My Winter Rogue: A Regency Holiday Collection

by Jillian Eaton

  “But you do not deny it,” he said harshly.

  “Deny what?”

  Devlin’s mouth opened. Emotions flickered across his face, emotions that she was helpless to understand. Anger. Need. Hope. Regret. She waited for him to say something, to say anything, but with a careless shrug of his broad shoulders he turned and walked away.

  Chapter Six

  “It tastes a-a-awful,” Sarah cried, making a face even as she leaned forward to accept the second glass of brandy Lily was holding out. She drank the amber liquid in one hard swallow, sputtered, fought the urge to retch, and lifted the glass again. “Another, please.”

  Lily crossed her father’s study to fetch the entire bottle of fifty year old scotch he kept tucked away in the bottom drawer of his desk and poured them both a liberal shot. Solemn faced, the two women clinked their glasses together and drank.

  “That really is awful stuff,” Lily gasped as her eyes filled with tears. “But I can certainly see why men drink it. Perhaps we had best let it settle, though, before we have another.”

  Sarah nodded in silent agreement. After three glasses she was feeling more than a little light headed. Kicking off her dancing slippers, she tucked her legs up and turned in her large, comfortable leather chair to face the fire that was crackling merrily in the hearth. She had only been in Lord Kincaid’s study once before, when she and Lily had been caught sneaking out her bedroom window after dark. They had received quite a stern lecture then and she imagined they would get the same treatment now if anyone came home to discover them half drunk and hiding away where they were most definitely not supposed to be.

  “Are you certain your parents will not be back tonight?” she asked for the second – or was it the third? – time.

  “Positive,” Lily said confidently. “The last time they attended a dinner at Lord and Lady Bane’s home they did not straggle in until the wee hours of the morning, looking quite worse for wear I might add.”

  “And Elsa?” Sarah asked, referring to Lily’s twelve year old sister and renowned tattle tale. She did not bother wasting breath asking about Aunt Ingrid, who had fallen asleep on the carriage ride home and had to be carried inside by a footman.

  Lily rolled her eyes. “It is like you do not know me at all. Elsa is fast asleep, and I gave her nanny two extra shillings to make sure she stays that way. You worry too much, Sarah. Just relax, dear, and let the brandy do its work. You have had quite a trying night.”

  If by ‘trying’ Lily meant Sarah had been openly humiliated by the man she loved then yes, her night had been very trying.

  Lowering her head to the armrest, she tucked her hands into the soft folds of the nightgown she was borrowing, closed her eyes, and sighed. The fire played warmly across her face, drying the tears that had continued to fall intermittently from her lashes since Lily had whisked her away from Almack’s in a rush following Devlin’s direct cut.

  “I do not understand what I did wrong,” she murmured, opening her eyes in time to see Lily cross in front of the hearth and settle into an adjoining chair.

  “You did absolutely nothing wrong,” her friend said loyally. Absently combing her long dark hair over one shoulder, she continued, “The fault lies entirely with Lord Heathcliff. Why, the nerve of him, giving you the cut like that! He is a beast, Sarah, and you need to forget about him. We shall find you a nice quiet man to marry. One who enjoys reading as much as you do and long walks in the park. Would that not be lovely?”

  It sounded wretchedly boring to Sarah, but she did not dare voice her opinion out loud. How could she explain that one of the things that drew her most to Devlin was the fact that he was so different from her? She did not want to be with someone who was exactly the same as she was. She wanted someone who was adventurous, and spoke their mind, and did not care a whit for what Society thought of them; all things that Devlin was, and she was not.

  “Sarah?”

  “Hmmm?”

  Lily sat up in her chair. “You are thinking about him even now!” she accused.

  Sarah flinched. “No,” she lied unconvincingly. “I am not.”

