The Winter Wish

by Jillian Eaton

  Sarah blinked. What was Lily saying? She could not focus when Devlin was looking at her as if she were the only woman within a hundred miles. He grinned, showing both dimples this time, and she stopped breathing. “Yes,” she said dazedly. “It is my most favorite thing.”

  “Excellent,” the Viscount declared. “I have never met a woman who enjoyed that particular activity before. Perhaps you can tell me about your last outing while I take you around the park. When should I call on you?”

  Sarah opened her mouth to reply, but Lily beat her to it. “Why waste time?” she chirped, waving a hand in the air. “The weather can be so finicky. Go now, while there is enough snow on the ground. Go,” she repeated, giving Sarah a little push forward, “and have a wonderful time. You can bring her to Twinings when you are finished.”

  Twinings, a small tea shop on the outskirts of the park, was well known by nearly every member of the Ton.

  “Lily I cannot,” Sarah hissed, looking desperately back over her shoulder. The very idea of being in the close confines of the sleigh alone with Devlin thrilled her even as it terrified her. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined speaking to him, let alone being near enough to touch! What would she do? What would she say? It was too daunting a task to even comprehend. No, it was much safer in the corner of the room. She did not possess the courage necessary to dance in the middle with all eyes watching. Some women did, but not her. Never her.

  “You are such a dear for remembering to return my muff,” Lily said loudly. Grabbing Sarah’s hand she pulled her in close under the guise of having her hand warmer returned. “Now you listen to me,” she whispered fiercely. “This is your chance, Sarah! This is your wish come true.”

  Sarah blanched. “I do not think—”

  “When will an opportunity like this ever arise again? You and Lord Heathcliff.” Her eyes fairly gleamed. “Alone in a sleigh with nothing but a shared blanket to keep you warm. Now go on, before I remember I have a great affinity for horses and love to fox hunt.”

  “Are you coming or not?” Devlin queried. He had returned to see to his horse and was scratching the large gray on the side of the neck. “Lady Kincaid, if you have changed your mind and would like to accompany us…” he ventured in an undeniably hopeful tone.

  “No, no.” Lily spun to face him, muff in hand, and smiled brilliantly. “I see some of my friend’s right over there,” she claimed, pointing to the left where a trio of heavily cloaked women and one man were walking. “I will see you at Twinings!” And she was off without so much as a backwards glance, leaving Sarah quite frozen in place.

  She watched, incapable of saying a word, as Devlin moved to the side of the sleigh and held open the door. When he looked up at her expectantly she swallowed hard and walked jerkily towards him, feeling as though her limbs were being controlled by strings.

  “Thank you,” she managed to croak when he helped her up onto the small leather bench seat and laid a thick fur blanket across her lap.

  “Will that keep you warm enough?” he asked, glancing sideways at her after he had climbed in from the opposite side and gathered up the reins.

  Sarah managed a slight nod. “Yes, this will do quite n-nicely.”

  “Hold on tight,” Devlin suggested, and with a snap of the whip they were off.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Of all the different scenarios Sarah had imagined in her head when she dreamed of meeting Devlin, racing in an open sleigh had never been one of them.

  Now she knew why.

  Despite Lily’s prediction to the contrary, there was nothing romantic about huddling under a fur blanket while slowly freezing to death. Within moments she could no longer feel her toes or her fingers, and her teeth were chattering so badly she feared she would bite her tongue in half.

  Sarah supposed the scenery would have been nice to look at, except they were moving so fast that the snow covered pine trees and rolling hills had been reduced to little more than a blur of green and white. It was making her quite dizzy, if she were to be perfectly honest, and after the second lap around the park she simply shut her eyes and prayed for it all to be over.

  “You can look now. We have stopped.” There was a husky note of laughter in Devlin’s voice, and when Sarah tentatively opened her eyes she saw he was grinning at her, his blue eyes filled with amusement. “You do not like horses, do you?” he asked, and in the face of such a blunt question without Lily to lie for her, Sarah was forced to shake her head.

