“Devon, I can’t.”
“I want a fair chance, Leah. I have something to show you, and you owe me an afternoon of your time to judge for yourself what kind of man I am.”
“What do you have in mind?” she asked suspiciously.
“I’m not going to ravish you, if that is what you suspect…although the idea does have some merit.” He leaned close. “I’m going to show that I am not what people think me. A few hours. That’s all I ask, Leah.”
She studied him a moment. Then…“Help me with the note.”
“That’s my girl.” He bent his head closer to hers. “Tell your maid that you have run into an old friend—”
“Which friend?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it does. Mother will ask questions.”
“Well, then, whom would your mother most like you to spend time with?”
“I don’t have many friends that I can trust.”
“Certainly there is one. Think.” He pulled three books off the shelf and took them up to Whitney. “Wrap these up and have them delivered.”
“Yes, my lord. Thank you, my lord.”
Devon returned to Leah. “Have you thought of a name?”
“Yes, I will say I ran into Tess Hamlin and she asked me to luncheon.”
“The heiress?”
She nodded. “Mother will be ecstatic and not question too closely. After all, we do not belong to the same social circles as the Hamlins, although since Lady Dorchester’s ball, I have been receiving many invitations.”
Devon didn’t like hearing he was orchestrating her social success. However, if he convinced her, she would soon be his and no other’s. “Put down Tess Hamlin’s name then. I know her brother. He will vouch for us if it comes to that.”
Still writing, she said, “What are we planning to do?”
“You’ll see.” When she finished, he blew on the ink to dry it as he approached the bookseller. “Whitney, my friend,” he said, slipping the old gent a coin, “give this to the maid when she arrives. Tell her to deliver it to Mrs. Carrollton.”
“And shall I make up a story about this young lady going off with her friend?”
Whitney heard better than he liked to pretend.
Devon threw back his head and laughed. “Of course, Whitney, of course!” He then took Leah’s arm and steered her through the maze of bookshelves. “We shall go out the back.”
Whitney made no reply. He’d probably gone back to sleep.
As they stepped into the back room, Leah hesitated. “This is madness.” She made as if to turn around, but Devon held her fast.
“It’s an adventure,” he said.
“But someone will see us. And if they do I will be ruined.”
Devon was feeling reckless enough that he didn’t care—but he wasn’t a complete fool. Hanging from a peg by the door was an oilskin cape. “Here, put this on.” He handed it to her. It had been raining earlier, and the cape would not cause comment.
Outside in the alleyway, puddles of water dotted the rutted lane. He hurried ahead to signal a hackney cab before returning and guiding her shrouded figure to the vehicle. Within moments, they were on their way.
The cab’s coach was confining. He pulled the shades down over the windows.
She dropped the cape. “Now will you tell me where we are going?”
“No.”
She sighed, muttering something under her breath about foolishness. The sides of their legs brushed. Devon didn’t move, but she practically jumped, as if given an electric jolt.
“I shouldn’t be doing this,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“Leah, if my intent was merely seduction, I could have done it a half dozen times right there in Whitney’s.”
Her eyebrows came together. “What makes you so certain?”
“Well, because of this,” he replied matter-of-factly before leaning toward her. He slipped his hand around her waist. He didn’t touch her anywhere else, but hot red color rose up her neck and into her cheeks. Her heart thumped against her chest. He could hear its rapid beat.
“What are you doing?”
“Nothing,” he murmured, leaning closer until his breath brushed the sensitive point of her neck. She almost melted against him. It took all of Devon’s willpower not to give her the kiss she desired.
He pulled back.
“Oh dear,” she whispered, flustered.
Devon smiled, pleased with himself.
“But is it possible to believe you really do love me?”
For a long second, there was only the sound of the iron-rimmed wheels rolling across the cobbles. Then Devon said simply, “Yes. I love you. I will never let harm come to you.”
A small frown line formed between her eyes. She looked away.
The hack came to a stop. Devon opened the door, hopped down, and offered his hand. “Don’t worry about the oilskin. No will recognize you here. I’ll have the hack wait for us.”
Leah poked her head out the door and then drew in a sharp breath. “We’re at the wharves.”
“I’d wager you’ve never visited them.”
“No.”
“Too bad. They are the most fascinating place in London.”
As he helped her down, she stared all around, taking in the excitement of a busy business day by the waterfront. It was a good day to visit. Huge white clouds, remnants of the earlier rain, floated across the sky, blown by a seafaring breeze. In between the clouds there was an occasional patch of blue.
Everyone was out and about enjoying the good weather. Journeymen and warehouse boys rolled kegs to be loaded on the ships. Businessmen argued, and quartermasters shouted out to any passerby to “hire on.” Sailors with tarred pigtails strutted with a rolling gait, going about their business, while young clerks ran errands for their masters, weaving and dodging their way amongst those gathered to enjoy the day.
Devon tucked Leah’s hand in the crook of his arm. There were other women here and there, but Leah, with her saucy chipped straw bonnet and cream muslin skirts, stopped all traffic. Grizzled seamen and gentrified merchants stared alike with open admiration until Devon frowned. Then they’d all hurried back to their business.