  With a snort of thinly veiled disgust Lily sprang to her feet and began to pace across the length of the study, her long shadow rippling along the bookshelves that lined the walls. She muttered under her breath as she walked, and even though Sarah could not make out complete sentences, she heard the occasional word. “Ridiculous” seemed quite popular, as did “foolish”, “asinine”, and “hopeless”. When Lily finally stopped and turned to face her, arms crossed and face set into a rather formidable expression, Sarah waited for the lecture to begin and nearly fell out of her chair when Lily said:

  “There is only one thing left to do, I suppose. You have to marry him.”

  Certain the brandy was affecting her hearing, Sarah sat bolt upright and hugged her knees to her chest. “Marry… Marry who, Lily?” she asked cautiously.

  The brunette rolled her eyes. “Lord Heathcliff, of course.”

  “And how… how would I accomplish this?”

  “The same way a woman always catches a man. You put yourself in a compromising position and force him to offer for your hand.”

  “A c-compromising position?” she squeaked.

  “Although,” Lily continued in a thoughtful tone, as if Sarah had not spoken a word, “if he does not agree to marry you then you will, of course, be shunned from society and ruined indefinitely. But that is the risk you must be willing to take!”

  Sarah was beginning to feel quite queasy. “It is?”

  Lily clapped her hands together. “It is.”

  “Oh, well, I do not really think—”

  “Do you love him or not?” Lily said sternly.

  “I think I love him, but I—”

  “Do you want to be with him or not?”

  “I do want to be with him, however—”

  Sighing, Lily perched on the edge of Sarah’s chair and squeezed her hand. “Look at me. Very good. Now, listen closely. It is no secret that you do not have a single gentleman interested in you and, while I personally do not believe twenty and three is that old, the Ton has you gathering cobwebs on a shelf. You want a family, do you not?”

  When Lily put it that way, Sarah was forced to agree. Slowly, hesitantly, she nodded her head.

  “And someone to support you?”

  At this Sarah frowned. She rather thought the idea of needing a husband to live was an old fashioned one, but she knew she was in the minority. As far as society was concerned a woman’s goal in life was simple: find a man with a title and wealth, marry him, and raise a brood of squalling children so their house in the country would pass on to someone other than the crazy uncle.

  It was not the most romantic of notions, but Sarah knew her options were limited. Her parents would not be able to support her forever, especially when they had three other daughters between the ages of fourteen and twenty. Her father was a baron, and while he never discussed financial matters with the rest of the family and they lived quite comfortably, Sarah was not oblivious. She knew her mother had stopped buying new gowns for herself last spring and Julia – the youngest of the four sisters – had a wardrobe contrived of nothing save hand-me-downs from her older siblings.

  “Sarah?” Lily prompted, her lips pursing as she waited for an answer.

  “Oh very well, I do need someone to support me. Although if I had my way it would not be so,” she grumbled under her breath.

  Lily held up her hand and began to fold down her fingers one by one. “You desire a family, you require financial security, and you must wed before you are a withered up old maid. Have I missed anything?”

  “No,” Sarah said glumly.

  “And you are positively certain you want Lord Heathcliff?”

  “I… Well, that is to say yes, I do, although I would need to know why he acted so poor—”

  “Do you desire Lord Heathcliff?”

  In an instant Sarah’s cheeks went from pale ivory to burning
red. “Lily,” she gasped, pulling her hand free and scooting to the edge of the chair. “That is a most inappropriate thing to—”

  “I will take that as a yes,” the brunette said with satisfaction. “And if that is the case then it has been decided.”

  As a recipient of Lily’s wayward scheming on more than one occasion, Sarah did not share her friend’s enthusiasm. “Lily,” she said cautiously, wishing she had not drunk quite so much for surely everything would be making much more sense if she were sober, “exactly what has been decided?”

  Jumping to her feet, Lily spread her arms wide and grinned like a cat that had just swallowed the proverbial canary. “Why, your marriage to Lord Heathcliff, of course!”

  “My m-m-marriage?” Sarah sputtered.

