“I have already contacted the constable,” the blond man blustered. “You’ve kidnapped an innocent woman!”
Devlin sank back into his chair and patted his mouth with a napkin. “Not to worry, gentlemen. Now if you would be so kind as to tell me your names—”
“Not to worry that you kidnapped a harmless lady?” the swarthy fellow exclaimed. “We insist you return her to us. At once!”
Devlin held up a hand, covering the seething rage inside of him with poise—something he was well accustomed to doing when he faced people he distrusted or disliked. Still, he’d hardly ever come face-to-face with two men he disliked more than these two, if only because they had touched Julia, and they had planned to…
No. He couldn’t think about that right now. He spoke calmly. “Let us speak like civilized human beings. First of all, I should like to know your names. Second, I would like to know details of your connection with my…with Miss Beaumont.”
The blond gritted his teeth, still refusing to take the proffered seat. Crossing his arms over his chest, he snapped out, “I am Algernon Ayers. Julia is my cousin and my dearest friend. This is my business partner, Thomas Jones.”
Dev’s mouth dropped open in shock, but Ayers continued, “We were escorting her home last night when you so…so villainously abducted her.”
Dev stared at them for a long moment. Then slumped deeper into his chair, pushing his hand through his hair, unable to hide his relief. “Julia’s cousin? I thought…I thought…”
One thing was for certain—he was the world’s biggest ass.
“Listen,” Ayers said, stepping closer, “I don’t care a jot what you thought. All I want is my cousin back, safe and sound. I will do whatever it takes to ensure her safety.”
Devlin gazed up at the man, impressed by this show of loyalty. He remembered Julia talking fondly about a cousin who’d gone into trade despite her haughty uncle’s objections. Was this the man she spoke of with such admiration?
He narrowed his eyes at Ayers and took a leap of faith. “Even sacrifice her happiness?”
“What do you mean by that?” Ayers snapped.
“Julia is safe and sound with me. She wants to be here.” The first sentence was the honest truth. The second sentence…well, Devlin hoped it would be true someday.
“Do you truly expect us to believe that after the show you put on last night?” Jones said in an angry voice.
“I was incensed,” Devlin said with a shrug. “You would be, too, in my position.”
Ayers folded his arms over his chest and raised a brow. “In your position?”
Devlin glanced from one of the men to the other. If his interpretation was correct, these two were lovers. Amazing he hadn’t seen it last night. But then, his focus had been entirely upon Julia.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “What would you do if your paramour went to the Continent and you heard rumors of her taking every Englishman more rich and more powerful than yourself to bed?”
Ayers spoke through pursed lips. “I would verify whether those rumors were true before jumping to conclusions.”
Devlin leapt up so quickly that both men stepped backward. “Are you saying I imagined what I saw? I saw her with Clayton. I saw her turn her back on me, take his arm, and climb into his carriage.”
Ayers flushed. “That might be true, but how could you make any assumptions about her relationship with that man? How do you know she didn’t view him as a mere friend?”
Dev gave a disbelieving snort. “I know Clayton,” he spat. “Everyone in London knows Clayton. He’s a debauched lecher.”
Ayers was so angry now, it seemed he had forgotten his nerves. “Was Julia aware of that? How could she be? Did you tell her? Did anyone? How could you possibly know what happened once she arrived on the Continent? She was a sheltered, inexperienced, innocent girl, and Clayton followed her, leading her to believe he was a friend. He tricked her, then he attempted to rape her. She escaped, barely, then struggled to find odd jobs to stay alive until I found her living in a hovel in a Paris alley and brought her home.”
Devlin was struck speechless. He stared at Ayers as the truth of his words filtered in through the tumult in his brain.
“Oh God.” He sank back into the chair, weighted down by the guilt, thinking of all he’d said and done to Julia in the past several hours. “Oh God.”
But Ayers wasn’t finished. He stepped forward again and placed his hands flat on the breakfast table, his blue eyes feverishly bright. “I know all about you, Vaughn. Julia is more than a cousin to me, more than even a sister. She loved you, and you betrayed her.” He stabbed his finger at Devlin’s chest. “You ruined her life. You bastard. I would call you out if I weren’t sensible enough to know it would be the end of me. I promised Julia last night that I wouldn’t go to the authorities, but if you do not hand her over to me right now, I will call every constable in London to your door.”
The truth wound Devlin’s jealous rage into knots of tension in his shoulders, neck, and stomach. And his heart, which he had thought shredded and in pieces, now hung dully in his chest like a dead weight, almost too heavy to bear.
He was a brute, a mindless cur. He didn’t deserve her. She would never forgive him for what he had done.
“I’ll go find her,” Jones said, turning toward the door.
Devlin raised a hand. “Wait.” His voice sounded like it was scraping over broken glass. “Don’t go. I have to…to explain.”
Jones shook his head. “I can’t see what you could possibly explain. You’ve ruined a young woman. We are attempting to help her create a decent life for herself, and yet you seem determined to destroy it again.”
“No,” Devlin said, his voice barely a whisper. “No.”
“What, then?”
“I want to do right by her.” The moment of truth had arrived. The first true step in his repentance, the first step in proving himself to Julia. “I…need her.”
