That kiss transformed him. It was a revelation for him. He’d bedded some of the most skilled and decadent women in all of London. From those who plied it as a trade to those who were simply unrepentant and extravagant sinners, none had affected him so singularly as the painfully innocent governess in his arms. She kissed like the virgin she was, timid and hesitant. Yet there was passion in her, passion that would likely mortify her to the depths of her prim little soul.
Unable to resist the lure of her incendiary response, he guided her. He nipped at the gentle curve of her lips with his teeth. When she parted her lips in surprise, he swept inside, tasting the sweetness of her mouth in an ancient dance. When she shivered against him, her hands that had rested on his shoulders moved further about him to lock behind his neck, he reveled in it. Whatever else occurred between them, her first taste of true passion would be his.
He spun her around, walking her backward until her back was pressed against the wall next to the hearth and his hands were free to roam over the generous curves of her form. He was mindful of her innocence and mindful of his own honor, unorthodox as it was. While he skimmed the curves of her breasts, the indentation of her waist and the flare of her hips, he didn’t linger there. Those touches were simply a method of creating a map in his mind, of memorizing the shape of her so that when he revisited that moment again and again, he might do so with a clear picture of her.
They kissed for what could have been mere seconds or could have been hours. Every tentative touch of her lips and stroke of her tongue against his was both victory and defeat for him. But there was only so far they could go, and he knew beyond question that they were reaching the limit of what a simple kiss could be. And so he eased back and, with a kind of willpower he’d never before had to call upon, gradually lessened the intensity of the encounter until finally the kiss simply ended. Neither of them broke away from the other. They remained there, locked in one another’s embrace for the moment as their lips drifted apart and the reality of what had transpired settled around them.
“I told you that you shouldn’t be in here,” he said as she finally came to her senses and pulled away from him completely.
“I didn’t realize my entering the room gave you license to take such liberties!” she snapped as she placed her hands against his chest and shoved with all the might she could muster.
Devil stepped back, allowing her the space she needed in that moment, though it was the last thing he wanted. “Did I take that liberty, Wilhelmina? Or was it given?”
“Of course it was taken. I never gave you permission to kiss me,” she insisted hotly as she moved past him. She’d clenched her hands into fists to halt their trembling, but he saw it regardless.
“And yet, you didn’t resist. You didn’t pull away. And I’m not some young, inexperienced boy who’s incapable of recognizing when a kiss is returned,” he retorted. “I may have initiated the kiss, but it was completed with cooperation and no small amount of enthusiasm from you.”
She faced him then, her eyes blazing with temper and her chin jutting forward with a stubborn tilt that was unmistakable. But even as she glowered and glared, she was silent. There was nothing she could say to that. Any denial that sprang to her lips might be swift, but they both knew it wouldn’t be truthful. It was obvious from the mutinous expression on her face as she simply whirled on her heels and marched from the room.
Watching her go, Devil braced himself for what was to come. He had the sinking sensation that Miss Wilhelmina Marks was about to turn his far from well-ordered and quite debauched world entirely on its head.
Chapter Thirteen
Willa entered the breakfast room and immediately stopped in her tracks. Lord Deveril was there, seated at the head of the table and reading the morning news sheets as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Meanwhile, she looked utterly ragged. She had dark hollows beneath her eyes, and her hair was resistant to any attempts at taming it that morning, likely from the ridiculous amount of tossing and turning she’d done the previous night.
He had kissed her. And despite her wish to deny it, she had kissed him back rather fervently. She had kissed him and, perhaps even worse, she had enjoyed it. And despite the foolishness of such a desire, she wished to do it again. When she’d finally managed to sleep, she’d dreamed of it, but he hadn’t stopped at a kiss.
She knew that the encounter, by his standards, had been tame. He could have touched her far more intimately had he wished to do so and, in that moment, she would not have had the sense to stop him. In a strange way, his own way she supposed, he’d been a gentleman. Any other man would have taken her walking, uninvited, into his bedchamber as an invitation to do far more than simply kiss her.
