Harlequin Historical July 2021--Box Set 2 of 2

by Madeline Martin

  ‘I would not go that far.’ Inside he beamed. Miss Albright could dispense flattery if she wished.

  ‘My cousin and I were playing king of the castle and the encounter became frenzied. I pushed him off the hill and he planned to take me with him, and that was all he could grab. I wasn’t going off the mound.’

  ‘Maybe you should have relented. Lost the game to save pain.’ She tapped the little finger.

  His hands were not the part of his body her touch affected.

  ‘In hindsight, I could have let him tug me to the bottom and landed on him. So, for his sake, perhaps it was for the best. I would have used him as a cushion,’ he said. But he understood something else about himself in that instance. The pain hadn’t really hurt and he’d wanted to win. He would have repeated the incident just as he had initially done it. A clear victory. His father claimed nothing else mattered in a battle but a decisive win.

  She glanced up, running her fingers over his knuckles, the touch so light he wasn’t sure he imagined it. ‘His hands aren’t the only thing I admire about Mr Tenney. He’s a barrister and will make a name for himself. He is so ambitious. That is one of the things I like most about him. That he’s constantly striving to become more successful. I should like you to meet him some day, Viscount Montfort.’

  Everything she’d just said singed him. He had no desire to meet Tenney. ‘Whatever you wish,’ he said. ‘Except my given name is Devlin Bryan and I’d prefer to think we know each other well enough for you to call me Devlin as my friends do.’

  ‘It would be an honour.’ Her face bloomed as if he’d just given her a bouquet. ‘And I would be pleased if you would call me Rachael.’

  Then she turned. Leaving. Bidding him goodnight. Limping to the doorway.

  ‘Rachael.’ His words stopped her. ‘You did not select a book. Please stay longer. We’ve shared such an adventure that I feel I have known you for ever. A few moments more of your time would be a treasure—that is—if you aren’t in pain.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  Rachael stopped and turned to Devlin, a man who’d taken her in his arms when they’d both been reduced to instinctive beings. In those brief seconds, he’d changed from a stranger whom she’d converse with reservedly to someone with whom she could speak her mind.

  He was half-dressed, of course, only wearing a shirt and trousers, but it was his family home and it was the middle of the night. And she was wearing a borrowed dressing gown with no corset or chemise under it, hoping the cloth would not touch her burned skin.

  Their familiarity seemed shared and, by the ease in his face, he didn’t want to leave any more than she did.

  Their bond surprised her. He wanted her to feel comfortable in his home and she did, but perhaps only because he was in the room.

  Nothing else mattered to her but that she distract herself from the small ache in her posterior—and when they talked, the pain all but disappeared.

  She’d regretted refusing the laudanum after the first dose, but she hated the way it made her feel—more a cloud than a person—a wisp of who she was—and her mind seemed dislodged.

  Devlin distracted her in a completely opposite way. She could keep her feet on the ground and her mind safely in the room.

  ‘I don’t feel like reading.’ Rachael took careful steps back, yet remained outside the doorway. ‘Instead, I’m a bit like a child who doesn’t want to go to bed and who is too tired to sleep. And my you-know-what hurts like it’s still on fire.’

  If she’d returned to her bedroom, she would have had to try to sleep on her stomach and doubted she could even doze off.

  He took two steps closer, but didn’t cross the entrance to the library. ‘Stay for a chat, then. I’ve never been accused of an over-abundance of maturity and I’ll attempt to ease the pain with nonsense. I can summon up a great deal of nonsense on occasion. Buckets of it.’

  He leaned forward, and said, ‘In fact, I can’t think of the word maturity ever being used in reference to me.’ His brow furrowed. ‘Blasted oversight on someone’s part, I’d say. Wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘That’s a trick question to ask a guest.’

  ‘So, you don’t think that was an accidental oversight?’ He beckoned her. ‘Tell me the benefits of maturity. Those have never been explained to me in detail. Or in any convincing way.’ He stepped back. ‘I don’t think you can.’

  In one second, something flittered behind his gaze. A seriousness, immediately replaced by a carefree air, and a lopsided grin. She recognised the ruse. He was bent on distracting her, just as she’d wanted.

  Suddenly, she felt cosseted. She didn’t want to hurt, though, and only by playing the game would the relief continue.

  ‘I doubt I could. I doubt anyone could.’ She angled her head in a challenging pose.

  ‘Try.’

  She walked towards him. ‘Maturity. You either have it or you don’t.’

  He strode to the window, opened the curtains wide, propped his shoulder against the wall and regarded the night. ‘Well, that’s my excuse then.’

  She stationed herself at the other side of the curtains and copied his pose. She was so tired of standing.

  The jesting evaporated. ‘I’ve always been mature,’ she said. ‘I was born so. If the governess did not watch my sister or me closely, I would make certain that neither of us got into any trouble. In fact, the woman would usually nap during the day and I would wake her if my sister needed something I could not take care of. My mother once reprimanded me for not playing.’ She gave a quick glance to the ceiling. ‘She said I must let the governess do her job. So, I did. Except on rare occasions when I knew I must step in.’