  “No,” she admitted softly, looking down at her lap. “I am afraid of them, to be quite honest.”

  They had stopped in the middle of a small clearing. The snow around them was untouched, proving they were the first to venture here since its falling. In the distance Sarah could hear the raised voices of children and guessed they were somewhere close to the small skating pond where she had taken many a tumble as a little girl with skates that were too big and hand-me-down skirts that were too long.

  She peeked at Devlin, hoping he would not be angry with her for fibbing. The Viscount certainly did not appear angry. If anything he looked more handsome than ever with his cheeks flushed red from the cold and his hair blown back by the wind. Without warning he turned his head to the side and caught her studying him. There eyes caught and held for one breathless moment, before Devlin smiled slowly and nodded down to the fur blanket.

  “Do you mind?” he asked.

  “N-no.”

  His knee bumped against hers as he unfolded the blanket, then the hard length of his thigh. Sarah felt her face burning and feigned interest in a pine tree so she had an excuse to turn her face aside, not wanting him to see the effect his nearness had on her body. She heard him sigh, and then cluck to the horse to start them moving again, this time at a slow, leisurely walk.

  “Why would you choose to go for a sleigh ride if you do not like horses?” Devlin said. Beside him Sarah stiffened and began to anxiously thread her fingers through the long hairs on the blanket as she thought desperately of what Lily would say.

  “I… I… That is, you… Well, I do not quite…”

  “I take it you do not fox hunt either,” he said, raising one brow.

  Feeling utterly miserable, Sarah shook her head.

  “You are quite honest when you are not in the company of Lady Kincaid,” the Viscount observed, and despite her nervousness Sarah found herself smiling shyly. “And you look quite pretty when you do that,” he added, his gaze dropping to her lips for the briefest of moments.

  Immediately Sarah covered her mouth with her hand and looked away yet again, silently cursing the blush that stole across her cheeks. Twenty three years of age and she still acted like a new debutante, except she did not possess the wherewithal to bat her eyelashes or make coy remarks. It was little wonder Devlin had never so much as glanced at her before now, and she had little doubt that once they reached Twinings he would ever have reason to speak to her again.

  “I do not even know your name,” he said.

  “Does it matter?” she asked softly.

  “What was that?”

  Taking a deep breath, Sarah twisted in the seat to face him. If this was to be the last time they were in each other’s company – which she was quite certain it would be – then it was high time she grew some steel in her spine and stopped behaving like a cowardly child. “I asked does it matter? My name,” she clarified when he continued to look bemused. “You have already proven you do not have a great affinity for remembering a woman’s name. Why then should I bother to waste my time telling you mine? You shall forget it the moment I step foot from the sleigh, or perhaps even before then.” Her shoulders lifted and fell beneath her cloak in a small shrug. “Who is to say?”

  Oh, she had done it now. Immediately Sarah felt contrite for being so uncharacteristically rude, and she half expected Devlin to bring the sleigh to a screeching halt and demand she walk to the tea shop. When he said nothing she drew her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying it back and fort
h until she could not take the silence any longer. “I do apologize. I do not know what came over—”

  “Stop,” Devlin demanded, switching the reins over to his left hand so he could raise his right, the palm facing towards her. His fingers were long and lean, the tips of them calloused. Absently Sarah wondered what he did to have the hands of a common laborer, for it was well known amidst the Ton that he had no reason to work. His wealth was old and quite well established, more so now than ever before since his father had passed and he inherited the late Viscount’s title. It was little wonder that women were constantly throwing themselves at him, although as far as Sarah was concerned he could have been a pauper.

  Money mattered little to her; she considered herself quite fortunate to be born into the upper class, but did not allow her breeding to define her as so many other members of the peerage did. Were Devlin a Duke or a farmer she was confident her feelings for him would remain unchanged… not that it mattered.

  “Stop apologizing?” she asked in confusion.