A sigh escaped her as she surveyed him looking, if not smug, at the very least, quite pleased with himself. There was no point in berating herself for it or even being angry at him for it. Douglas Ashton, Lord Deveril, drew women like bees to honey. It was innate, and he couldn’t help it any more than he could help drawing his next breath. It was his nature to lure and, heaven help her, she was not so impervious to lust and infatuation as she had once believed. As much as she was learning about Lord Deveril, she was learning even more about herself.
“Good morning, Wilhelmina. I trust you slept well?” he queried.
Smug. Arrogant. Insufferable. Man. Each word was punctuated in her mind, and despite the fact that she was seething, Willa pasted a polite smile on her lips. “Quite well, Lord Deveril.” The lie tasted as bitter on her lips as did the pride she was having to swallow. She placed particular emphasis on his title, a reminder to them both of the differences in their rank.
“I thought we had agreed that you would call me by my given name. Given that we are soon to be married, it could not possibly be considered bad form. And when I hear Lord Deveril, I still think of my father. I’d dearly love to avoid thinking of him as much as possible.”
She wanted to protest but couldn’t come up with a single argument for his perfectly reasonable points that would not damage their paper-thin masquerade even further. But she was saved from answering by the opening of the door. Lady Carringden entered, and her gaze fell like a pall over Willa, surveying her from head to toe.
“What a charming dress. A bold color choice for one with your complexion, though. I’d consider relegating it to items that should only be worn in the house,” the woman said as she moved to the sideboard to fill her own plate.
“I thought you made it a habit to breakfast in bed, Aunt?” Lord Deveril asked, a warning in his tone.
“I like a change of pace from time to time, Nephew,” she replied haughtily. “And your Miss Marks and I have a great deal of shopping to do if she’s to be turned out satisfyingly fashionable enough to be your betrothed. Imagine if people caught sight of her in such a drab thing as she has on now?”
“She is right here,” Willa interrupted. “She hears and speaks well enough on her own without being discussed like a misbehaving child who has been banished to her chamber!”
Lady Carringden turned to her then. “My, what a temper you have, Miss Marks. Mind you, it typically behooves one to control such impulses until after the wedding. No man wants to take a shrew to wife.”
“If I was shrewish, it was hardly directed at Lord Deveril,” Willa replied. She was finding it very difficult to like Lady Carringden and couldn’t help but feel the woman had some sort of ulterior motive.
Mrs. Farrelly entered, Marina in tow, sparing any need for further conversation. The little girl was dressed in a pink frock with pretty ruffles, and her wild, dark curls had been tamed with a length of ribbon. The same doll she’d clutched yesterday was tucked beneath her arm.
“Good morning, Marina,” Willa offered.
The little girl didn’t say anything. She was watching Lord Deveril warily as Mrs. Farrelly assisted her into a chair and fetched her a plate from the sideboard loaded with sausages and bread. She did not acknowledge Lady Carringden at all. “Don’t wipe your hands on your d
ress now, dearie,” the cook chided in a gentle way. “Use your serviette as you were taught.”
“I thought,” Lord Deveril said, “we might go on an outing today, Wilhelmina, along with Marina if she’d like. But if you’d prefer to go shopping with my aunt—”
“An outing sounds lovely. But whatever for?” Willa asked. She’d have gone to look at fertilizer if it would have spared her Lady Carringden’s company.
“What do you mean what for?” he replied. “For pleasure. For enjoyment. For fun, Wilhelmina. Surely you are familiar with such things?”
The way his lips had caressed the word pleasure was a sin in and of itself. “I didn’t mean what for but rather what sort. What kind of outing are we going on? I’d like to be certain that Marina and I are both dressed appropriately.”
