“It sounds remarkably dangerous and not well thought out at all,” she said.
“It certainly lacks finesse, but it has come together very quickly. If it is any consolation, I plan to enlist the aid of Lord Highcliff. He’s a master of such exploits.”
“Lord Highcliff? I know he is a master of elegantly tied neckcloths and perfectly-tailored coats,” Willa protested. His aid the day before had surely been some sort of fluke. “Surely there is someone more capable!”
“There is no one more capable. The fact that he served on the Peninsula and again in India, and all you know of him is his sense of fashion, is a testament to his discretion. The man is a master of many things, Willa. Do not be so quick to dismiss him simply because he cuts a dashing figure and keeps the Bond Street merchants in gales of rather mercenary ecstasy.”
“I defer to your judgement. He is a friend of Effie’s,” Willa said. “And I think, perhaps, more than a friend at times.”
“I think that you are correct. He holds her in very high regard,” Devil replied. “But I do not wish to discuss Highcliff and Miss Euphemia Darrow at the moment.”
“What would you care to discuss then?”
Devil surveyed her delicate face, noting the pale green eyes and the small dusting of freckles upon her nose. But it wasn’t the arc of her cheekbones or the arch of her perfect brows that captured his gaze. It was the cupid’s bow of her lips and the desire to taste them once more. “I would have us stop talking altogether, Willa, and put our lips to better use. What better way to begin a journey as man and wife than with a kiss?”
“In the carriage?” she asked, clearly scandalized.
“It is possible, my dear wife, to do far more than kiss in a carriage. I will show you one day but, for now, a kiss it is,” he said, and without warning reached for her. Grasping her hand, he tugged her forward from her seat until she had sprawled across his lap. They were nose to nose and only a scant inch separated their mouths.
“Lord Deveril—”
“Douglas,” he corrected her, but did not give her the opportunity to speak his name. Instead, he placed his hand at the back of her head and tugged her down so that their lips met.
As always, it was instant heat. He felt the need cut through him like an arrow. His blood rushed in his veins, his pulse pounding in his ears. He hardened instantly, eager for her, craving far more than their present opportunity would permit. So he focused on the kiss itself, plying her lips with his, stroking his tongue into the honeyed recesses of her mouth. It was a carnal kiss, a blatant imitation of other things he longed to do with her. She melted against him, her breasts pressed against his chest, her thighs parting over his so that he was pressed intimately against her. With his arms locked about her and her hands tangling in his dark hair as the kiss continued, it was the most natural thing in the world to thrust against her, to let her feel precisely what she did to him. And when her hips rocked with him in that ageless rhythm, he let out a tortured groan.
Breaking from the kiss for just a moment, he whispered, “Christ, you will be the death of me!”
“That’s blasphemy,” she pointed out.
“It’s a heartfelt prayer for mercy,” he replied. “I cannot think for wanting you, for needing you.”
Her brows furrowed with a slight frown. “And when you’ve had me? When I’m no longer a novelty to you and boredom has set in?”
“That is not what will happen, Willa,” he said with a slight smile. “Some things are too perfect and too precious to ever be deemed boring, no matter how familiar they become. And after tonight, you will understand why.”
In the distance, a clock chimed. It was nearly noon. “We’re running out of time, aren’t we? You need to get to the park ahead of Munro.” Willa uttered the words quietly. They were not a question.
“That is correct.”
She looked up then, worry etching her face. “You will be careful. Promise me that?”
“Do you fear for me, Willa? Or do you fear what will become of you and Marina if I were to die?” She had every right to fear the latter. He’d had no time to make any preparations for her future, to ensure that she would have the finances to live as she chose. No guardian had been specified for Marina. They were gross oversights on his part. But a selfish part of him wanted to believe that her concern was prompted more by her feelings for him.
“Both,” she answered honestly. “But the latter hadn’t crossed my mind until just now. He’s shown just how ruthless he can be, Douglas, and I am afraid for you.”
“I will take every precaution, Willa,” he vowed. “I will do everything in my power to keep all of us safe from him.”
*
Alaric moved into position in the park. Near the Brook Gate, concealed by a stand of trees, he waited for Jeannette to make her appearance. Joseph was still on his fool’s errand of looking for his brother in his usual haunts. It was the best way to get him out of the way for now. Jim was buried in a shallow grave in the churchyard, atop the recently deceased wife of a merchant.
It took only a few moments before the door of the Park Lane home opened and Jeannette emerged. She did not have the child in tow and that did not bode well. He watched her cross the street, glancing furtively over her shoulder the entire way. She could not have been more obvious had she been screaming his name as she did so. When at last she breeched the gate and came to stand only feet away from him, she was breathless and trembling.
