.
"I asked the staff what you liked," Devon said in a conversational tone, as if they had nothing more important than the menu to discuss. "They seem to think the citrus pancakes were a hit."
A second thing she couldn't resist. She didn't try to stop him when he lifted a silver cover off a platter. In fact, she helped herself to two pancakes. In for a penny, in for a pound. She spooned up strawberries and blackberries as shiny as Christmas ornaments.
The duke helped himself to ham and eggs, toast, and a bowl of fruit. For a few moments, silence spread like the morning sunshine while they began to eat.
But Miranda's thoughts wouldn't be silent. She had something to do and she might as well get it out of the way. He'd been wrong to avoid telling her about his engagement. But she'd also been wrong to criticize him for a lifestyle he'd earned, not inherited.
She opened her mouth just as Devon said, "I heard from Sarah that one of her friends is going to feature you on her television talk show."
Miranda allowed herself a small smile. "My hats, you mean. Yes, it's very exciting."
"Do you think you'll be basing your business in Britain, then?" He forked up some of the ham and she tried not to watch his mouth move. So delicious.
She yanked her thoughts away from that inappropriate direction. "I can't live permanently in England, of course. I still have to look into the legalities of doing business here."
"I'll find you the right lawyer." His tone was casual, but firm.
"I appreciate the offer. But I doubt I could afford the rates of any of your colleagues."
He waved a hand. "Don't worry about that."
She took a sip of coffee to give herself time to marshal her thoughts. "I'm not going to be a charge on you. Sharmie and I have talked it over, and we're in complete agreement."
"So serious," he commented, "You take vows or something?"
"It's important." She carefully sliced a strawberry in half. "We're going to pay for her wedding with the money you advanced us. After that, we're not going to request additional funds. Unless something comes up with respect to the twins."
He nodded. "Fair enough."
"The point is that you don't have to worry about us any more."
He lounged back in his chair and smiled at her. "Is that so?"
His attitude was unnerving. He was watching her with the unwavering intensity of the cat at mouse hole, as if he had only one thing on his mind. And it wasn't business. Even worse, her body was already weakening, softening, preparing itself for what he wanted.
What she wanted.
No, she couldn't give in. Like she'd told him last night, she'd hate herself afterward.
"We won't be a charge on you any more," she repeated, knowing she was babbling. "We'll work with the New York lawyer you hired to deal with Hascombe, and, otherwise, we'll let you handle the estate as you see fit."
His lips curved. "No more scenes? No more demands?"
Her back stiffened, but she made a determined effort to keep her voice pleasant. "I apologize if I was ever unreasonable."
"Damn," he said. "Is this really Miranda Foxglove sitting before me?"
"You are supposed to accept my apology graciously," she snapped, her patience and goodwill finally exhausted. "What is wrong with you?"
He leaned forward, pushed aside his plate, and rested his arms on the table. "It occurs to me that if you return to New York, there is one part of my encounters with you that I will really miss."
Her heart began to pound. She knew that look in his eyes.
She had to moisten her lips. "Wh—what do you mean?" The words came out in a throaty whisper.
"Your seductions," he said in a low voice. "A man could definitely miss them. I haven't been able to swim in that pool since last week without getting a hard-on."
Miranda popped the strawberry in her mouth to snap the air of intimacy growing between them. Didn't he care about her apology? Had he forgotten that she knew about his engagement? Her mouth puckered. The fruit was bitter, just like her thoughts.
She leaned back, away from his irresistible scent, his broad shoulders that blocked out the rest of the world. "Do you always," she asked, "sidestep emotional topics by turning the conversation to sex?"
"Me?" He grinned at her. "I seem to remember a conversation about hypnosis which you started. When we were conversing on the unsexy topic of budgets aaaannnddd—" He drew out the word in a drawl "—right before you stared at my, ah, you-know-what." He winked, reminding her of the conversation at the garden party last weekend where she had also been the one to raise the subject of sex.
She tilted her chin at him. "Are you trying to tell me sex was not on your mind right then?"
"Of course it was. When you're in the room, I'm thinking about sex."
"You sent me away." She heard her words emerge with horror. She hadn't meant to say that.
He sobered instantly. "That was my mistake."
She stared into his eyes, feeling the strength of his will as it reached out to her, the heated sensuality that could lure any woman to her doom. The silence stretched…and stretched…until it snapped.