He turned to Marina, and there was a shift in his expression, a softening of that impossibly and perfectly masculine face that only made him more appealing. “Would you like to see the Royal Menagerie, Marina? They have tigers and bears and all sorts of creatures. It might be a little frightening, but they’re all in cages or enclosures where you’ll be perfectly safe.”
The little girl’s eyes widened. It was clear that she was torn. She desperately wanted to see the animals, but she was still very uncertain of her uncle, that much was apparent. Still, after a moment, Marina’s desire to see the menagerie clearly outweighed even her very strong reservations, and she offered him a hesitant nod.
“Wonderful,” Lord Deveril said. “We shall leave after you have both broken your fast. And perhaps, this afternoon, before we return home, we can stop at Gunter’s for ices. Have you ever had an ice, Marina?”
Of course, she hadn’t. They’d lived in abject poverty and squalor, a fact they were both well aware of. But Willa watched the little girl give a wide-eyed shake of her head. She recognized what he was doing. He was feeding the child questions she could answer with a simple shake or nod of her head. He was lulling her into communicating with him. It was brilliant.
He clucked his tongue. “Well, that simply will not do. Everyone should get to enjoy an ice. They have many flavors. Do you like lemon?”
Marina stared at him blankly.
“Have you ever tried lemon?”
Again, the child stared blankly.
Taking pity on him and his complete failure to grasp the deprivation of poverty, Willa stepped in. “The biscuits you had last night before bed were lemon. You liked them didn’t you?”
Marina’s eyes widened further, and she bobbed her head excitedly. Apparently, the child could be quite motivated by food.
Lady Carringden rose. “I find I’m really not hungry after all. If you’ll pardon me, I have some correspondence to attend to.” Her tone was one of complete disdain.
Breakfast continued in much the same vein. Marina ate until she was full and then picked at the remaining items on her plate. Lord Deveril would periodically ask her a question that could be answered with a yes or no, and occasionally Willa would step in to save him when it became apparent that he had no notion of what a three-year-old girl might actually know.
After a time, Lord Deveril rose. “I have something I must attend to before we depart. Shall we meet in the foyer at half-past?”
“We will be ready,” Willa replied coolly.
“I am looking forward to a day spent in the company of my lovely niece and my lovely betrothed,” he said. “I daresay, I will be the envy of every man we meet.”
“Empty flattery will not turn my head, Lord Deveril. Douglas,” she corrected before he could remind her again to use his given name.
“It is not empty flattery. It is simply the truth. But if you wish to tell me precisely what will turn your head, Wilhelmina, I will endeavor to do it always.”
Until he grows bored of me, until he sees another woman who turns his head, until Marina is comfortable enough in his household that I can be dismissed and forgotten. Willa knew that if she let herself lose sight of such things, it would only spell disaster for her. Watching him leave the room, Willa turned her attention to Marina, who eyed her speculatively.
“What? Do I have something on my nose?” she asked and made a face, crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue.
The tiniest of giggles escaped the girl, and that made all her silliness worthwhile.
*
Jeannette Carringden wrote the note quickly, scribbling out the information about where her wastrel nephew and his bastard niece would be for the day. The upstart governess—for if they thought they were fooling anyone with their phony engagement, they were sadly mistaken—was beneath her notice. Alaric West had been her niece’s lover, but long before he’d been in Alice’s bed, he’d been in Jeannette’s. It was she who had told him about Alice, after all. Her worthless husband had left her all but penniless, and her brother, Alice’s skinflint father, had only given her a pittance to live on. She’d thought if Alaric could seduce Alice into eloping with him, he’d get his hands on her marriage portion. It would have been little enough effort to get rid of her. But her brother had once more ruined her plans. Now, she was scurrying to get back into Alaric’s favor as he maneuvered against Devil.
Of course, it wasn’t only that. No man had ever entranced her the way Alaric did. Whatever he was accused of, whatever sins he had committed, she adored him… and the way he made her feel. She’d never known pleasure like she experienced in his arms, certainly not with her cretin of a husband. That sort of passion had been sorely missing from her life and she wanted it back. She wanted to feel young and beautiful again… desired.