  “Granted we can get you two in a compromising situation, of course. And he agrees to offer for your hand. And he actually goes through with the wedding. And you do not end up with your heart broken, shunned by your family and all of society, forced to flee to the coast of France to escape your ruined reputation and take up work as a dockside tart.” Lily blinked. “This is one of the best ideas I have ever come up with, I think. Truly, what could go wrong?”

  Chapter Seven

  As it turned out, compromising oneself was not as easy as it seemed. For one, it had taken Lily nearly seven days to convince Sarah to go along with her scheming. Eventually she gave in simply to shut Lily up and (although she was loathe to admit it) a small part of her secretly thrilled at the idea of being Devlin’s wife, whether it be by fair means or foul.

  Once Sarah finally agreed to the plan, they had sought to set it in motion. That was where they ran into their second problem: Devlin could not be found.

  For all intents and purposes the viscount had vanished off the edge of the earth. For a week straight Sarah and Lily attended every ball, play, and tea party within London in the hopes of catching sight of him, but it was all to no avail. The man was gone and no one – not even his poor butler, whom Lily had cornered and interrogated – knew where he was.

  On the brink of giving up, Sarah agreed to join Lily for late afternoon tea at Twinings. She went alone, for both her parents were at a museum showing and all three of her sisters were in the midst of their afternoon singing lessons. It was not considered acceptable for a young woman of her station to be out walking alone, but the trek to Twinings was short and she knew once she reached the cozy little tea shop faithful Aunt Ingrid would be there to play the part of chaperon. Dressed to the nines in a thick wool cloak, two scarves, and a fur trimmed hat Sarah set out, navigating the bustling foot traffic as best she could given the precarious footing.

  It was now mid-way through December and winter had not been kind to the city. Snow, all but nonexistent last year, had been falling nearly nonstop since early November. As a result the streets were often packed to the gills for where there should have been two traveling lanes there was now only one. Tempers were high, angry words quick to fly. Even the upper class, usually so impervious to the woes of the lower, were beginning to feel the strain of the harsh, unforgiving season.

  Keeping her head down and her eyes on the narrow path in front of her, Sarah hurried to Twinings as fast as she dared, loathe to stay out in the frigid air any longer than absolutely necessary.

  As she walked her thoughts went to Devlin, as they often did. She wondered where he was and what he was doing. She thought of their last encounter, and visibly winced when she remembered how furious he had become with her. Since then Lily had questioned a few well known gossips and now Sarah at least knew how Devlin could become so enraged at the idea of her dancing with Lord Gibson over him, what she did not know was why.

  While she had been covertly watching him from afar for years, he had not known who she was until a few short weeks ago. How, then, could she provoke so much emotion in him? Having always been quite astute when it came to other’s feelings, Sarah knew there had not just been anger in Devlin’s eyes when he turned from her. He had displayed regret as well, and a sliver of hope she recognized instantly for it was the same she nurtured within herself.

  Did he feel the same pull towards her that she did towards him?

  It was not something Sarah could put into words, however many times she tried. Was it destiny? Fate? True love? She did not know. She did not even know if she believed in any of those things. All she knew was what she felt.

  She had always thought that if Devlin ever realized she existed everything would come together, rather like a fairy tale in its last chapter right before the happily ever after. Now, however, she was more confused than ever before and there did not seem to be a solution in sight, no matter how many different schemes Lily came up with.

  Of course, Lily could scheme from sunrise to sundown and it would all come to no avail unless they found where Devlin was hiding. Even though it was a foolish notion, Sarah could not help but feel he was avoiding her. Silly, really. She was nothing to him; another nameless face in a long line of nameless women.

  Releasing a long, pent up sigh at that rather depressing thought, Sarah tightened her scarf around her neck to ward off the slicing chill of the wind and turned left. Without warning the heel of her boot skidded across a patch of hidden ice. A muffled shriek burst past her lips as she flew up in the air, arms wind milling wildly. With nothing to cushion her fall, Sarah fell hard on her back. Her head slammed into the frozen earth, there was a bright flash of light… and then nothing but darkness.

