Beloved

by Stella Cameron

  Her heart grew tight. “So I am to face the ton and wait for the whispers to begin. But I should take comfort in the knowledge that you, and my family, consider me blameless. I shall be a very lonely, very vulnerable creature, Saber.”

  “You will not be lonely.” He turned to see the longcase clock. “It is almost time. Let me help you with your cloak.”

  Ella caught his hand. “How is it I won’t be lonely? When they shake their heads and point at me?”

  “You will not be lonely,” Saber said grimly. “Never. Because I shall never be far away.”

  She raised her brows quizzically. “Grandmama will be delighted to hear that I am completely committed to assisting with your launch into Society. Where you go, I shall go—your devoted childhood friend who wishes to make certain you are well-matched.”

  “But—” Words failed her.

  He smiled thinly. “No questions. Anyone who speaks ill of you, or tries to hurt you in any way, shall answer to me. This much I can do for you, little Ella.”

  Not exactly what she had dreamed of—or planned to accomplish—but better than might have been. “You will accompany me during the Season.”

  “I shall be close at hand—always. Justine will be more than willing to supply me with a list of your engagements. Those engagements will become my own social calendar—God help me.”

  She eyed him innocently. “Poor Saber. You really don’t like going about, do you?”

  “I shall not be going about, as you put it. I shall be caring for you until you have a husband to take my place. In the meantime, any woman who seeks to smear you will do well to find a hiding place from me. And I will kill any man who offends your honor.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I shall go in when I’m certain the establishment is empty,” Saber told Devlin. “Please speak to the proprietor. Tell him you wish to engage his services for a very lucrative commission.”

  Devlin glared through the coach window at the bustle that was Bond Street in the middle of a sunny but cool afternoon. “You have avoided explaining this piece of foolishness to me. Why should I be your lackey?”

  Saber studied his friend’s impeccably fine profile. “Because you know this is difficult for me, this appearing in public.”

  “If I am to believe you, the weeks to come will be a veritable round of high living for you, Saber. Why should you need me in this matter?”

  “I don’t. Except to help me make certain I am not seen.”

  “Then why not give me your dratted mission and let me accomplish it? Why come at all?”

  The shop windows held Saber’s attention. “Because I wish to make my own selections. Then I shall return to the coach and leave you to do the necessary. If anyone should inquire, the owner will think you are the buyer, and he may even say as much to anyone interested. There must be no suggestion that I have any part in this.”

  “Bloody hell! In what?”

  “Now,” Saber said forcefully, and threw open the carriage door. “That man was the last customer to enter, and now he has left.”

  “Well, we’ve certainly sat here long enough to know an entire afternoon’s custom hereabouts,” Devlin remarked without humor. He followed Saber to the pavement and into the shop, with its two mullioned windows flanking a highly polished oak door.

  Saber shut the door behind them. A man stood behind the counter with his back to his new clients. Surreptitiously, Saber turned over the sign that would now pronounce Cox’s Flowers “closed,” and gently shot home a bolt.

  The man turned around. Saber swept off his hat and held it before his nose and mouth while he studied billowing heaps of fragrant blossoms in vases on every surface of the room.

  Devlin cleared his throat and returned the man’s greeting. “Mind if we look around?”

  “Take your time, gentlemen.”

  Saber hovered beside a crystal vase filled with brilliant spring blooms. “Unusual,” he murmured behind his hat brim. “Elegantly simple, yet so full of life. Like Ella.”

  Devlin’s hand came down heavily on his shoulder. “Is that what this is all about? A bloody posy for Ella?”

  “No,” Saber told him. He gestured for Devlin to bring his ear close. “Not a bloody posy, friend. Dozens of bloody posies. I am going back to the carriage. You are going to order—and pay for—six vases of spring flowers to be delivered to Miss Ella Rossmara every day.”

  “You want me to send—”

  “No, you rattle-brain. Not you. Not from you. Anony-mously.” He glanced about. “And single red roses, each differently presented. And a bowl of cream roses. Yes, cream roses would suit, too.”