Both men stared at him with suspicious eyes.
“I need her,” he told them, “and I am…I am in love with her.”
And then, as the two dandies tried to stare him down, he told them just what, exactly, he planned to do with Miss Julia Beaumont.
* * *
Dim light filtered through the cracks in the planks covering the window when Julia awoke to the sound of a key rattling in the lock. She crouched among the cashmere pillows, poised to sprint, but the door cracked open just enough for a plate of eggs, ham, and toast and a steaming cup to appear on the carpet before it shut and she heard the sound of the lock clicking into place once again.
She lay back in the bed, remembering how Dev had come to her early this morning. He’d teased her into a climax so powerful she’d nearly fainted. Indeed, she seemed to have lost consciousness soon afterward…or perhaps the intensity of the release had simply left her exhausted.
Did he truly plan to keep her here, coming in to allay his lust—or hers, she supposed—whenever the mood struck? For how long would he continue doing this? And above all, why would he keep her by force when he could surely find a more beautiful and more willing mistress? Or was it “bed slave”?
Julia sighed deeply. She didn’t even know what she was to him anymore. All she knew was that those were roles she couldn’t accept. So why had she been so passive this morning, so accepting?
He had apologized, she remembered. She’d never before heard him apologize to anyone about anything.
Still, he was keeping her locked in a room against her will. And she wouldn’t just lie here passively and accept that.
Clambering out of the high bed, she dressed quickly, took the cup of coffee in hand, and searched the room, checking every nook and cranny in hopes of finding something to aid in her escape. Pausing at the window, the most obvious portal out of this prison, she studied the planks of wood covering the glass. Someone had nailed them to the windowsill, but if she could yank one of them out, she might be able to use it as a makeshift crowbar on the
others.
She ran her fingers along the edges of each plank and tried to pull the nails free from the sill. The fourth plank wobbled when she pulled it and seemed to give a bit when she tugged it harder. Encouraged, she set her coffee cup on the table, grabbed the plank with both hands, propped one foot against the wall for leverage, and yanked with all her might. It gave a little more. She repeated the process until, with a loud screech, one side of the board came free and a shaft of muted sunlight streamed into the room.
Squinting, she pulled on the edge of the board and looked out. The sun shone brightly on a vast carpet of ice-encrusted grass that spread from beneath her window. Latticed beams ran along this side of the house, supporting the thick branches of what appeared to be an enormous dormant climbing rose. If she could get through the window, she could easily climb down the trellis.
She craned her neck to look farther. A circular drive curved toward the front door, but at this angle, she could not see its end. But then she heard a faint clatter and a slam and a few moments later, she saw a familiar carriage pull away from the house and head toward the street.
Julia’s skin prickled. Algernon and Thomas! They were leaving! Why would they leave without her?
“Help! Help! Please help me!” she screamed, pounding on the windowpane. But the carriage rattled along, its driver and occupants oblivious to her cries, and passed through Devlin’s wrought-iron gates, turning onto the street just beyond.
She rested her forehead on the sill, heaving great, panicked breaths. If she’d thought Algernon and Thomas would come to rescue her, she’d just been proven wrong.
She had to get away.
With a desperate yank, she tore the plank off the window.
Chapter Four
The sun hung low on the horizon when Julia heard the key turning in the lock again. She had planned for this eventuality and placed each board carefully back into position after she’d torn it from the wall. The planks hung loosely from the nails she had pulled out. She would have to keep Dev away from there—if he touched any of the boards, they’d fall. She’d only succeeded in getting three of the blasted things off, and her fingers were red and full of splinters, but she thought one more would be enough to allow her to open the double-hung window and squeeze her body through.
The door latch clicked, and she hurried to the center of the room, smoothing her skirts with stinging hands.
Dev came in, swept a dark, smoky gaze over her body that made her tremble from her crown to her toes, and held out his hand. “Follow me.”
“Where are we going?”
He gave her a look which, if she had not known better, she might have called contrite. “To my bedchamber. I have drawn a bath for you. You must feel…soiled, after the…after everything.”
What accounted for his new demeanor? She frowned at him. “Did my companions come for me?”
He dropped his hand. “They did.”
“Where are they? What lies did you tell them?”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “They went away.”
She felt that desperate, welling panic again. “But they wouldn’t just leave me here! What did you tell them, Dev?”
“I made them a promise.”
“A promise? What kind of a promise? And how could they possibly believe you?”
“I convinced them I was sincere.”
Sincere? She shook her head at him, confused.
For the briefest moment, uncertainty skittered across his face. Then he raked his hand through his dark hair and held it out to her again. “Come with me, Julia.”
She didn’t have a choice. She brushed past him, ignoring the proffered hand, and marched toward his bedchamber. She knew where it was.
His suite of rooms was more familiar than her little prison—she’d been here exactly twice before, both times at Devlin’s request. The connecting chambers smelled of him, of sandalwood and musky male, and she could not resist flicking her gaze past the furnishings upholstered in silver and black damask to his bed, where they had lain together on those two afternoons, laughing and talking and making love.