"No." She sprang to her feet the instant she saw the trap. "I did not come back here for sex."
"Why not?" His gaze was filled with heat, but also, with tenderness. "We were good together. Spectacular."
"No!" She felt desperate. She had to get him to back off. "You've forgotten that I know now that you're engaged."
He gripped the sides of the table, his biceps under the short-sleeved t-shirt bulging a little as he tensed up. "Okay, let's lay this to rest. Where did you get this idea that I'm engaged?" As soon as the words left his mouth, he lifted one hand and smacked himself in the forehead. "Charlotte. Why did I even ask?"
"Yes, Charlotte mentioned it. In front of your fiancé."
He shook his head. "Nicole never said she was engaged to me."
"How do you know I'm talking about Nicole?"
He cursed under his breath. "Nicole is her niece. If you got it from Charlotte—" He broke off, frowning.
"Nicole and I," he said, enunciating the words slowly in his crisp British accent, "are not engaged and have never been engaged. We never will be engaged." He met her gaze. "Is that clear enough?"
"Well, why not?"
"Why not? What the hell kind of question is that?" He sprang to his feet. "Did you come back here to play matchmaker? I'll be damned!"
But she saw the hurt in his eyes. Had she offended him? A multitude of emotions flooded her, one of which dominated. She could not bear for him to be hurt. Of all the stupid emotions to hit her now, that had to be the dumbest.
"I'm sorry, Devon. I never thought Charlotte would lie to me."
"But you thought I would cheat you? Sleep with you when engaged to another woman? That's what you thought of me?"
"I'm sorry," she repeated. She'd never thought of the impact a false accusation would have on him. No, she'd been too hurt because Charlotte's words had played directly into her fears. Once again, she'd seen herself as the outsider, the one not incorporated into the family unit.
"It made sense to me," she explained, "that you would choose Nicole, who was already part of your extended family."
"Charlotte doesn't want me to marry at all. She—" He stopped speaking abruptly.
"She wants the title for Jack. Sarah told me."
"It's only natural," he muttered. "But I can't figure out why she'd say I'm engaged."
"Maybe she figures it's best to at least keep your marriage in the family."
"Nicole has no thought of marrying me," he said impatiently.
Again, she saw bleakness in his eyes.
"That wasn't how she was acting in your office last week. I think she'd marry you in a heartbeat."
"Are you back to matchmaking?"
"You need someone to love you, Devon. That much I do know about you."
He tried to smile. The effort didn't reach his eyes. "I'm not the lovable type. I never have been."
Her heart ached as she watched him. Now that she'd heard his story from Pookie, she could see how clearly Devonwood saw himself as "the responsible one". The one who would make himself indispensable by taking care of everyone. Someone in his life had had to step up and take on the responsibilities. It had always been him. Unappreciated. Unheralded. But fierce and uncompromising. Determined to do what was right, in the face of any opposition.
She certainly understood that model. She'd adopted the same role in her family. Funny, they had that in common and she'd never seen it before.
"Why do you say you aren't lovable?" she asked. "Surely your family loves you?"
He shook his head. "To them, I'm the tyrant they tolerate because I provide a very good lifestyle."
"That's cynical, Devon, even for you."
"Don't over-romanticize me," he said. "It suits my temperament to be the boss. I would have been a tycoon, as you Americans say, regardless of the circumstances of my birth."
She smiled. He was right. Anyone could see it. But even the boss had a need for love.
"What about your parents?"
He sighed. "Give it up, Miranda. They were not exactly my biggest fans."
"You never mention your mother."
"She died when I was young. But even before that, she was 'the duchess'." He made air quotes around the phrase. "Not a mother."
"That's sad."
He shrugged. "I suppose. I remember that I worshipped her. She ignored me. I've gotten over it."
She wondered if he had. She knew she'd never gotten over the loss of her mother. That was something else they might have in common.
"What about your father? You were an adult by the time he died, right? Did you have a good relationship with him?"
"No. My father—" He stopped, and gazed into the past. "Well, let's just say 'responsibility' was not his middle name. Even as a very young child, I knew that he wasn't capable even of providing a secure home. We lived in an historic castle, which was literally falling down around us. We had sufficient food, but that was about it. I learned many years after the fact that my tutor hadn't even been paid what he was owed."
"Why did he stay?"
Devon smiled wryly. "He thought I had a good mind. Potential, as he would say."