  “In God’s name—”

  “In no one’s name, Devlin. And please don’t curse so. It doesn’t become you. The stock here is pleasing, just as I thought it would be.”

  “Then send it yourself.”

  “And risk some busybody finding out they’re from me? And then having the laugh on Ella. No. This way the worst that can happen is that you appear the ardent suitor. That alone should be enough to make any number of young bucks vie for the attention of Miss Rossmara. Do it, please. If all goes as planned, the assumption will be that she is besieged by admirers. We have only to arrange for a remark to be dropped here and there. We know what happens when a female is perceived as the most sought-after creature in all London.”

  “Yes,” Devlin said under his breath. “They will make fools of themselves trying to capture her. Very clever, Saber. Also damnably expensive.”

  “I can afford it,” Saber reminded him. He did not say that he had nothing else to spend his money on, other than the simplest of lifestyles.

  He let himself out of the shop and immediately entered the carriage again.

  Nothing would give him more pleasure than to shower Ella with flowers—in his own name. What lay ahead of him, giving her to another man, was the cruelest cut of all. He had no choice.

  For two nights past, the darkest hours had claimed him for hell. His affliction only grew worse. Surely the time when he would pass over into madness forever must be at hand. Before that happened, he must make sure Ella was safe.

  He stared at the windows of the flower shop. How he would revel in giving her every flower, every jewel, every beautiful thing in the world that might make her heart glad.

  She would take you and leave the rest.

  Fate’s knife was sharper than any living assailant’s dagger. He no longer gave a damn about whatever had happened in her past. With every moment spent in her company his love for her deepened. So deep had that love become that he knew he must move quickly to remove the temptation of Ella Rossmara from his life—whatever was left of it.

  Two young females and a black-clad maid paused before the florist’s windows. Saber stiffened and drew back into the shadows of the coach.

  One of the girl’s blond ringlets bobbed as she turned toward her companion.

  He didn’t recall her name but she’d been at the Eagletons’. Saber sent up thanks that he hadn’t encountered her upon leaving the shop. She laughed and hurried on with her unknown friend, the parcel-laden maid scurrying to keep up.

  Devlin was some time in completing his business. As soon as he reentered the coach, Saber rapped for the coachman to carry on. He opened the trap and shouted, “Number Nine Regent Street. Howell and James.”

  “Howell and James?” Devlin moaned. “Now what am I to send her? Fans? A clock or two?”

  “No.”

  “Sweetmeats? Pounds and pounds of sweetmeats a hundred times a day?”

  “No,” Saber said, pulling on his gloves. “Jewels. Jewels every day. Then on to Fifty-two Pall Mall.”

  “Dodsley’s?” Devlin tossed his hat on the seat beside him. “You’re going to send her books, man?”

  “Not at all.” Saber examined the stitching on his cuffs. “I’m going to select a few volumes for myself.”

  Pearl and diamond earbobs nestled in a bed of ice-blue velvet. Ella touched the stones b
riefly before closing the satin box and setting it with three other boxes containing jewelry that she’d received as gifts in recent days.

  “Girls can be so difficult.” Blanche Bastible, Grandmama Franchot’s companion, sighed hugely. She picked up the box Ella had just discarded on an inlaid chest in the cream and gold drawing room at Hanover Square. Blanche opened the box again. “Really, Your Grace, I am amazed at your patience in these matters.”

  Seated on a gold brocade chaise, Great-Grandmama behaved as if she hadn’t heard Blanche. The arrangement between the two had followed the upheaval when Great-Grandmama had arrived in Scotland to try to stop Papa from marrying Mama. In fact, Blanche Wren Bastible was the Marquess of Stonehaven’s mother-in-law. Arran, Marquess of Stonehaven, Papa’s brother, had married Grace Wren, a charming sprite of a woman cursed with an overbearing mother—Blanche Wren Bastible. An alliance between Blanche and the dowager duchess of Franchot should have been a fantastic impossibility. In fact, the two suited each other very well—for reasons no one at all understood.

  “Young lady,” Blanche said ominously. Voluminous and inappropriate daffodil yellow gros-de-Naples encased her substantial body and a row of matching yellow bows adorned the intricate loops of her chestnut hair. “Young lady! You are behaving badly. Do you think that this dying-wraith act makes you interesting?”

