He dropped the pistol into the grass as her plea finally penetrated his mind. He wasn’t about to lie to anyone. He bore no regret for what he had done or who had witnessed it.
If he hadn’t killed Thurlew, it was only by accident or faulty aim.
Thurlew deserved to die for the degradation he had inflicted upon Jocelyn. In fact, now that Devon was reassured of her safety, he had to restrain himself from putting another bullet into the bastard. And then another.
But a stronger instinct urged him to consider her feelings; it was suddenly imperative that he remove her from the garden before she was besieged by curious guests.
He heard footsteps at the other end of the path, and saw his eldest brother running toward them. As Grayson neared, Devon swiftly helped Jocelyn remove the offensive rope from around her neck.
He watched as his older brother gently guided her away from the sight of Thurlew sprawled in the grass, then had the presence of mind to motion a footman to stand guard over the body.
In the next moment Devon caught sight of Drake and Gabriel hurrying toward them. He kicked the rope viciously into the grass. That any man would abuse and intimidate his wife as if she were an animal sickened him.
He came up behind her, not willing to be parted from her again.
“Is Rowan all right?” she asked Grayson in an anxious voice. “And Mrs. O’Brien? He poisoned the poor woman’s chocolate. He was hiding in the nursery.”
Devon had only the vaguest notion what she meant. Indeed, it seemed that his mind had just begun to function again while his heart, well, his heart might never be the same.
The mention of poison, of Grayson’s son, chilled him, and he was vastly relieved to hear Grayson reassure her by replying, “Rowan is fine, thanks be to your presence, Jocelyn. And Mrs. O’Brien will survive to torment us all for many years to come with her infernal lullabies.”
“Thank heaven,” she said.
Devon made enough sense of this exchange to wish again that he could have prolonged his revenge. This unashamedly brutal desire was dashed only a few seconds later when he heard Gabriel mutter, “Dammit. He’s not dead. Look. The swine’s moving his hand.”
Drake stepped on Thurlew’s wrist. “Not anymore.”
To which Gabriel responded in a low voice as he crouched below the headless statue, “We’d better search him anyway to make sure he does not have a weapon concealed in his costume.”
“Just get him the hell away from the house,” Grayson said with a look of contempt in Thurlew’s direction. “Or finish him off for that matter. The footmen can dump him alongside the other offal in the Thames.”
“Come inside,” Devon urged his wife, wrapping his arms tightly around her again. The men in his family tended to play rough when those they loved had been threatened. He did not disapprove. In fact, he would have gladly participated; it was the Boscastle way. He just would rather she not watch.
“He isn’t dead?” she asked, turning her head in the direction of the beheaded Hermes.
Not because he hadn’t tried to kill him, Devon thought, urging her in the other direction.
“Come home with me, please, before Grayson’s guests are persuaded that his entertainment has moved outside.”
“Go with him, Jocelyn,” Grayson said. “Let your husband comfort you tonight. I will handle matters here.”
And, of course, he did.
With the finesse of a man born to master his environs since the moment of his conception, Grayson Boscastle, the Most Honorable Marquess of Sedgecroft, managed to convince his guests that the melee in the garden was merely another mistimed family prank. In truth, most of his company had come to expect no less from a Boscastle affair.
Word of it never even reached the scandalmongers, for if the marquess claimed that nothing of interest had happened in his garden, then it must be so. In the end the Boscastles took care of their own. Brother, sister. Husband and wife.
Devon did not have to do anything more than give himself permission to let his true nature guide him from now on.
He was profoundly grateful that it was not too late for another chance.
Chapter Twenty-two
To Devon’s surprise, Jocelyn fell asleep on the carriage ride home and did not awaken as he carried her upstairs to the bedchamber of their town house. Clearly alerted in advance of their arrival, Thistle and Mrs. Hadley brought brandy and warm blankets up behind their somber-face master, then discreetly melted away in unspoken concern. Devon nodded at them gratefully; he did not believe he would sleep at all.
There was a profound contentment in merely holding her against his shoulder, making promises to her in the dark that he meant to keep. He would have comforted her had she stirred, but she moved only once, without even a murmur, subsiding back into his arms.
He prayed that her dreams were undisturbed by what had happened tonight even as his own thoughts pained him deeply.
Perhaps tomorrow he would sleep.
In a week or so he might be able to close his eyes and not see his wife being led by a hideous rope around her soft white neck that he had nuzzled in teasing affection. He might be able to forget his own stark fear that he would arrive too late.
Perhaps by morning he would find the words to explain to her what he felt. Or perhaps he would whisper his love to her while she slept.
How the fates must be laughing at his arrogance—he who had sworn he would never fall in love. Had he truly believed that his precious freedom meant he could live a life without meaning?
Reckless fool he for assuming that when, if ever, he fell in love, he would choose the time, the place, and the woman.
Why hadn’t anyone ever explained to him that one had no choice?
It didn’t matter.
He wouldn’t have listened. Perhaps he had been told a thousand times before and the words never penetrated his thick skull.