  Devlin watched Sarah fall as if from a great distance. Helpless to save her, he tried to nonetheless, sprinting between two carriages and nearly upending a third. Falling to his knees beside her, his hands flew across her body, gently probing for any broken bones.

  People gave them a wide berth as they passed and no one offered to help. A fainting woman was not such an uncommon occurrence, and by the familiar way Devlin was crouched over Sarah no one had any reason to doubt he was not her husband or a close family relative.

  He spoke her name once, twice, three times. Her eyelashes fluttered against her pale cheeks, delicate as golden butterfly wings, and Devlin eased her head onto his lap, supporting her neck while she slowly surfaced from unconsciousness.

  “What… What happened?” she breathed, blinking in confusion.

  “You slipped on the ice and fell. Do not move,” he warned when she gasped and struggled to sit up. “I do not believe you have broken anything, but you have quite a knot on the back of your head. My townhouse is a short walk from here. I can carry you there.”

  Sarah’s forehead creased. “D-Devlin?” she asked in bewilderment.

  “Yes. I was across the street when I saw you fall.” A half smile curved his mouth as he tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear. “And that is Lord Heathcliff to you, Lady Dawson. Let us not forget what a stickler you are for propriety.”

  “Devlin,” she repeated, as if he had not spoken a word. And then, in a wondrous voice: “I must be dreaming.”

  “Do I often appear in your dreams, then?” Grinning, Devlin scooped her up in his arms as if she weighed no more than a sack of feather down. Her head lolled against his chest and she sighed, her eyes drifting closed. Alarmed, he gave her a little shake and her eyes popped open at once.

  “Stop that,” she complained, glaring up at him. “My head hurts.”

  “I know darling,” he said soothingly. “I know it does. But you cannot fall asleep, do you understand?”

  “Cannot fall asleep,” she sighed.

  “Exactly so.”

  Devlin could not remember ever walking so fast in his life. Navigating the late afternoon foot traffic with ease, he all but sprinted to his brownstone at the end of the street. Reynolds met him at the door, opening it with his usual timeless precision and watching with carefully concealed interest as Devlin swept inside, still cradling Sarah in his arms as if she were a child.

  “I will need a basin of hot water, towels, and a nightgown brought up to my chambers at once,” Devlin d
emanded. “Lady Dawson struck her head on the ice and I fear she may be concussed.”

  “Should I call a physician?”

  He shook his head. “No, I just need what I asked for, and be quick about it Reynolds!” Without waiting for the butler’s reply he bounded up the stairs and headed directly for the double oak doors at the end of the wide hallway. Kicking them open with one well placed strike of his boot, he carried Sarah across the master bedroom and laid her ever so gently in the middle of his bed. She moaned as he eased her head back onto one of the pillows, and mumbled something under her breath while he began to unlace her shoes.

  “What was that?” Gently easing one shoe off and then the other, Devlin peeled away her stockings as well for they, like the rest of her clothing, had gotten soaked through while she laid on the ground.

  “I asked where I was and – Lord Heathcliff!” With something that sounded halfway between a shriek and a squeal, Sarah shot up into a sitting position, her eyes darting wildly around the room before they landed on Devlin. Her mouth dropped open, and as she slowly followed his gaze down to her bare ankles, she shriek/squealed again. “What… How did… I… Oh, oh this is most improper! Lord Heathcliff, what are you doing here?”

  Devlin enjoyed seeing Sarah when she was so flustered. He had never met another woman who could come undone quite so easily. It was refreshing after being surrounded day in and day out by calculating shrews who manipulated every twitch of emotion that crossed their faces. Sarah was genuine and innocent and good – all things he went out of his way to assume women were not. All things his past experiences told him they were not, and yet Sarah proved all of his preconceived notions completely false. He had never been so happy to be wrong in all his life.

  Easing away from the edge of the bed he held up his hands, palms facing towards her, and suppressed a grin when she grasped the edge of the top quilt and brought it up to her chin.