  “I rather thought wraiths were already dead,” Ella said, wishing Blanche would go away—preferably all the way back to Cornwall and Franchot Castle.

  “Disrespectful,” Blanche muttered. “Did you hear that, Your Grace?”

  “Ella has wit. I like that. Someone has taken your fancy. That’s it, isn’t it, Ella? Come along. No coyness, if you please. Doesn’t become you. Tell me the man’s name at once.”

  And wouldn’t that ensure the silence Ella so longed for? Unfortunately, the silence wouldn’t last. The uproar to follow could be all but endless.

  A footman knocked and entered with a bowl of cream roses.

  Blanche clapped her hands and jumped up and down, for all the world as if she were sixteen rather than nearing her fiftieth birthday. “I declare,” she warbled. “More roses. One gentleman sends cream roses. Another red. Then there are those gaudy springy things that keep coming. But they are interesting in that I’d simply swoon to know the message he seeks to convey. And the jewelry! Although that need not come from the same man. And the fans. The most beautiful fans imaginable. Have I told you about the way my first husband courted me and—”

  “Yes,” the dowager interrupted. Blanche had a magpie’s attachment to shiny baubles. “You most certainly have told us, Blanche. Who is the man for whom you pine, Ella?”

  Ella bent to smell the latest bouquet.

  “Answer me,” the dowager demanded with some asperity.

  “I cannot,” Ella said, turning to look at the old lady. “If it were possible, I would.” Mutual understanding passed between them. The dowager would not press further—at least for the moment.

  Blanche sniffed loudly. She removed an earbob from its box and slipped it onto her own ear. “Cannot tell?” she said. “Will not tell, more likely. Oh, the trial of ungrateful daughters. As the mother of just such a one, I know the difficulties. And after all this family has done for—”

  “That will do, Blanche, dear,” Great-Grandmama said firmly. “If Ella says there is no one she favors, then there is no one she favors. Put the earbob away, my dear.”

  Huffing, Blanche did as she was instructed and set the box down with the others once more.

  The door opened and Devlin North was shown in. He wore a gray cloak and still carried his hat and riding crop. The wind had ruffled his thick black hair. “ ’Morning, lovely ladies,” he boomed. With him came fresh air and the atmosphere of power-in-motion that Ella felt whenever she saw him.

  “Good morning, Mr. North.” Great-Grandmama extended her hand and accepted the touch of Devlin’s mouth—which he repeated with Blanche.

  He turned the full vital intensity of his gaze upon Ella, and his smile disappeared. “Good morning to you, Ella,” he said gravely, approaching, holding his hat and his crop before him. “Lovely as ever. Even lovelier, in fact. How are you, my dear?”

  Ella frowned a little. “I’m well, thank you.” His piercing regard disconcerted her.

  “It is very important to some of us that you be not only well, but happy. I’m sure you understand what I mean.”

  She didn’t. Behind Devlin, Great-Grandmama had grown still. Ella felt the old lady straining not to miss a word. Blanche, on the other hand, didn’t hesitate to hover close by.

  Devlin glanced around the room as if he hadn’t noticed its contents before. “Wonderful flowers,” he said. “No doubt there is a man who thinks a great deal of you. How could there not be?”

  Ella also looked at the flowers. “They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”

  “And jewels, I see. Oh, indeed, quite marvelous.”

  “They’re beautiful,” she repeated. “And more than a little overwhelming.”

  Devlin picked up a white box and opened it to reveal an emerald bracelet. “Whoever sent this knows how well such strong color becomes you,” he said, smiling at her. “May I put this on for you?”

  Suspicion wheedled its way into Ella’s mind. She extended her left hand and snuffed out the thought. Ridiculous. Devlin North wasn’t a man likely to be attracted to Ella as anything more than a family friend. On the other hand … Excitement fluttered in her breast. Perhaps Saber…

  Devlin concentrated on fastening the bracelet and held her wrist toward sunlight streaming through the window. “See how it shines?” His attention shifted from the bracelet to her eyes. “But beside you, it is pale. I’m certain the man who sent this would say as much. If he were here, that is. And I know he wants nothing more than to be here with you.”