  ‘I had a problem with my governess about play also.’ He flattened a fold of the curtain aside. ‘My governess fell asleep once, too. On the same day a poor mouse had met a disastrous fate in the stables. I took the mouse and tied a string on it and pulled it across her feet. She woke up, screeched and clouted me. I predicted she would keep silent as she’d smacked me.’

  ‘Did you tell your parents?’

  ‘No. I feared my father might take her side and I knew my mother would not appreciate the humour in my bringing a dead mouse into the house. So, I disposed of it just as the governess insisted.’ He took the curtain between two fingers of his right hand and waved it back and forth. ‘She didn’t tell me specifically not to put it under her bedcovers. After all, she had clouted me.’

  He dropped the curtain. ‘I had to spend the whole next day fetching things for her, and returning them, and when I refused and went to Mother... Mother sent me to the governess, telling me that no mice were allowed in the house and boys who brought them in would be forever fetching handkerchiefs or having to listen to their governess sing. My governess sang a lot of songs that day, mostly ones she made up about boys who had to be good...had to be good...had to be good, and she had a voice that permeated the walls and stuck like a knife in the ear. The mouse was not worth it.’

  ‘And if you had a child who did the same thing would you severely reprimand him and silently congratulate him? Or just laugh?’

  He touched his chin with a knuckle on his left hand. ‘I would be concerned if I had a son who did not do such things. Much like your mother who told you to play. A child must be a child. Then they must be punished and taught to act like an adult. It’s the way of growth.’

  ‘Why? If you can skip that level of immaturity?’

  ‘Let us say that you received a double portion of adulthood at birth and I received none, and I have grown to the stage of acting as a man when I am with women, at social functions and when necessary. When I am with other men, I relax and revert to the way nature intended us to behave.’

  ‘That is a shame.’

  ‘Depends on your perspective.’ He straightened. ‘But I have the most enjoyment.’

  ‘Perhaps not,’ she chall
enged. ‘Perhaps I get my personal reward from being responsible at all times.’

  ‘Well, I fear that is something I may never know. But I do know how much enjoyment I get from being irresponsible.’ The grin returned and her heart bounced closer to the sky. He was an effective painkiller. Better than laudanum, though, perhaps, not as safe.

  She almost laughed. Perhaps all the medication hadn’t worn off. She pulled herself back to earth.

  ‘You get enjoyment to a degree from being irresponsible,’ she said. ‘Even you have boundaries. Everyone has limits. Some are just set further apart.’

  ‘You are right,’ he said. ‘You’re correct, as I hope you always are.’ He held up a pinch. ‘Your limits.’ He widened his fingers. ‘My limits.’

  ‘Truly?’ she asked.

  ‘Let me believe it. I would hate to think I’ve put all the adventures of my youth behind me.’

  ‘Well, you did jump into the flames earlier. I’m pleased you didn’t have a sensible reaction then.’

  ‘It was the only one possible, Miss Albright.’ He stared at the darkened window. ‘If I had left earlier...’ He shuddered. ‘I wanted to. My brothers had already left.’

  She felt the need to reassure him she was fine. To remind him he had been there and had done the right thing for her.

  Putting a hand on his forearm, she grasped it. ‘Thank you.’

  When she realised what she’d done, she froze, then whipped her hand away. His shirt was paper thin. Much thinner than it appeared in the candlelight. Warmth, fine hairs and masculinity had answered her touch. She curled her palm close to her stomach and covered it with her other hand. She had to say something to erase the fact she’d touched him. She’d not planned it. It was a mistake. Something had been different. He was different from Tenney. Whereas Tenney was a balm, Devlin ignited something inside her.

  He didn’t even seem aware, which somehow felt like a slap, and he returned to the window. Nothing flickered in his gaze. Instead, he gave her a brief bow. ‘Let’s not repeat it, but it was the finest point of my life, I think. And I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t know what was going on until I stopped and there was a...’ He cleared his throat. ‘The smell of burnt roses was in my arms and I knew you were uncomfortable, and I had to get you to privacy.’

  Letting the silence continue, she wandered to the shelf with novels, and selected the one nearest her, without paying attention to its title. She needed to break the mood.

  The spine creaked when she opened the book and she held it, letting her eyes linger on the words she couldn’t read in the dim light.

  ‘It is so odd how the night turned out,’ she said. ‘Mother was happy to see the invitation from the Countess. I almost feel apologetic that I ended the event. I’m thankful you were here.’

  He returned her honesty with some of his own. ‘I didn’t get an invitation. I received a note to keep my evening free and was given the time to show up in evening dress.’

  ‘You are a good son to do that.’

  ‘Easy enough. I had to be somewhere on earth tonight, so why not here? It makes my mother happy and she asks for so little that I’m pleased to respond to her summons. One night absent from the clubs is almost a relief. Though it was getting dull until—’

  He touched the windowpane’s edge, flicking aside something invisible to her. ‘One moment and the world changes for ever, according to the old pontificators at the club, and they are right. Perhaps that is why I buy them drinks and listen to their claptrap.’