"Your tutor was a smart man."
"Of course, I paid him as soon as I could. But that debt weighed on me for a long time."
"Didn't Sarah say you attended Eton and Oxford?"
"My father did manage to enroll me. I paid all the fees. I bought my own clothes. I maintained the image appropriate to my station." He glanced down at her. "It wasn't easy."
His simple statements chilled her. What suffering lay behind them?
"How did you become a lawyer?"
"I thought the law would be a good professional path and a way to make enough money to maintain the family and the estate. But what I really enjoyed, as it turns out, was making business deals, wheeling and dealing, making bets."
She saw how his eyes lit up at the end. "Taking risks, in a word."
He nodded, ruefully. "Yes. When a man in my position really couldn't take a lot of risks. Plus, of course, I couldn't travel as much as necessary. There were always tantalizing deals in the states, in the Far East. But I couldn't pursue them."
"Why couldn't you travel?"
"There were children to raise," he muttered. "I couldn't leave them to Charlotte."
"You could have," Miranda said. "You chose not to."
Devonwood shoved his hands in his pockets. "My father appointed me their guardian. I didn't actually have a choice."
"Would you have abandoned them otherwise?"
For a long moment, he just stared at her. "No."
"You're not as cold as you pretend, Devon. From what I've seen, you take on responsibility for the welfare of others. That's caring. Even though you drove me crazy, I know you didn't have to worry about what happened to our trust funds. Some people would never have wondered about the discrepancies, never mind traveled all the way to New York to investigate them." It felt odd to be praising him, rather than fighting with him, but once she'd begun to look at him as the one who'd saved his family and his inheritance, the opportunities for admiring him were everywhere.
"The Archbishop of Canterbury is upstairs in one of our best bedrooms," he said. "You want to nominate me for sainthood?"
"It's not a joke, Devon. Have you ever told your older siblings about your upbringing?"
"I never wanted them to experience the—privations I did. At the same time, I didn't want them to throw away money like our father did. They had to learn the value of money. I worked hard to give them security. I didn't need their gratitude, but I wanted them to understand finances so they wouldn't make the mistakes my parents did."
"Is that why you were so harsh toward Sharmie?"
He raised one hand. "Let's not revisit that. But yes, I'd seen literally a dukedom laid to waste by reckless spending on a scale Sharmie could only dream of. It was all too easy for me to imagine your father's estate being squandered within a year, and nothing left for your young siblings. I simply couldn't allow that to happen on my watch."
"You know, it might be good for Jack and Sarah to hear about what you experienced."
"I've never told anyone until right this moment." His lips turned up slig
htly. "I don't dwell on the past but at the same time, I'm aware that it's made me the man I am. It's not all bad."
"That's one thing I don't understand. Why aren't you proud of what you've accomplished?"
"Proud?" He repeated the word blankly, as if he didn't know what it meant.
"Yes. You restored an ancient estate to its former glory. You provided jobs and livelihoods to hundreds of people. Most importantly of all, you provided a secure home for your younger siblings. Why aren't you proud of all that? Why do you see only an obligation fulfilled?"
"What choice did I have? There are responsibilities attached to the title."
"Your father didn't seem to think so."
He stared at her, his face blank with surprise.
She decided to press ahead. "The title would have been yours, regardless of whether or not you took on the obligations. I'm sure there are members of the nobility who've lived off a title and whatever money they inherited, never picking up the mantle and working to enhance the asset they inherited."
"Everyone," he said slowly, "assumed I would take care of them."
She nodded calmly enough, but her heart ached. "They assumed that because they knew you. They knew you were a decent, conscientious man, who wouldn't shirk from work that needed to be done."
Miranda heard her own words with a sense of wonder. Why hadn't she ever looked at him this way? Why had she assumed he was a tyrant merely determined to get his own way, rather than a responsible man trying to handle whatever fell upon his shoulders?
How many people would have read through an entire will? And then investigated anomalies in that will on behalf of people he barely knew? How many people would have denied themselves a chance at their own family in order to raise another family?
Fragments of past conversations tumbled through her head.
With regard to Daisy being educated at home, he'd said, "I wouldn't wish that lifestyle on anyone."
Priscilla had said, "Mumsie has transformed this palace. It was an awful place when Jack and I were children." But 'Mumsie' had only been able to do that when Devon provided the money.
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 133