The fresh air brought a bloom of color to Leah’s cheeks. “You like it here,” he said.
“Yes. I’m truly a country girl. I like clean air. I don’t even mind the smell of wet wood and fish when compared to the soot and stench in the city.” She stopped, taking in the graceful lines of a sloop moored by the wharf. “I wish I could travel on one of these ships and see Spain, where my mother was born, or Italy. I would dearly like to visit Rome.”
“Perhaps you will someday,” Devon answered. “Here.” He pulled her forward and pointed at the third ship down. “That is my ship.”
Leah stared in surprise before walking toward it, obviously impressed by the four-masted merchant ship. She read the name on its bow. “The Indigo.”
“She isn’t as large as most, but I sail her for spices and silk, and she’s made me a fortune,” Devon said.
Leah glanced back at him. “This is what you wanted me to see.”
“I wanted you to see that I’m not a pauper. Other men can spend their money on valets and clothes. I bought a ship. Not to mention that I will someday be a marquess.”
“If you inherit.”
“Oh, I’ll inherit,” Devon said easily. “Grandfather can’t disown me. But this is mine. The ship has been so successful, I’m buying a second.”
“They say your grandfather pays more attention to your cousin Lord Vainhope than he does to you. Why is that, if you are the heir?”
So, she had heard that much. “I’m my own man,” he said quietly. “I’m as complete and good as Rex in every way.”
He had spoken without realizing how odd those words might sound. Fortunately, she, like everyone else, didn’t know the complete story, so she didn’t understand what he really meant. Instead she said, “Well of course you are as good as him. Even b
etter. No one likes Lord Vainhope, and everyone likes you.”
“Except Julian,” he couldn’t resist adding.
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “Except Julian.”
“Come this way.” He pulled her in the direction of a warehouse. “You need to see this.”
Inside the cool darkness was row after row of kegs and stacks of burlap sacks. She sniffed the air experimentally. “What is the smell?”
“It’s a spice warehouse. I bring my cargo here. What was unloaded two days ago has already been sold.” He rested a proprietarial hand on a bag. “This is pepper. Over there, cinnamon bark.”
“It doesn’t smell the same here as it does in the kitchen.”
“Because you need to crush it to bring the flavors out.”
Leah touched the bag of pepper, wrinkling her nose from the scent of raw spice and dust. “Julian says a gentleman does not deal in trade.”
“Julian says a great many things,” Devon murmured. He wondered what she would say if she knew his other investments and holdings.
She ran her hand back and forth across the rough cloth. “You don’t agree with him.”
“Obviously.”
“Why not?”
He considered the danger of contradicting her precious brother—but, then, she had asked. “There is nothing wrong with Julian’s opinions. They are shared by many. He’s part of the old order, Leah, of a society that doesn’t see the world is changing. On the other hand, I embrace change. I believe a man must make his place in the world. It’s exciting times we live in. Revolutionary times. England rules the world, and with that rule comes opportunity, new ideas. Inventions! Why, Leah, I have seen designs for new mechanics that will change even the way we travel from one place to another. Roads won’t be needed.”
“Roads? We’ll always need roads.”
“And lights. We won’t need candles.”
“You must have candles!”
“Leah, there are already streets with gaslights, and someday, there will be gaslights in our own sitting room. Some homes already have them. I’ve dined in them.”
“I’ve never dined in a house like that.”
“You have to leave the Marriage Mart and the narrow thinking of the ton to find houses with gaslights.” He shook his head. “A wise man is one who involves himself in what will be the future. I’m happy to let men like my cousin Rex and Julian worry about the past. I’m building an empire of my own.”
Leah somberly considered his words. People milled around them, occupied with their own concerns, but Devon scarcely noticed them. He centered on her: Her opinion seemed important to him.
Her lips twisted thoughtfully. “I think I like your view of the world better than Julian’s,” she said at last. “He is always so angry. Perhaps each of us should search for our own happiness. To be bold and not afraid of change. But I don’t like revolutions,” she admitted candidly. “However, I think you are happier than my brother, who spends his time gaming and drinking.”
If he hadn’t already been in love with her, he would have tumbled head over heels in that moment.
She smiled at him, almost as if she could read his approval. A glint of anticipation appeared in her eyes. “Now, my lord merchant, where do you hide your silks?”
He laughed. “Spoken like a woman. The silks are next door up the stairs on the first floor. That way, if there is flooding, they are safe. Come, I’ll show them to you.”
Unfortunately, the door to the silks was locked. The warehouse manager had left on errands. Leah was obviously disappointed.
“I wanted to see the silks. Are they lovely?”
“Exquisite,” he answered as they marched down the stairs.
“Will the warehouse manager be back?”
“Perhaps. But we can’t linger. Not if I am going to return you home without rousing suspicion.” He started walking toward the hack, but she didn’t come. “Leah?”
She was looking up at the building. “Do those upper windows go all around?” She didn’t wait for his answer but charged toward the corner of the warehouse.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, following.
She glanced right and left to see if they were alone. This side faced another warehouse with only a walkway in between. “I could peek in that window up there if you’d give me a leg up.”
“A leg up? You’re not serious.”