“I only just received your missive,” she explained. “That worthless boy you hired to deliver it simply dropped it outside the door and fled. The butler only just found it!”
“And where is my daughter?” he demanded.
“She’s tucked up in the nursery with the cook and Miss Marks. There is a guard outside the door. It would have been impossible to reach her. But tonight, when the entire house is asleep, if you come to the kitchen door, I will get you inside. I promise, Alaric! Please don’t be angry with me! I couldn’t bear it,” she said, whining at the end of her statement like a petulant child.
“It must be tonight,” he said sharply. “Your nephew killed one of my men. I’ve concealed the body for now. If his brother discovers the truth of it, he will be out for blood!”
“Well, let him kill Devil then! What do we care for his fate?” Jeannette demanded.
“Your idiocy is boundless at times! Think, woman! I cannot have him getting in the way or raising the alarm while trying to get to Deveril if I’m to take Marina unnoticed. Further, Devil can hardly pay the ransom if he’s dead!” Alaric snapped.
“Devil’s not going to pay the ransom anyway.”
The droll voice was soft spoken but menacing for it. Turning in the direction of the speaker, Alaric saw that Lord Deveril himself had graced them with his presence. The man had emerged from a copse of trees, pistol drawn. Two other men flanked him, each one moving forward from the surrounding foliage as if they were part of it. All of them were heavily-armed.
Alaric snarled at him, “I see you’ve gotten it all figured out, don’t you? Protect the precious brat at every turn if you must!”
“I shall,” Lord Deveril responded. “I only wish I had not failed to protect my sister. And you will be tried for her murder. If it is the last thing I do, I will see to it.”
“It will be,” Alaric said, as the other two men moved toward him to take him into custody. Bow Street Runners, he thought bitterly. “I’ve left a note for Joseph Colton. It might take a day or two to reach him, might take a day or two for him to find someone to read it for him, but he’ll know that you killed his brother in due time, and then he’ll come for you.”
“He’s welcome to try,” Deveril replied easily enough.
“What about her, my lord?” one of the runners asked, gesturing toward Jeannette.
“The satisfaction of seeing her carted off to prison would not be worth the cost of the scandal it would create,” Lord Deveril said thoughtfully.
“There are asylums, my lord.
Women are put in for a lot less,” the other man offered generously.
Deveril shook his head. “No. I think my aunt may go back to her little cottage in the country, via the public coach, and she may remain there for the rest of her days, without a single pence from me. Poverty will not suit her I think.”
Jeannette began weeping. “Devil, you must not abandon me! You need me! If you do not have a chaperone for Miss Marks—”
“Miss Marks is no longer Miss Marks, Aunt. She is now Lady Deveril, and I do not think she would welcome you into our home any more than I would,” he said coldly. “Do not beg. It is beneath us both.”
Alaric saw the raw fury on Jeannette’s face. It was all the warning he had that she was about to do something disastrous. She shoved her hand into her reticule and produced a tiny and ridiculous-looking pair of muff pistols. Small as they were, he knew they would be deadly. “Jeannette, don’t be foolish,” he warned. “If you kill him, you will hang!” He was not overly concerned for her, but she was his best hope of affording a decent solicitor. She might still have some jewels she could sell off.
“It isn’t for him,” she said. “I won’t be separated from you again, and I won’t live like a beggar. I’d rather die!”
Alaric heard the discharge, the loud report of the small gun, long before he felt the burn in his chest. She’d shot him, he thought. If it hadn’t been so bloody painful, he would have laughed. As it was, he could do nothing but sink to the ground. His shirt was wet through with blood already. He could smell it, the coppery scent overwhelming.
One of the runners lowered him to the ground while the other went after Jeannette. She still had one pistol primed and readied. Turning his head, Alaric saw her retreat deeper into the trees. But the fence was at her back. With only a few feet between her and the runner, Jeannette did something that he’d never imagined. She placed the pistol against her temple and pulled the trigger. He watched her sink to the ground, screaming. It had misfired. Instead of death, she had a deep and ugly gouge along her temple and burn marks from the barrel, but she was very much alive. It was his last thought as the air whistled slowly from his perforated lung and his eyes fluttered closed.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The entire house was in an uproar and for good reason. A doctor was seeing to Jeannette, repairing the damage she’d done as best he could. It seemed, Devil thought, she would wind up in an asylum after all. Whether it was guilt at having murdered her lover or whether the misfire of the pistol at such close proximity had addled her brain permanently, he could not guess. Suffice it to say, she’d been doing little more than muttering nonsense and gibberish since the incident in the park. Of course, Devil also wouldn’t put it past her to be exaggerating her symptoms in order to avoid the consequences of her actions. It was a terrible thing to be so suspicious, but given the events of the past few days, it wasn’t unwarranted.
