The Devil's Own

by Liana Lefey

  I was right not to trust that she’s over it. Even though she’d said it wasn’t love—and he believed she believed it—there were still strong sentiments beneath the surface here. “I know you meant well,” he said softly. And the road to Hell, as they say, is paved with good intentions. He shoved the uncharitable thought aside. “Apology accepted. Ah, just one more turn and we’ll be there.”

  Her gaze remained trained on the road. “I just wish there was something I could do, some way to make a difference on my own.”

  What would Daniel say? “Buy a bit of yarn for Mrs. Small and some treats for the children, if you like. But avoid ostentation. Let the church, and thus the community as a whole, make the larger gifts, as is appropriate.”

  “I understand,” she said glumly.

  Seeing her unhappy grieved him. He much preferred her smiles and laughter. But for Daniel’s sake, it was for the best that she be annoyed with him, that she feel humbled. They stopped in front of her house in awkward silence, and despite his crutches and aching leg, he insisted on disembarking to walk her to the door, as Daniel surely would have done.

  Just as they were passing through the gate, she paused and turned to meet his gaze squarely. They were scarcely a foot apart. The scent of lavender assailed him, recalling the warmth of summer, despite the chill in the air. His loins tightened with almost painful urgency as he looked into her smoke-gray eyes.

  “I will be better prepared for our next outing, Reverend,” she meekly murmured, her thick lashes sweeping down as she cast her gaze earthward. “Both in dress and attitude. And I promise you’ll hear no more from me regarding what’s best for your parishioners.”

  How was it possible for a woman with ashes on her face to be so breathtaking? It took everything in him not to reach out and gently thumb the offending soot from her chin and cheeks. If he touched her, he knew he’d kiss her. And that simply wouldn’t do. Clearing his throat to alleviate the lump in it, he nodded. “I thank you for your confidence, Miss Tomblin.”

  Grateful for the long cassock and coat that concealed the uncomfortable stiffness between his legs, Devlin accompanied her to the steps and remained at their bottom while she went in, lest he be invited inside. She didn’t turn back to look at him which, if he admitted it, rather disappointed him. When the door closed, he found it hard to move. Everything inside him resisted departure.

  The sound of her mother’s voice exclaiming—doubtless over her daughter’s untidy state—broke the spell, and he hastened away as best he could on his crutches, his stomach tight and his mind a tumult. He was in trouble. Deep trouble.

  Bloody hell.

  What he really needed right now was a pint, a pipe, and a few hours to himself to find a way out of this mess. Unfortunately, none of the three were viable options, as he was, to all appearances, a man of the cloth, an eschewer of tobacco, and had the evening sermon to deliver in an hour.

  …

  Mary put up with her mother’s haranguing for five solid minutes before she finally snapped. “I’ve had an exceedingly trying day, Mama. All I want is a hot bath and some peace!” To her mortification, tears pricked at the backs of her eyelids.

  I will not cry! But it was too late. Furious, she swiped at her watering eyes.

  “I told you it was a mistake setting your cap for that man,” fussed her mother, her tone softening. “At least now you understand something of the life you’d have had if you’d continued down this nonsensical course and actually managed to bag him.”

  A tiny, rather strangled-sounding laugh escaped Mary’s throat. “You think I’ve decided to abandon my hopes over such insignificant obstacles?”

  Her mother’s brows shot up. “You mean to persist in this madness? Have you no pride, to allow yourself to be treated with such indifference?”

  “He is many things, but ‘indifferent’ is not among them,” she retorted, fully believing it. “Yes, I’m cold and tired, and my pride has been injured—deservedly so—but nonetheless today felt…right. I was humbled by the experience of caring for those less fortunate, and I learned a great deal about the world and myself.” The smile that tugged at her mouth was full of rue. “I’m not nearly as clever or wise as I once thought.”