  Now that she watched him more closely, it was almost as if she could absorb the caring and generosity behind his eyes, but she questioned if it was caused by the late hour, the situation, or if he just naturally had a face that pulled her attention closer. She examined him again. His face. It did welcome her. A gift he’d been given by his birth.

  He stepped forward.

  She shut the book, tucking it under her arm. He took her fingertips and awareness pulsed inside her. She assumed he was going to kiss her hand, and in the light, and the night, and their improper dress, it would have been so much more than just a touch of his lips. Perhaps he discerned it at the same time she did.

  He stared at her fingertips and rubbed a thumb over them, sending calming shivers into her. The moment brought her peace. A feeling of safety and security.

  ‘If we were judged by the beauty of our hands, we would all be put to shame by comparison to yours.’ Her fingers slipped from his when he increased the distance.

  ‘That is kind of you.’ Her words were a whisper and she didn’t think he even heard them.

  ‘Goodnight, Rachael. I hope you think gently of me and understand that I’m happy on my path of foolishness and jests, and I hope you gain much from your responsible life.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Then his face changed and she could observe nothing beyond the penetrating eyes focused on her.

  ‘Forgive my impetuousness. I must leave. You are a betrothed woman and I am a rake. In this case, it is a combination which can’t be mixed, much like silk and fire. I must remember that.’

  ‘Surely a few words between us runs no risk of anything untoward.’ She didn’t want him to leave. But it was only because she wanted to be distracted. Only because the day had been eventful. Only because they were becoming friends.

  ‘No risk with a few words,’ he said. ‘But I feel we could speak long hours into the night and, as tiredness encroached, you might forget your maturity and do something foolish. I tell you as a friend that I would be hoping so with all my being.’ On those words, he left, his footsteps not making a sound.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Rachael recovered alone in a small bedroom, painted with gentle hues of blue and with paintings of flowers. Every blossom in England had to be represented in the room and she wasn’t sure she liked them as much as she had before. Now she was afraid that every time she saw a bloom, she would associate it with a burning sensation.

  She propped herself on one crossed leg while she returned to her book.

  Breakfast at the Earl’s estate had been informal, which had relieved Rachael’s mother immensely, and Rachael had been given the option of taking breakfast alone or joining the family. She’d reassured both her mother and the Countess that she was fine and chose to remain in her room.

  * * *

  That evening, someone rapped at the door. Rachael untucked her leg from under her and stood. ‘Please come in,’ she called out.

  A maid entered, carrying two dresses, a small portmanteau and a paper in her hands. ‘Your father returned home and sent these things to you.’ The maid bustled around, arranging the clothing. ‘And your mother and the Countess are taking tea and wanted to know if you might join them, but will understand if you don’t wish to.’

  ‘I think I will be fine here,’ Rachael said.

  Then, before leaving, the maid gave her the letter. ‘Your father also sent this.’

  Rachael took it, feeling a pleased flutter in her stomach when she saw Mr Tenney’s handwriting. She’d never seen anyone who could make such beautiful flourishes. Her name had never flowed so elegantly as when Mr Tenney wrote it.

  She’d waited all through his university years and, now that he was becoming established as a barrister, they were to be wed soon. The unfortunate death of his grandmother had postponed things, or they would have already married.

  Rachael ran her fingertips over the letters of her name and it was as if she’d been at his side while he penned them.

  Then she slipped open the seal. She read and the words didn’t make sense to her. She read the words again, going slower, taking her time with each one.

  She folded the paper, waited, then unfolded it and read again.

  They were to be married.

  Were to be married.

  Her betrothed.

  She scrutinised th
e letter again. Surely it was a mistake. It looked like his handwriting, but...

  He said he still wanted to marry her. He said it plainly.

  She folded the paper once more and then again, hands shaking, then she took the missive and shoved it under her pair of gloves that rested on the table.

  He still wanted to wed her.

  They were to be married.

  She rushed to pull the letter free and read it again. Yes, he still wanted to marry her. But the letter didn’t make sense. He said at the beginning of the page and again, near his signature, that he would marry her. Yet it was as if all the words in the middle had been written by someone else and obviously the man who’d written them had no regard for her whatsoever.

  She touched her face. Never had anyone criticised her so much.

  She studied it closer, trying to comprehend something that she didn’t understand. Her mind was playing some kind of trick on her, surely.

  The movement and tension in her caused her injury to ache again and now it spread throughout her body.

  Someone knocked at the door. She shoved the letter under the gloves again.

  ‘Yes?’ she called out, turning.

  ‘We just wanted to make sure you are still doing well.’ Her mother walked in as she spoke, the Countess right behind her. ‘We had a lovely day and wish that you could have walked with us in the gardens. I even sent a letter to your sister to let her know that she needn’t leave her husband’s side in her condition and that you are on the mend.’

  Rachael flexed her fingers out of sight. She bit her bottom lip. ‘I’m well. Much better. Ever so much. But I wish not to jostle myself too much.’

  He mother stilled. ‘I understand. Are you positive you’re healing?’

  Rachael nodded, but stopped when her chin quivered. ‘The physician told me it would be tender. Might feel worse before recovering.’ Rachael rubbed her forehead. ‘I’ve just been moving. Made it flare up again.’