He sighed at the fatuous illogic he had followed as his creed for too many years. There was nothing to be done for his behavior except to apologize for the mistakes he had unknowingly made.
If he could have foreseen that she would be punished in his place, he would have been there to protect her. If he had not been such a blind, headstrong ass, he would have been at her side where he belonged. And where he would remain.
He exhaled, smiling faintly at the notion. His wife wasn’t going to be able to get rid of him now, and she certainly would never attend a party alone again. He would be her lover, friend, and protector for the rest of their days.
And when she woke up they would go downstairs for one of Mrs. Hadley’s groaningly huge breakfasts, and they would laugh if anyone mentioned either of them in the papers again because the mere suggestion of any infidelity would be ridiculous.
She stirred.
“What time is it?” She levered up on her elbow to gaze in apparent confusion about the room. “How did I come to be in bed?”
“You fell asleep in the carriage on the way here,” he said, frowning in concern. “I carried you up in my arms. Don’t you remember?”
Her silence made his chest ache with anger. “I remember falling asleep. But…not coming here. Home. I don’t think I ever want to leave.”
“Jocelyn,” he said hoarsely, his arms tightening around her. “It was my fault. It has all been my fault.”
“Was it?” she questioned softly.
“Yes.”
He noticed that she did not argue. Well, he decided he deserved that, too.
“I don’t suppose it was all your fault,” she conceded, her voice teasing him.
“No?”
She smiled, studying him in silence. “A little of it.”
He laughed.
“But not all.”
He closed his eyes. “Thank you.”
“I don’t blame you, Devon,” she said quietly.
“Well, I damn well blame myself. If I had lost you…” He swallowed, his heart in his eyes.
He loved her.
She hear
d in his voice what he did not say. It would have been lovely for him to confess this. She longed for him to speak the words.
Yet she had seen the stark fear on his face when he’d fired the pistol. She remembered when he had championed her at Alton’s tournament, and how she had wished with all her heart that his declaration of devotion would come true, for she had already been in love with him then even if she’d never told him.
Tonight he had answered her wish in a particularly graphic manner, perhaps, but he had proved himself to be her champion in every sense of the word.
He was everything she ever wanted, and now he wanted her.
She wound her arms around his strong neck and urged him down onto the bed. He seemed to hesitate, no doubt out of consideration for what she had undergone. She realized that he could not possibly understand how she needed his touch to make the nightmare of Matthew Thurlew recede.
She needed him. She needed his caresses to banish the vile memory, and she could not keep her hands off him at all. She stroked his broad shoulders, the muscular ridges of his back. Her champion. He had been hers all along. He had defended her.
He loved her.
“It’s all right now,” she whispered, burying her face beneath his jaw to kiss his strong throat. He seemed to require some consolation himself.
He tightened his arm around her and rubbed his unshaven cheek across her cheek. “Did he hurt you in…in any physical manner?”
She frowned, resenting the intrusion of Thurlew into her thoughts, even as she realized the question must have been gnawing at Devon since he had found her in the garden. “No,” she said swiftly.
“Then may I—”
“I wouldn’t think you’d have to ask.”
“I was afraid it might be too soon,” he said hesitantly.
“It can’t be soon enough. I’m wild for you, Devon.”
“I know.” He gave a deep sigh. “I’m not sure why, though. I have been a fool. I should have suspected Thurlew. His brother was an odd sort. I should have paid closer attention to him at the party.”
“How can one understand evil?” she whispered, kissing her way down his shoulder. “It’s enough to overcome it. And it wasn’t your fault. Please, Devon, no one is blaming you.”
He rested his jaw upon the top of her head as she pressed soft, arousing kisses upon his shoulder, then his chest. He had undressed for bed, discarding his boots, his coat and waistcoat, everything except for his long-tailed white muslin shirt, tailored expressly for his lanky frame.
He disengaged her from their comfortable position and lowered her beneath him. As he bent to kiss her, she hooked one arm around his waist. The other slipped across his arse and belly to caress his stones with her fingertips. Of course, his cock responded, and the skin of his sac tightened at her delicate touch.
He had not been able to resist her from the night of their unplanned tryst in the tower.
He had wanted her then.
He wanted her even more now. He—
He groaned and shifted his body, covering hers. “Jocelyn.”
“All I need is you,” she said, her voice catching at the end. “I want us to be together like this, always.”
“Always,” he promised.
“Devon,” she whispered.
“Always.” He held her head in his hands and gave his heart to her in one deep, melting kiss after another.
“And I need to feel you inside me,” she said when she could draw a breath.
God, how he understood. He needed physical reaffirmation perhaps even more than she did, certainly more than he could admit. He needed her to feel safe again, and he needed…her. It was a relief to admit the truth to himself, to realize he had another chance.
They kissed again and set upon each other like a pair of long-lost lovers who had been apart for years and not merely a few hours earlier in the evening.
The possibility of losing her tonight had forced him to confront how unbearable his life would be without her. She had a place in his heart that no one else could ever hold.
He leaned back briefly to pull off his shirt.