  “My dear child, we never are,” replied her mother, caressing her cheek. “Your skin is like ice. Come. We can talk of this later, but first we must get you out of your damp things and warmed up. I’ve had the kitchen heating water for the last hour in anticipation of your arrival.”

  While her mother and Ginny helped her undress, Mary thought back over the day. Truly, Reverend Wayward had taught her the meaning of humility. But she’d learned other things, as well. She’d seen the man beneath the white collar. Yes, he was gentle, kind, and honorable—not once had he conducted himself in a manner unbefitting a gentleman—but he was also imperfect.

  Beautifully imperfect.

  He was patient, but his patience wasn’t infinite. She’d brushed against its limit today, and found it quite a bit lower than she’d imagined for a clergyman. He wasn’t as meek-spirited as she’d thought, either. He could be hard, even a bit cynical. He believed in humanity’s capacity for good, but wasn’t blind to its foibles. He acknowledged them in both his fellow man and himself, admitting that he wasn’t above “worldly influences”—or, as she preferred to call it more plainly, temptation.

  All of these observations rendered down into one clear thought. While she still felt he was better than most of his sex, he wasn’t the high, unrealistic ideal she’d made him out to be. He was human. He was accessible. And today, she’d managed to get her toe in the door.

  Closing her eyes, she contemplated her next move while Mama took down her hair. She would be better prepared for their next outing. Not just physically, but mentally. He had, as he’d said, been warned against women who idolized him because of his vocation. Which meant she needed to stop treating him like a priest and start treating him like a man.

  A blanket was draped over her shoulders. “I’ll tell them to start bringing up the water,” said her mother. “And I think some mulled cider is in order, as well.”

  As soon as the women left, Mary rose and stretched, answering the strange restlessness that had overtaken her. She looked down at the gown she’d worn today, at its wet, muddied hem, the pulls in the fabric, and the spatter of tallow across the once-fine skirt where she’d accidentally tipped candle wax onto it. A shame, really. The outfit had been so simple and elegant—but completely impractical.

  Opening her wardrobe, she fingered several of her older gowns. Though a bit faded and behind the current fashion, they were still pretty and had plenty of good wear left in them. And a woman could appear alluring even in rags if she knew how.

  Her lips curled in a slow smile. She’d caught the good vicar sneaking peeks at her when he’d thought she wasn’t looking. More than curiosity had been in his eyes. The memory of how flustered he’d become whenever they were in close quarters drove away the last of the chill in her bones.

  Her woolgathering was interrupted by her mother’s return.

  Mary stepped back as footmen and maids entered with steaming buckets full of blessedly hot water. In short order, the wooden tub was ready to receive. She sank down into the bath with a satisfied sigh and let the girl wash her hair. As soon as she was done, Mary dismissed her.

  Her thoughts returned to Reverend Wayward. He seemed a completely different man from the vicar she’d known—or, rather, thought she’d known, these past months. Now that he’d finally noticed her, things were changing.

  Taking the sweet-smelling bar of lavender soap, Mary began to wash away the minor aches caused by today’s labors. But she couldn’t wash away the empty, almost hungry feeling she experienced every time she thought about the good reverend.

  Beneath the water’s surface, tiny currents swirled around her body, caressing her. Would his touch feel like thi
s? She let herself imagine…

  “Mary?”

  Jerking upright, she sent water sloshing over the side of the tub.

  “Goodness!” said her mother, bustling in and setting down a stack of fresh drying sheets. She used one to soak up the spill. “Did you fall asleep, child?”

  “Yes, I—I must have nodded off,” Mary lied, splashing water on her face and rubbing it to help account for the flush in her cheeks.

  “Dark circles, flushed face, acute exhaustion…” She put a hand to Mary’s brow. “No fever, thank heaven.” Her lips pursed. “I should think a duke’s gently raised son would be more understanding of a lady’s delicate nature. He ought to have had better sense than to treat you like a maid-of-all-work, and I’m of a good mind to tell him so.”