Looking over the piece of parchment, she read it twice more to be certain it conveyed everything.
If you want the girl, they’re taking her to the Royal Menagerie this morning. He has obtained guards, but how many and how heavily armed I do not know.
I miss you. I long for your touch. If I help you with this endeavor, please say we might once more be together.
All my love,
J.
With the missive complete, she sealed it with wax, pressing into it not her own seal but the simple ring he’d given her so long ago. She hoped it would soften his anger toward her in knowing that she had kept it close after such a long time. Rather than summon a maid, Jeannette donned a shawl and quickly slipped from the house to the park entrance across the street. She stood there in full view for several minutes, knowing that if he watched the house, he’d recognize her instantly. Walking to the gate post, she laid the letter at the base of it and placed a stone atop it to hold it there and then fled back to the house. He was her only hope to escape her life of penury and deprivation. If it meant kidnapping that squalling brat and ransoming her back to Devil, so be it. She cared not at all.
Chapter Fourteen
Alaric retrieved the note, keeping his hat pulled low to hide his face lest he was observed. It didn’t surprise him to see Jeannette there. It did surprise him that she was holding up so well. She’d been a middle-aged woman when they embarked on their affair, more than forty and widowed. But having never had her figure ravaged by child bearing, she’d been supple and had stirred his lust easily enough. But he wasn’t typically the forgiving sort, and she was the very reason he found himself in his current predicament. His seduction of Alice Ashton had been her idea, after all, but if she wished to make amends and aid his efforts, he would not deny her the chance.
The missive was short, but conveyed her desperation well. Jeannette had always been a needy and clinging thing. The only thing she wanted more than she wanted him was access to her late brother’s fortune. It was what had prompted her to offer up her niece as the sacrificial lamb so to speak.
Retreating into the park once more, he spoke to his hirelings. “We’re off to the Tower, boys. The Royal Menagerie.”
“I like that. Only been once, but I like to look at the animals,” one of the men said. “Like watching ’em feed the tigers. Have you seen one when it’s ripping into a side of beef?”
&n
bsp; “I’ve no interest in the bloody tigers, and you’re not going to look at them either,” Alaric warned. “You’re going to watch Deveril and the child. We’ll likely not have an opportunity to take her there, but I want to stay close just in case.”
“We’re gonna hang for this,” the wiser of the two brothers said.
“You’re being paid for the risk,” Alaric snapped. “Now get across the street. I want you right behind them when they head out.”
As the brothers departed, Alaric turned his attention back to the posh Mayfair home and watched as the group left the luxurious townhouse. The brat was tucked close to the side of the same woman who’d run off with her the day before, and Lord Deveril was right next to them. As he watched, two men fell in step behind them. Dressed in dark trousers and coats, they had a rough look about them. Runners. The bastard had gone and hired Bow Street Runners. Not that it mattered. Eventually something would happen in the London streets that would provide the distraction he needed.
It would take seconds to snatch the girl and, in a crowded enough street, only seconds to disappear. He’d simply have to stay close and watch for his opportunity.
Glancing across the street, he caught sight of the two men he’d hired. They were standing at the corner of the street, looking for all the world as if they were simply awaiting an appropriate chance to cross. Not even the runners looked twice at them.
With his hat pulled low, Alaric remained several paces back, never getting close enough to be seen. Regardless, he knew that the pretty lady on Deveril’s arm sensed something amiss. Several times, he caught her looking back over her shoulder. He smiled at that. There was something quite pleasing to him in the confirmation that she found his presence unnerving. For Alaric, women had always been a means to an end, a way to shore up his always fading fortunes. He’d learned over the years that there were women who only wanted to be hurt. They needed the challenge inherent in loving a man who needed to be saved. And he was willing enough to let them try so long as their purses were plump.
A Rogue to Remember Page 10
