His father had 'enjoyed the privileges of his position, but not the responsibilities.'
Devon could think of himself as cold and hard-headed, but she knew he loved his siblings. It was love, not duty, that caused him to build a pink playhouse in the garden so that Daisy could be near him. Love, not duty, that forced him to get up from his dinner to make sure that Godfrey was safe.
She touched his arm. "I'm so sorry for all the cracks I made at your expense. I made a big mistake to judge you like I did. Pookie told me that you weren't born into this life of luxury and ease."
He waved away her comment. "I made a much bigger mistake."
"You did?"
"I was wrong to send you away."
She couldn't breathe. "Why?"
"Because my heart went with you."
Chapter 32
Miranda's own heart stopped beating. Had Devonwood really said something about his heart? She must have misunderstood.
"You—you don't want another dependent."
"No." He smiled at her tenderly. "But a partner—that's a whole different thing."
"Do you want a partner, Devon?" She stepped away from him, conscious of the need to put some space between them. This conversation was too critical to her future. "Someone equal," she clarified. "Someone who might not agree with you. You have such a controlling personality, and I'm not one to be bossed around."
Devon followed her with his gaze. "You've been a strong woman since the moment I met you, fighting for your family. You annoyed the hell out of me, but at the same time, I respected that quality about you."
"You threw me out of the house! If not for Sarah and the ball, I would have been gone that very day, never to return."
"I would have come after you."
"You didn't."
"There was a part of me that wanted to see if you'd fight for what you wanted."
"You set up a test for me?" A chill ran over her.
"No." He shook his head. "I didn't understand why I'd let you go until you came back. But when I saw you in the garden last night, it hit me. Not just that I needed to have you back, but the reason why."
"You grabbed me. I thought you just wanted sex."
"Of course, my first thought was sex. It always is when I see you. But when you resisted—it hit me. I suddenly realized that the most important thing about you was your strength, the way you would do whatever it took to achieve your goals. Whether your goal was the hat business, or me, or raising children properly, the point was you'd do what was necessary to get it done."
She pondered his words for a few minutes. "I don't know if that's good or bad."
He laughed. "Sit down." He waved to her seat at the breakfast table. "Let me tell you a story."
She sat down again, watching as he took his own chair after her.
Devonwood reached for the coffeepot and raised it to offer to her. She shook her head and he poured himself another mug. "It starts with my mother, as Freud would say all stories do." He sipped his drink. "As I mentioned, she was beautiful and elegant, but not warm, or loving. I worshipped her, and I came to think of women as something that you admired from afar. When I got to be a teen, of course I learned that women had another use, as well."
Miranda made a scoffing noise.
He grinned at her. "But that's where women lived as far as I knew—in a separate box, to be taken out to be admired, or used for—"
"For sex."
He nodded, his eyes rueful. "To be blunt. It's no secret I didn't want more dependents, so marriage and children weren't in my plans, but, well, I'm not an ascetic."
Miranda smiled. No one could fail to see that the man was not born to be celibate.
"All of this worked fine for me," he continued, "until I was in my last year of university. I met a girl. Beautiful. Fun. Sexy." His eyes softened in remembrance. "I fell in love. Well, I thought I did. Of course, she was a prize, someone I wanted to grab and put in the prettiest box I could find."
"And she?"
"It was more or less mutual. We had a six-week affair before I decided I needed to approach her father." He paused. "The Duke of Carrington."
Miranda stared. "You wanted to marry her."
"Yup." He nodded. "Hard to believe, I know. Of course, I was a fool."
"Love is never foolish," she murmured.
"It wasn't love. It was infatuation. She was something I wanted to collect, and I doubt I was anything more to her."
"What happened?"
"Oh, her father said exactly what I should have expected. 'You've got the title, boy. It's a good one, a temptation, even. But let's look at the rest of the package. How do you plan to support my daughter? You're a university student with an itch for the most beautiful girl in England.' He dismissed me like I was nothing."
"Fool," she said.
Devon laughed. "He wasn't far off the mark. I can appreciate his position now."
She looked at the tension on his face. He may have gotten over the rejection. But, on some level, it still stung. Contempt always did.
Devonwood shrugged. "But that's not the story."
She raised her eyebrows.
"I carried on a bit dramatically, but it didn't matter. She was younger than me—" He eyed Miranda. "About your age, actually. She certainly wasn't infatuated enough with me to defy her father."
"You broke up?"
He nodded. "She left university and married someone else." He paused, and then said, "They sent me an invitation to the wedding."
"Did you go?"
He rolled his eyes. "I didn't think they needed me and my vengeful heart providing a course of drama at their big event."
"Devonwood." She shook her head. "Don't make light of it. Are you sure you're not still carrying a torch for her?"
He laughed. "No. I'm eternally grateful that her father, for whatever the reason, good or bad, refused to let us make fools of ourselves."
She sighed. No matter how he laughed about it now, it must have been painful at the time. She was sure he'd been a proud man, even then, and it would have stung to be treated like an unworthy supplicant.