  “What? No, Mama! Please!” Mary pleaded. “It was my fault for not saying anything. I could have told him no—and he did ask—but in my pride I said nothing.”

  Her mother’s look softened only a tiny bit. “Very well. I’ll hold my tongue for now—but I don’t approve. He ought not to abuse those who volunteer their time and service to aid him.”

  “His burdens were far greater than mine, given the pain his leg must be giving him,” she reasoned. “And the work we did was good.” To distract her mother, she began telling her about their visits. “Truly, it was one of my best days despite the difficulties.” She bowed her head to hide her eagerness. “Given the chance, I would do it all again and change nothing.”

  “Well, I still don’t like it, but I understand how you feel. When I first met your father, I would have endured any hardship to be with him.” Her mother sighed and changed the subject. “Why don’t you have a lie-down before dinner? It won’t be ready for another hour. In fact, I’ll just have Ginny bring it up for you on a tray tonight. That way you won’t have to dress.”

  “That would be most appreciated,” Mary conceded, embarrassed at being made such a fuss over, but glad her mother seemed content to let the matter rest. “And I promise I’ll go to bed early tonight.”

  “Good.” Gathering up the wet towels, Mama fixed her with a glare. “Don’t shrivel your skin by staying in too long. And be sure to get out before it gets cold.”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “On second thought, I’ll send Ginny up in a few minutes to fetch you out in case you fall asleep again. She has to bring up the cider anyway.”

  “Thank you, Mama.” Keeping her head bowed, Mary waited for her to leave. When the door clicked shut, she covered her face with her hands and let out a low, exasperated groan. I’m twenty-one years old, yet she still treats me like a child!

  Then she remembered the people she’d visited today, how lonely some of them were, how neglected. They had no family to care for them. No one to fuss over their well-being.

  They do now.

  When she woke the next morning, Mary stretched and grimaced. If anything, she felt worse after nearly ten hours of disappointingly dreamless sleep. Nevertheless, there was much to be done, and she could ill afford to wait.

  Dressing, she went downstairs to join her parents for breakfast. When Mama inquired of her, she said nothing of her soreness and insisted that she felt marvelous. She then informed her parents of her intent to visit Augie.

  “After the way you nearly fainted with exhaustion yesterday?” exclaimed her mother. “It snowed half a foot last night, and you’ve only just recovered. I’ll not have it.”

  “Oh, let her go,” said Papa from behind his paper, surprising Mary. “If she feels well enough to walk a bit, I say she should. It’s not snowing now.” He lowered the paper and eyed the window, through which their frozen back garden could be seen. “In fact, I may go for a walk myself while the sun is out.”

  Mary sipped her tea and quietly nibbled her toast while her parents debated. At last, her mother capitulated, though grudgingly. Her spirits high with anticipation, Mary ate a hearty breakfast to prove to her watching mother she was fit and then hurried back upstairs.

  She bundled herself well, not wishing to invite illness when she had next Sunday to look forward to. Going to the kitchen, she took up an empty basket and let herself out. The air was brisk, but the sun shone bright in an azure sky, making the melting snow sparkle like diamonds. She picked her way with a care to keeping her feet dry, thinking that perhaps she ought to have taken her mare. But it would have been difficult to visit Augie and shop in the village with a horse in tow.

  When she arrived, Augie demanded to hear everything concerning the day prior. Though immensely gratified to have a friend who was so enthusiastic and positive concerning her choice of husband, Mary was careful to leave out certain details. When she informed Augie of her plans for the day, she was delighted to find in her a willing accomplice.

  “We’ll visit the shops first,” she declared as her friend donned a scarf and pulled on mittens. There was a goodly amount of money in her reticule, and she intended to spend it.

  Chapter Seven

  Bleary-eyed and yawning, Devlin leaned on one crutch to hobble into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea. A few minutes later, the absentminded act of grasping the kettle’s scalding hot handle without the benefit of having something between it and his bare skin resulted in a stream of expletives shattering the morning’s peace. Looking down at his hand, he frowned at the angry red welts forming along his fingers.