He followed her in and closed the door behind her. “I will serve as your lady’s maid.”
Imagining him lacing her stays, combing out her hair and pinning it up in some elaborate coiffure nearly made her laugh, but instead she gave a terse nod. “Very well.”
Then she realized he’d be close. Very close. Touching her, watching her bathe. She drew in a breath. “But I shall undress myself.”
“All right.” He lowered himself onto the striped divan near the tub. “Proceed.”
She kicked off her shoes and knelt to remove her stockings. “How long do you plan to keep me here?”
“Forever.”
Startled, Julia looked up to find him gazing at her, the expression on his face indiscernible. “You cannot, Devlin. I have work—”
“At Ayers’s tailoring shop. I know.” His gaze raked over her in a slow, burning trail. His voice was gentle. “That explains the beauty of your dress. You designed it and sewed it, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. Unaccountable heat rushed to her cheeks.
In an attempt to make her happy, Algernon had offered to take her out for an evening in London. Julia hadn’t had a fine dress to wear, so he’d provided her with the yards of beautiful sapphire silk. It had taken her two weeks to make it—the first to design a stylish dress that she could don and remove without the assistance of a maid, and the second to sew it.
“I can’t allow you to continue there. Though if you wish to continue sewing as a hobby, I will not prevent it.”
She shook her head. He wasn’t making any sense. “I cannot stay here.”
“Why?”
She dug her toes into the soft Turkish carpet. “Because—” She swallowed and tried again. “Because I know…”
Her voice faded to nothing. How to explain this to him? At the age of ten, Julia had vowed she would never allow herself to become a woman reduced to nothing by the false love of a man, a woman seduced and then abandoned, her heart broken. And yet, with Dev, she had come so close. She’d been thoroughly seduced…but she’d come to her senses and left before she’d lost everything.
To keep her shaking hands occupied, she removed her garters. “I know what men are like with women like me. I—I’ve seen it.” And she had, not only with her father’s rejection of Eliza, but later, with her uncle and his flippant dismissals of his many mistresses. “You keep women until you tire of them and then you discard them.”
She felt his gaze moving down her leg as she rolled a stocking to her ankle.
“Do you think I would have discarded you?”
Staring at her bared calf, she said, “If you had, it would have killed me.”
His voice was low, dangerous. “So you cast me off instead?”
“I cannot be anyone’s mistress. Not ever again. It was a mistake. I was naive to have let you…let us…” Her breath hitched, but she let it out, slow and controlled. “I am sovereign over my own body, Devlin. I must remain so.” If she was to remain sane. If she was to remain whole.
He rose, pinning her with his dark gaze. “Like you were sovereign over your body this morning?”
She glared at him, clenching her fists at her sides. “How dare you.”
“Don’t tell me you hated it. Don’t tell me you didn’t want it, that you didn’t savor every moment of it.” He stepped close enough that she felt the heat radiating from his body. A part of her—a very big part—wanted that heat to wrap around her, to warm her. “Because I did,” he continued. “I wanted it. I savored every moment.”
She opened her mouth to deny it, but she couldn’t lie to him. Just the memory of how he’d possessed her made her want to beg to be possessed once again.
He brushed his fingers lightly over her lips, then covered her shoulders with his hands, turned her to the side and began to unbutton the buttons that ran down the waist of her dress.
She stood
still, her eyes drifting shut. He moved slowly, steadily working at slipping each tiny button through its hole. Her wicked flesh had no intention of resisting him. His nearness heightened her senses. Her heartbeat thrummed in anticipation. She imagined his big hands traveling over her body like they had this morning, over her waist and thighs and breasts, softly scraping her sensitive skin with calloused fingers. He’d curl his hands around her buttocks and lift her, then push her down onto him. She’d ride him hard, fast, feeling him stroke the deepest parts of her.
Her dress slipped off her shoulders. Her petticoat followed. She stepped out of them, and he turned her to face him so he could work the laces on her stays. She clasped her hands together behind her so he wouldn’t see the raw skin on her palms. When he lifted the stays away, she was left wearing only her chemise and drawers.
His gaze slid over her body, lingering on her nipples, which bunched tight against the thin linen.
She wanted to touch him. To explore the hard ridges of his chest, run her hands over his taut behind, tangle her hands in his thick, dark, curly hair.
Desire pulsed through her body, centering between her legs in a slow, simmering fire. She had never stopped wanting him. Not once, not for one second. During those long, lonely nights in Paris, she had dreamed of him, of his wide mouth closing over her breast, of his thick, muscular body over hers, of the way he shuddered when he came. Of that moment of perfect masculine vulnerability when he emptied himself inside her. She’d awakened from these dreams shaking with lust and trembling with need, her body aching to be filled by him.
She spun away, reaching down to pull the chemise over her head, then shimmying off her drawers. Fully naked, she took a step toward the bath, wishing she could run to it and dive in, irrationally thinking that somehow the water would hide her wantonness.
“Stop, Julia.”
She stopped, but a voice—that voice born of the diseased lump of fear and distrustfulness that resided deep within her—screamed, Don’t stop! Run! Hide!
Jennifer Haymore Page 4