"I see you're feeling sorry for me." He smiled. "But we haven't even gotten to the painful part of the story yet."
"There's more?"
"Oh, yes." He stood and took a turn up and down the length of the desk before facing her again. "When I finished law school, I realized I didn't have the time or the patience to climb the ladder of partnership at some London law firm. I decided to start an investment fund."
"For your first job?"
He shoved his hands in his pockets. "It was a preposterous ambition."
"I understand you've been very successful in that line of work."
"But I started out at the bottom. Anyone can create a fund. The part that's not so easy is getting your first investors when you don't have a track record."
"Pookie said he invested with you."
"That was a few years later. I'm talking about my very first fund. I had ideas, but no experience." He sighed. "My title opened a few doors, but people weren't about to part with cold cash merely to get an invitation to the ruin we called home."
Miranda wasn't sure she wanted to hear this story. Her heart was already wrung with sympathy for the young man he'd been. Responsibilities, a broken heart, a ruined heritage, and now—
"When I'd knocked on the door of every person I'd ever heard of, I was still well short of the money I needed," he said.
His gray gaze met hers. "This is hard to talk about, even all these years later."
"You don't have to tell me." She'd do anything to soothe the pain she saw in his eyes.
He broke the eye contact, turned on his heel and strode over to the windows, as if he couldn't bear for her to see his face while he talked.
"I didn't have the luxury of accepting failure," he said. "I needed to succeed." He turned back to meet her gaze again. "Not just for myself, although I'll admit that my ego is fairly demanding. But, as important, I had fo
ur younger siblings to support."
He began to pace back and forth in front of the window, as if expending nervous energy. "When I told you that I'd approached everyone I'd ever heard of, that wasn't completely accurate. There was one man I knew, a man I hated, a man I'd sworn I'd never deal with again."
Miranda held her breath. She feared she knew what was coming.
Devon attempted to aim a smile in her direction, but it looked more like a grimace. "I see you've guessed. The Duke of Carrington was the lone name left on any list I'd ever made." He walked over to the breakfast table, leaned down and spoke in a low voice. "Nothing I've ever done before or since humiliated me like that second trip to his home. But what was my pride compared to my need?"
She looked up into his eyes. "I think that your pride is an integral part of your makeup. Not 'pride' in a boasting, arrogant manner, but pride as a form of honor and respect for the heritage you embody."
"Very clever." This time, his smile touched his eyes. "I'd just inherited the title. I wanted the Duke of Devonwood to be a proud title, the emblem of a history of men who'd lived honorable lives, who took care of those who depended on them, and always lived up to their obligations."
He straightened up, shrugging. "So what was my ego compared to Godfrey's education? Daisy's need for security? Even Charlotte, as my father's widow, deserved a roof over her head. In sum, pride was not going to get me what I needed in order to fulfill my responsibilities."
Tears threatened Miranda. Tears for the young man who'd taken on the burdens his father had shrugged off. Tears for the young man who'd sacrificed everything for a family which did not appreciate him.
Except for one person. She almost smiled. Daisy, the youngest of them all, was the only one with any understanding of the head of the family.
"So," Devon continued, "there I was, just another supplicant at the feet of the mighty Duke of Carrington."
Miranda could see, even all these years later, a trace of bitterness still around his mouth.
She tried to speak matter-of-factly, to minimize Carrington's importance. "So what did he do?"
Devon strolled back to the window and looked out at Daisy's pink house. "He laughed at me. 'First you want my daughter,' he said. 'Now, my money?'"
The room was silent for a long moment. Then Miranda said, "How did you convince him?"
The duke whirled around, his eyes startled. He stared at her. "You are the only person in the world who would have said that at this point in the story."
She smiled at him. "I have faith in you."
As if her smile were a string attached to him, he began walking straight toward her. "I thumped my prospectus down on his desk and said, 'Turn that down, if you're a fool.' Carrington merely glanced at it and said, 'You've got balls, boy, I'll give you that.'"
Devon stopped in front of Miranda. "I wanted to walk out of that room more than I've ever wanted to do anything in my life." He paused, his eyes taking on a faraway look, as if he were looking into the past. "Of course, I couldn't."
"So what happened?"
He shrugged. But a small smile tugged at his lips. "The man wasn't a fool."
Miranda laughed with pure exhilaration. "Bravo!"
Devon joined her with a grin. "Of course, he earned a handsome return on his investment. He's had a few good words for me since."
"Like you said, he wasn't a fool. But—" Miranda hesitated. "I'm not sure what your story has to do with me—with us?"
"Don't you see?" He leaned down and grabbed her hands. "I humbled myself in a way that went against the grain of my entire upbringing. I'd been raised to be a duke, to have a high status and, perhaps, despite what you've said, too much arrogance. And yet, I had to go and grovel in front of a man who'd once denied me what I thought was my world. It was a hard thing to do. But I did it."
"Because you wanted to provide for your family more than you wanted to save your pride." She tried not to let the strength in his hands transmit a comforting sense of security to her.