  This was the second time he’d done that.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered, going to the window and cooling his fingers on the blessedly frigid glass. Later, as he finished his tea, he decided a bath was in order. He could smell himself, and it wouldn’t do for the town’s vicar to reek.

  Unfortunately, if he wanted one, he’d have to heat the water himself. Careful of his hand, he dragged the oaken tub closer to the hearth. To fill it with even lukewarm water would take the better part of an hour even with two good legs, so he opted for a quick, shallow bath now and to have someone help him fill it all the way later in the week for a proper bath.

  Frowning, he shook his head in frustration as he made the preparations. If only Daniel would hire some bloody servants! Again, he determined to persuade his twin to take on some help. The thought was reinforced on finding the pump outside frozen stuck. After he’d melted some snow and loosened it, the water that came out once he got it working might as well have been ice itself.

  “Blast!” he yelped as he lost his grip on the bucket’s handle, and cold water splashed his foot. He longed for his house in London more than he’d ever thought possible.

  “Reverend?” It was Tom, the young man who’d offered to help take care of Daniel’s horse while his leg healed. The strapping youth had come by to feed the beast and must have overheard his complaint. “Can I help you in any way?”

  Thank God! “Yes, please!” It humbled him to have to accept help, but bloody hell if it wasn’t welcome.

  Every pot his brother possessed was filled and put on the stove or over the fire to heat. It felt like forever before they had enough to fill the tub, but once it was ready, he was glad to have gone to the trouble. Feeling clean was sublime, but even better was the roaring fire he’d laid in the hearth to warm the room. After a nice long soak, he got out, dragged a padded chair close, and plonked down to bask in the heat, letting it dry his bare skin.

  A chuckle escaped his throat. His brother didn’t live like a complete savage, but wearing his shoes was giving him a whole new appreciation for the relative splendor in which he lived in London.

  He contemplated for a moment the idea of buying a feather mattress and hiring a couple of servants while he was here. But Daniel would disapprove, and he didn’t want to do anything that might make the villagers suspicious. For the moment, at least, he had what help he needed. And Tom wouldn’t be back until this evening to feed the horse and help dispose of the bathwater, so there was time to relax. Leaning his head back, he closed his
eyes and let out a long, contented sigh.

  Rap, rap, rap! The sound of knocking jolted him from his doze. Rising, he took up his crutch and made for the door—and realized he was stark naked. Yelling for his visitor to wait a moment, he mounted the stairs, using the handrail to secure himself on one side and one crutch on the other. Every step was accompanied by a muttered curse, especially whenever he didn’t keep his bad leg raised high enough to prevent his toes from knocking on the next step up.

  There wasn’t time to fully dress, so he merely threw on a robe and made his way back down, hollering at the halfway point that he was on his way. So help him, if they’d left by the time he got to the door…

  Blast people and their compulsion to be “neighborly”! Why can they not leave a man in peace in the morning? But a vicar must always be available. That’s what Daniel had said. So here he was, fumbling his way across the room to answer duty’s call.

  When he at last opened the door, it was to find Miss Tomblin and her friend, Miss Benfield, standing before it. Two pairs of eyes, one the color of heavy rain clouds, the other mud-brown, grew round as saucers as they took in his state of undress.

  Heat seared the tips of his ears. Bollocks! “My…ah, my apologies, ladies. I’m… I…was not expecting callers today.”

  “Apologies for disturbing you,” said a furiously blushing Miss Tomblin, still staring. “I j-just—I wanted to leave some things I picked up for Mrs. Stone and the children. After our discussion yesterday, I thought you should be the one to deliver them. On behalf of the church,” she babbled, her color deepening as she averted her eyes. “I-I can come back later. Or tomorrow. Again, please forgive my intrusion.” She grabbed her friend’s elbow. “Come, Augie.”