  “No. Stop doing that… with your lip,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “It is quite… distracting.” He scowled, as if he did not want to find it distracting, and was annoyed that he did.

  Sarah blinked. “I did not realize I was doing anything—”

  “There! There, you are doing it again.”

  Flustered by the sudden anger in his voice, she covered her mouth with her hand. Speaking between her fingers she said, “I think it would be best if you brought me to Twinings now.”

  Devlin’s jaw clenched. “I think that would be best as well,” he agreed tersely. Taking the reins in both hands he slapped them against the gray’s rump. The horse arched its neck and sprang into a trot with such force that Sarah flew back in the seat and her arms flew out, one striking the door of the sleigh rather painfully while the other landed in Devlin’s lap.

  “Oh,” she gasped, frozen in shock as she saw the very intimate place her hand had landed. “I… I did not mean… I am so sorry I… I…” Her voice trailed away as Devlin once again transferred the reins to his left hand and used the right to close his fingers around her wrist.

  “Your pulse is pounding,” he observed, tracing the pad of thumb down across the delicate veins on the inside of her wrist. “And you cannot stop stuttering. Do I make you nervous?” This was asked with a smile, all earlier traces of annoyance gone.

  “Nervous?” Sarah repeated. Their eyes caught, plain brown against deep pools of blue, and she swallowed convulsively. “N-n-no.”

  “Liar,” he whispered.

  As Sarah watched, feeling as though she were in some sort of trance, Devlin lifted her hand and pressed his lips ever so slightly to her chilled skin. “You taste of apricots,” he murmured, “and sunshine on a cold winter’s day.”

  “Oh,” Sarah breathed, unable to think of a single thing to say. Her lips parted on a sigh, and as suddenly as he had taken her hand, Devlin released it. He straightened and the length of his body went rigid while all emotion slipped from his face as if it were carved from stone.

  “Trot on now,” he said to the gray, while to Sarah he spoke not a word, nor spared a single glance, and they rode the rest of the way to Twinings in silence.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Try as he might, Devlin could not stop thinking about the shy, doe eyed girl he had met three days past. He did not know why she invaded his every waking moment, nor how she could be present in every dream. After all, there was nothing memorable about her. Her features were unremarkable at best, plain at worst. She had barely spoken more than ten words during the time they spent together. Unlike the other women he tended to keep company with she was not flirtatious or provocative. Then why, he thought, crumpling a piece of parchment in his fist upon where he had been struggling to pen a letter for the past hour, can I not forget her?

  And he did not even know her name.

  He did know she smelled more sweetly than anything he had ever come across, and when he slept his dreams were consumed by fields of sunflowers and sunshine and her, laughing with her hair unbound as she ran towards him.

  “Bloody hell,” Devlin growled. Standing, he began to pace across the length of his study, his hands clenched in fists at his side and his spine ramrod straight. He knew why he was so unsettled, though he dare not admit it aloud. He dared not speak her name aloud. So he said it in his mind… Moira… and it was a curse more than a name, which was fitting.

  Moira, the first woman he had ever loved.

  Moira, the first woman to own him body and soul.

  Moira, the first woman to rip his heart from his chest while it was still beating and cast it aside on the ground as if it were no more than a common piece of refuse.

  Eight years had passed since he got down on bended knee and asked that she-devil to marry him. Eight years since she laughed in his face and knocked the very ring from his hand. He could still remember what she had said as if it were yesterday, and even though he closed his eyes and willed the words away, he could not escape them.

  “Marry you, a common Viscount? I am the daughter of a Duke, you fool. Would you have me marry a farmer? Or a gardener? For it would surely be the same thing. I never knew you were so stupid, Devlin.”

  “But Moira I… I love you. I want to be with you. Spend my life with you.”

  “And you can, darling. In my bed. Now get up, you are embarrassing yourself.”

  Devlin’s jaw hardened as he cast the ugly memory aside. Moira had been a greedy bitch, and he a besotted fool. When she became engaged to the Marquess of Bainsborough a week later he vowed never to put himself at a woman’s mercy again. He had yet to break that promise.