  Ella couldn’t find words.

  His fingers lingered on her wrist, hovered over the deep green stones of the bracelet, slipped around to hold her hand. “Of course, he knows he is with you whenever you spare a thought for his gifts—and his regard for you.” The tips of Devlin’s fingers caressed Ella’s palm.

  Blanche’s enormous yellow skirts swayed, and she sighed loudly.

  “No messages?” Devlin said, releasing Ella as if he loathed to do so. “No evidence of the admirer’s identity?”

  A single admirer? Why would Devlin assume all the gifts were from one man? “No messages at all.” Unless Devlin knew that only one man was responsible for the deluge of expensive tokens.

  Fleetingly, he touched the point of her chin. “When I first saw you—at the lodge at Castle Kirkcaldy—you were a beauty. I told Struan and Justine as much. You have only become more so. And you are a delight, to boot, Ella Rossmara. Any man would count himself blessed to have you for his own.”

  Thoroughly embarrassed, Ella fussed with one of the vases of spring blossoms. Papa had been disquieted by Devlin’s attentions to her at that time. But surely Devlin wasn’t, by these obscure means… No, he couldn’t be.

  “Nothing to say, little Ella?” He pulled a red tulip from the vase. “Someone knows your affinity for simple things. Simple, elegant things.”

  Ella studied his face. “You think so?”

  “Oh, yes.” Slowly, his eyes moved from the tulip to her face. “Someone wants to see you surrounded by simple elegance. An emerald bracelet of impeccable design, cream roses in crystal vases, an ivory fan with diamonds where only you will be the one to see them—earbobs of pearls and diamonds that will be warmed by your skin. The man has studied you well, Ella.”

  “More than one man, I should say,” Blanche said excitedly. Great-Grandmama said, “Hush,” in a voice that brooked no argument.

  Devlin ignored them both. He rested the head of the tulip against Ella’s cheek. “Have you noted how the petals of a tulip resemble velvet?”

  She nodded, unable to move. “This one is red velvet. The texture of your lips, but not as subtle in color.” Openly
, he studied her mouth. “Not as subtle at all,” he murmured, his own lips remaining parted.

  Momentarily mesmerized, Ella heard her sharp intake of breath. “The gifts are quite lovely,” she said faintly. The box containing the earbobs had been closed by the time he entered the room and the ivory fan was upstairs in her bedchamber….

  She was imagining nothing. A woman would have to be made of wood not to feel the passion in Devlin’s words—in his actions. He was wooing her!

  “I do hope you have made the right decision in this,” Margot told Saber. “Perhaps you should reconsider, mon chi.”

  Saber tucked her arm through his elbow and climbed the steps to the front door of the Stonehaven Mansion in Hanover Square. “You trusted me to get you out of India, Margot. You have trusted my every decision since those dreadful days. Do you suddenly doubt me now?” Regardless of his dear friend’s opinion, there could be no turning back.

  “I trust you in all things,” Margot said quietly. “You are the best of men, Saber. The most honorable and kind. Without you I should have been branded a bigamist and cast out entirely.”

  “Don’t think of it now,” he told her, patting her hand. “That is all behind you. And it is—as I so often tell you—it is hardly your fault that you were a young girl taken in by a man who promised you a wonderful life.”

  “A man who married me when he was already married and—”

  She broke off as the door opened to reveal the Stonehavens’ squat butler.

  Crabley’s mashed little nose wrinkled and his shiny black eyes took in first Margot, then Saber before he said, “Come one, come all,” in his peculiarly toneless voice, and stood back for them to enter.

  He led the way to a closed door, knocked, and went in. “Lord Avenall,” he announced, “and …” His wave toward Margot was delivered with a flourish before he departed without waiting to hear her identity.

  Margot gave an astonished laugh.

  Saber was more astonished to see Devlin seated with Ella on a gold brocade chaise. A woman in yellow whom he had never met sat in a chair near the chaise.