A moment later she was in his arms, moaning sweetly at his touch. He could have pumped his hard cock into her right then and there, but for now he would let her set the pace. He had no idea what depraved acts Thurlew might have threatened her with during his abduction. A black fury seized him that he had not been at her side to prevent her ordeal.
But he was with her now, by God, and no one would ever lay a hand on her again except him.
He caressed her body with gentle possession as if to seal the promise he’d made.
She arched her back in response. Slowly his hand glided over her ribs to her belly.
He felt her give a start as he brushed his palm over her soft abdomen, but he was too aroused to question why. His mouth closed around one tempting nipple and tongue-teased it into a taut peak. At her delicious whimper he reached lower to tweak the hooded bud that lay hidden under her nest of curls. The nubbin of sensitive nerves grew taut at his caress. He stroked her lazily as if they had all the time in the world.
She gasped and spread her thighs for him, shivering helplessly. He pressed his other palm against her plump mound to hold her immobile. His touch deft, he parted her bedewed lips and worked one finger at a time inside her cleft.
“You’re always wet when I play with you, aren’t you?” he whispered, his voice thick with desire.
“Then come play more,” she whispered, rotating her hips in the rhythm of his finger-thrusts.
His entire body shook in anticipation. What a passionate woman he had married. He raised his head from her jutting breasts and raked her with an exultant glance.
“Are there any rules or restrictions that I must obey?”
She shifted herself up to stare down into his dark, handsome face. “None.”
He gave her a merciless smile. “Don’t say later that you didn’t ask for it.”
“Ask for—”
He returned to teasing her engorged pearl with his thumb and eased another finger inside her soaked passage. Time and again he brought her to the brink and ground his teeth to keep from spilling his seed onto the bed.
She bucked her hips. She cursed him. She begged, even as he withheld his touch only to return to her drenched slit in his game of sensual torment.
She groaned. “You cruel—Oh, my God. You’re a heartless fiend. You’re the worst man ever. You’re—”
Her inner muscles contracted around his fingers like a glove as the convulsions of climax broke over her.
Devon stared down at her in unabashed lust, his knuckles coated with her sweet musk-scented come. Watching her uninhibited response dealt the final blow to his defenses. He could have devoured her in one wicked bite.
She fell back onto the pillows, her sobs gradually subsiding. “You rogue, Devon. I thought I was going to die.”
“But, sweetheart—” He moved his large, lanky body over hers, his smile a study of masculine decadence, the gesture one of domination. “That was only a prelude.”
She studied him as her breathing slowly resumed a more even rhythm. “Everyone warned me what a sinful man I was marrying.”
“Oh, yes.” He bent his head to kiss her lips. “And if I’d known how sinful you were, we’d have been married all those years ago when your father wanted us to.”
“Just think of what we missed.”
“I have,” he retorted. “And I fully intend to make up for the time we lost.” He exhaled. “As long as you’re willing to give me the chance.”
“You say that as if I’d given up on you.”
“I might have in your place.”
Jocelyn was given little time to reflect on his welcome confession. Apparently ready to seek his own relief, he hooked her knees over his broad shoulders and guided his rampant penis in his hand to her cleft. She still ached pleasantly from his earlier onslaught, but instinct overcame her discomfort, and her hips lifted off the bed to draw h
im inside her.
“Shall I torment you as you tormented me?” she whispered, pressing herself against his silken length.
The decadent grin he gave her warned her he was not prepared to concede defeat. “We’ll see,” he said softly.
She wanted to prove that she could not so easily be played, but the seductive promise in his eyes penetrated her resolve. Even his voice weakened her. She had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from writhing against him like a wanton. To merely look at him filled her with longing. His face reminded her of a sinfully beautiful Renaissance prince she had once seen in a painting. His body might have tempted the same skilled artist to capture the light and shadow of the muscular contours and lithe, long-boned grace.
He bent a little lower, and her body clenched in expectation. “Did you want something?” he whispered.
“Stop…teasing me.”
“I don’t think I heard you.”
“Devil.”
“Was that my name?”
“It may as well be.”
He smiled.
She shifted, impatient, but he eased only the knob of his engorged shaft inside her slit. Not enough. She needed all of him. This little torture of his only made her ache for him all the more. She moaned in frustration and slid her hand down his belly to guide him into her drenched sheath.
He grinned and withdrew, rubbing the entire length of his thick cock between her slick lips with a flagrant sexuality that made her shake.
“Deeper,” she said, arching her back.
“How deep?” he whispered.
“I want to feel you—”
“How far?”
She sobbed. “Damn you, Devon. All the way—”
He reared back before she could finish, thrusting with a force that drove the breath from her body.
Bliss. Black velvet. A pleasure so intense it pummeled her senses and brought her to the brink of oblivion. She gave herself to him.
And he took her without mercy until everything else ceased to exist, and they struggled to hold on to sanity, only to come apart in each other’s arms, spent, kissing breathlessly.
She closed her eyes, surrendering to her contented exhaustion. Safe. Protected. Sated. Warm. He loved her.
The Sinful Nights of a Nobleman Page 22