  Oh, he still liked women well enough, both behind closed doors and out. They were frivolous, fanciful creatures meant to be enjoyed and never taken seriously. It was why he made it a point never to remember their names, or show preference to one over the rest. The moment the dance was over or they left his bed he forgot about them as one might forget what they had for dinner the night before. It had been that way for eight long years… Until three days ago.

  “Reynolds, get in here,” he called as he forced his fists to unclench and his body to relax. Within moments there was a faint knock at the door.

  “Come in,” Devlin growled.

  Reynolds – the faithful butler of the Heathcliff family for more than three generations – stepped into the room and came to attention. Short and heavy set, with the jowls of a bulldog and all the bite of a poodle, the servant looked his young employer up and down with the same quick, careful appraisal he had been giving since Devlin was first born.

  “Something wrong, Lord Heathcliff?” he asked, for even though the Viscount would appear at ease to the casual observer, Reynolds knew what simmered beneath the surface.

  Devlin had the same temper of his father, and his father before him. All intelligent, successful, kind men who treated their staff with respect and rarely came home drunk at some God awful hour. But they were also men who guarded their true feelings, and, although slow to anger, were quite unforgiving when provoked.

  Crossing his arms, Devlin leaned against the edge of his desk and cocked one eyebrow. “Nothing ever gets past you does it, Reynolds?”

  “Very rarely, Lord Heathcliff.”

  Devlin’s lips twitched, but he did not smile. “I need someone found.”

  “Someone, Lord Heathcliff?”

  “A female someone. A young woman,” Devlin clarified. “In her mid twenties, if I had to guess. I do not know her name, but her friend is Lady Connor. No, that is wrong. Not Connor… But something similar… Kinsman… Kinswood… Kin… Kin… Kincaid!” Devlin straightened and held up one finger. “Lady Kincaid. Do you know who she is?”

  Reynolds pressed his lips together beneath his moustache. “Should I, Lord Heathcliff?”

  “No, I suppose not.” Devlin frowned. “Although it would make this much easier if you did. There is a ball tonight at Almack’s, is there not Reynolds?”


  The butler nodded.

  “Lady Kincaid should be there. She was at the last one. Was I planning on attending?”

  “I do not believe so, Lord Heathcliff.”

  “Well, now I am.”

  If Reynolds was surprised by this sudden change of events, it did not show in his face. “I will make the necessary arrangements, Lord Heathcliff. Your carriage will be brought round in one hour.”

  “One hour?” Devlin repeated. “Bloody hell, what time is it?”

  “Half past nine, Lord Heathcliff.”

  “Half past nine… You do not say. I had best get dressed then.”

  “Indeed.”

  Leaning across the desk to pick up his jacket which he had flung carelessly across the back of the chair, Devlin tucked it under one arm. He paused at the door. “Oh, and Reynolds, one last thing.”

  Reynolds waited, salt and pepper eyebrows raised, lips pursed.

  “Stop calling me Lord Heathcliff all the time. It is damn annoying of you.”

  Wisely, the butler waited until Devlin had exited the room to say, “As you wish, Lord Heathcliff.”

  “I do not know,” Sarah said doubtfully as she swiveled in the full length mirror to peer at her back. “I feel terribly… exposed.”

  “Nonsense.” Clapping her hands together, Lily studied her friend’s reflection with a critical eye. What she saw made her grin. For once in her life, she had been able to talk Sarah into showing off her curvaceous figure. The ball gown, dark purple as a plum and fitted like a glove, was the perfect match for Sarah’s blond hair and ivory complexion.

  “Who knew you had such large… ears?” Lily continued, smiling mischievously when Sarah gasped in dismay and clutched her Viscountobes.

  “Do you think so?”

  “Darling, I was not talking about your ears.” Lily looked pointedly at Sarah’s breasts, exposed nViscounty to the nipple in the extravagantly low cut gown, and Sarah flushed and crossed her arms tight against her chest.