He smiled. "You should know. When you came back here for the ball, you were returning to the home of a man who'd not only rejected you, but also, as you thought, cheated you. That took guts. And you did it. Because you wanted to achieve your dreams more than you wanted to save your pride."
"I'm not as noble as you think," she admitted. "I didn't intend to see you, let alone face you."
"You were in my home. There was a good chance you'd have to do both."
"If I hadn't come back for the ball, would you have let me go?"
"I would have come after you," he said. His hands tightened on hers. "But I never would have been as proud of you as I am right now."
He moved his hands to her shoulders and raised her to her feet. "My decision had already been made. Your appearance at the ball only reinforced it."
"When did you reach this—this decision?" Her breath didn't come easily, now that they were so close again. She could smell his warmth, and his clean, outdoor scent.
He laughed. "I knew when you walked into my office the very first time that I would have you one day."
She batted his arm. "Why 'arrogant' is not a strong enough word for you."
"Ah, but winning your heart was a whole different matter."
"You mean all that time—?"
"Oh, I tried to fight it. I may have been dumb to send you away, but I was determined. No woman was going to tie me up in matrimony. That had been my mantra for as long as I could remember, and it wasn't easy to cast it off."
"I wish you had explained—" She cut herself off with an impatient sound. "Never mind. I get that you were used to doing everything on your own. But is that going to change?"
"Starting now." He let go of her to walk over to his desk. He picked up a small remote and pressed a couple of buttons. A click sounded on the door into the hallway and a thin shade passed slowly over the French windows, darkening them.
"What are you doing?"
"Ensuring our privacy." Devon pulled his t-shirt out of his jeans. "I know you think I'm too controlling."
"You—"
He raised a hand. "Let me finish what I'm saying."
"I told myself I would never marry," he continued. "I didn't need love, I wasn't lovable, etc. Then you came along and I realized that's what I'd unconsciously been waiting for. A strong woman who would be a partner with me in life, not a dependent, not a precious object to be kept in a box and removed when I had need of her. Someone who would bring out the best in me. Someone who would—"
He stopped speaking as he yanked the t-shirt over his head. When his face emerged, he caught her gaze and held it. "—love me," he said softly. "Someone who would insist that I love her."
"Devonwood," she said. "Don't you see? You won't let me speak. You're still controlling everything." But her heart wanted to burst free with joy. Had he said he wanted her to love him? Did anything else matter?
Yes. It still mattered that she wanted to be his equal, not his subordinate. She had to be sure that he understood this. She could not let sex derail her once again.
"Patience," he said. His zipper buzzed.
"What are you doing?" she repeated, panic shredding her voice. There was only so much temptation she could withstand.
"Dealing with this whole control issue." He shoved his pants and his boxers down his hips.
"N—no," she stammered. "You're stripping. And—and I don't want to see that."
He stepped out of his jeans. "See what?"
"Devonwood!" She could not prevent her eyes from roving downward.
"Don't worry." His tone was amused. "I'm merely setting the stage."
"There is no stage that needs to be set," she said wildly, certainly one of the dumbest things she'd ever uttered. "I'm not going to let you seduce me again. We—we haven't settled anything."
"I think we have," he said. "But don't worry. I'm not going to try to seduce you."
Naked, he strode over to the long burgundy sofa stretched against the wall. H
e lay down on his back.
"You see?" He gestured to himself and, oh yes, she did see. Every glorious inch of him was on display. His muscled chest and arms spread beyond the width of the couch. His long legs stretched out, thick with muscle, dusted with black hair.
And between his legs… A third thing that she could not resist.
She bit her lip to keep herself from making any sound of approval.
"I'm not controlling anything," he said. "It's all in your hands." He grinned. "Or hopefully, will be."
"Devon," she breathed. Her body had risen without her permission and she glided over to him. "I don't understand."
He held out his arms. "Take me. I'm yours."
Chapter 33
"All mine, huh?"
Miranda feasted her eyes on his glorious nakedness and then knelt down beside his hips and gave him a quick lick.
He groaned and his legs tightened instantly. "Don't you want to take off those clothes," he asked.
She glanced up at him. "Is this going to be my way or your way?"
"You're off to a great start." He folded his arms and stacked them behind his head. "Fine. If it's so important to you, do it your way."
"Good. My first rule is 'no talking'." She bent over him again.
He grinned. "A domme in the making, huh?"
She looked up, her lips just millimeters from his pride and joy. "One more word, and I quit."
He passed his fingers over his lips in a zipping motion.
She closed her mouth over him and sucked him in.
He came instantly.
When Miranda lifted her head, she looked at him in amazement. "Should I be flattered?"
"Oh, yeah." He stretched out his hand and drew her up on top of his body. "I've been waiting on that since last night in the spa."
She looked down on him. "Such a romantic, you are," she said, her lips curling up in a smile.
He grinned. "The way you got right down to business." He touched her mouth. "It was hot. A true male fantasy."
"Quick trigger, huh?"
"Normally, I have sufficient control. But not around you." He shrugged. "I knew that would be an issue right from the start."
Book Boyfriends Cafe Summer Lovin' Anthology 2015 Page 134