She began taking off her shoes. “I have my secrets too, my lord. Why, I’m the best tree climber in all Nottinghamshire.”
“You’re joking.”
“No, Julian and William could never keep up with me.” Her eyes danced with excitement. “Come along, Huxhold, be adventurous.”
He laughed to have his own words turned on him. “We have no trees here.”
“Of course not. I’m going to climb you.”
Now she had his attention. Intrigued, he made a step with his hands. She placed her stocking foot in it, knocked off his hat, and climbed up on his shoulders with the balance of a trained acrobat.
Devon pushed her skirts aside with his nose. He stood very still lest she fall. He faced the opposite warehouse; she faced the windows.
“Why, Miss Carrollton, you are a hoyden,” he said with mock sincerity.
Her peal of joyful laughter rang loud and clear. “Yes, I am, my dear Huxhold. A terrible hoyden. To be honest, I miss the freedom of being myself. It seems the only time I can be me is when I’m with you. Now move over two steps to the right. I can’t see in the window.”
Just to tease her, he took a step to the left. She had wonderful balance and laughingly coaxed him in the direction she wanted to go. It was fun. It was silly. But it was also spring, and they were young, and it seemed completely right and natural.
Leah directed him. “Closer to the window. Over a bit. Ah, yes. I can see!”
She attempted to rise up on her tiptoes. Devon held her slim ankles. It would do no good to anyone if she fell.
“This window is so dirty,” she complained.
“It’s the salt air.”
“Yes,” she agreed absently. She rubbed a spot clean before making a disappointed sound. “I can’t see a thing. There are rolls of fabric, but they are covered in sackcloth.”
“I know.”
“You knew!” she echoed with a quiver of indignation. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Well, I would have, but then you started climbing me and it was a temptation I couldn’t resist.”
“Temptation?” she asked suspiciously.
Devon nodded. “Very much of a temptation.” To add meaning to his words, he lightly nipped her ankle.
She wiggled at his touch, giggling. “Stop that.”
“Stop that or you’ll what?” he demanded, looking up at her. He let his fingers stroke the silk of her stocking.
“Or I will be very angry,” she said, trying not to laugh. “Let me down now.”
“I can’t. You’ll have to climb down the way you came up,” he quipped, anticipating the feel of her body skinnying its way down his—and the kiss he would claim at first opportunity.
They were so involved with each other that they didn’t see the man turn into the narrow walkway between the buildings until his drawling voice said, “Huxhold, amazed to see you in these parts. Don’t come here often myself.” It was Sir Godfrey Rigston, a friend of his grandfather’s.
Leah made a soft cry, and Devon felt her go rigid with the fear of discovery.
“Sir Godfrey,” he said in greeting, attempting to act as if it were the most normal thing in the world for him to have a woman standing on his shoulders.
Sir Godfrey stared up with no little curiosity, but since Leah’s back was to them, Devon hoped she was safe from recognition. “What brings you down to the wharves this time of day?” he asked.
“No purpose,” Sir Godfrey answered. He was a portly man with a protruding lower lip and a nose like a parrot’s beak. He enjoyed wearing a curly wig. “Had a friend prep
aring to sail with the tide and accompanied him for the ride. Seemed a good place to visit on such a fine day.”
“That it is.”
“I say, Huxhold.”
“Yes?”
“Is that a woman standing on your shoulders?” the man asked with perfect English understatement.
Leah muffled a small sound with her hands as Devon answered with equal seriousness, “Yes, Sir Godfrey, it is.”
“You lead a devilishly fine life, Huxhold,” the older man confided.
“I believe I do, sir.”
Sir Godfrey nodded his head. “Well, carry on. Give my best to your grandfather.”
“I will when I see him, sir.”
Swinging his walking stick, Sir Godfrey continued on his way.
Devon waited until the man turned a corner before sighing with relief. Then, with a heave of his shoulders, he lifted Leah off and caught her in his arms.
She burst out laughing, laughter he joined in.
“Do you think he recognized me?” she asked.
“I’m certain he didn’t. Have you ever met him before?”
“Not ever.”
“Then we have no worry. He won’t be expecting a virtuous woman by the docks, let alone London’s loveliest debutante.”
She grinned. “I can’t believe it. He acted as if it was nothing to see you with a woman standing on your shoulders.”
“I have a certain reputation,” Devon couldn’t help saying, and they both laughed all the harder.
He helped her put on her shoes, and they hurried back to the hack, giggling like children. But once inside, and safely on their way, the laughter stopped.
For a second, they stared in each other’s eyes. Then she said solemnly, “Hold out your hand.”
He lifted his hand, palm out.
She placed hers an inch apart, and immediately, an irresistible force pulled their hands together. He clasped his fingers around hers.
And then their lips found each other.
Kissing Leah was as natural to him as breathing. Once started, he couldn’t stop, not when she so eagerly responded. Their tongues touched, and he drank her in. His hand rested at her waist but he wanted to explore lower, to lift her skirts, to feel the soft skin of her thighs and to feel her heat, her moistness.
She broke the kiss. “Why is this happening to us, the two people in London who can never be happy together?”
A Scandalous Marriage Page 5