Striding the length of the corridor, he found himself outside Willa’s chamber. He knocked softly, but there was no response. Concerned, he opened the door and found her room empty. The bottles and brushes that had adorned her dressing table were gone. Other than the faint, lingering scent of her perfume, there was no trace of her. Stepping out into the hall once more, he caught a passing maid. “Where is Miss—where is Lady Deveril?”
“Mr. Carlton had us move her things to the chamber that adjoins yours, my lord,” the maid replied with a blush. “Should we not have done so?”
He shook his head. “No, that’s quite all right. I didn’t anticipate such efficiency.”
With that, he turned and made for his own chamber. Entering the room, he crossed to the connecting door and knocked lightly upon it. He heard a soft voice bid him enter. Opening the door, he stepped inside and found her seated at a small table before the fire. There was a veritable feast spread upon it along with a bottle of champagne.
“What is all this?” he asked.
She glanced at the table with a blush staining her cheeks. “This would be Mrs. Farrelly’s idea of a romantic interlude. I’m afraid your servants have certain ideas about our marriage that we do not have the luxury of disabusing them of.”
He crossed the distance to the table and picked up the bottle. “It’s an excellent vintage. A shame to waste it,” he said, and then poured the bubbling liquid into the waiting glasses. “What sort of ideas about our marriage should they have?”
“That it’s real? That we’re a couple blinded by love,” she said dryly. “I understand that there is a necessity in fooling the rest of the world, Douglas, but I think it would be remarkably unwise if we were to lie to ourselves about it. Don’t you?”
He took the seat opposite her and began examining the numerous covered dishes filled with delicacies that the very thoughtful cook had provided. “The only thing I can think about at the moment is that I am not paying my cook nearly enough. She has rather outdone herself.”
“Will you be serious for a moment, please?” The words escaped her on an exasperated sigh. “We need to have some parameters and rules about how we are to proceed!”
He smirked at that. “I thought we covered those this morning. Love, honor, obey… forsaking all others. I realize it’s been a rather trying day, but surely you haven’t forgotten already?”
“I’ve forgotten nothing,” she said sharply. “And this isn’t a jest or a game, Douglas.”
“No,” he said, suddenly serious. “It most certainly is not. And I find it not at all humorous. I made a vow to you this morning, Willa, and for whatever it may be worth, I mean to keep it. We are not pretending here, there is no illusion to maintain. You are my wife and I am your husband. Till death do us part, or so we said.”
“If you’re implying that I do not mean to keep my vows—”
He raised his hands in mock supplication. “I’m not implying anything of the sort, Willa. I’m only asking that you stop assuming I am not able to keep them myself or that I am somehow less determined to or less capable of doing so. This is as real as we wish to make it.” He paused then, his gaze settling on her very intently. “And I want it to be very, very real. In every way.”
*
She was doing it again. Judging him. To be fair, it wasn’t only him. She was actually judging all men by the very poor example her father had set. Her father had gone through two wives already, countless mistresses, and each one had been left heartbroken, dead, or in the case of his most recent bride, locked away in an asylum. She was likely not mad at all, but unmanageable, and that was something he could not abide. He wanted to come and go as he pleased, with whom he pleased, and he liked for his wives to stay home and rusticate in the country, far from any gossip that might reach them about his extravagant behavior. It wasn’t a need to spare their feelings, but a need to spare himself lectures and arguments.
Looking at Lord Deveril, she knew that he was cut from a very different cloth. He might have indulged some of the same vices, but he lacked the general coldness that her father possessed.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t make such assumptions… and you are right. This marriage is as real as we wish to make it and I—” Willa broke off abruptly, not quite able to make herself utter the words.
“And you what, Willa?”
His tone was gentle. It was that more than anything else that prompted her to meet his gaze once more. It offered her courage. “Kiss me, Douglas, like you did before.”
It was not a request she had to make twice. No sooner had the words escaped her than he’d risen from his chair and hauled her up before him. They were standing together, their bodies touching. One of his arms was about her waist, holding her close, leaving his other hand free to roam. His roughened fingers settled on her face, cupping it gently, his thumb stroking the delicate skin at her temple as he tilted her face up to his.
It was a delicate thing, that kiss. His lips settled on hers lightly, moving against them in a gentle, persuasive manner. Willa pressed closer, urging him for more, and yet he did not. As he drew
the fullness of her lower lip gently between his, Willa was struggling, chaffing at his newfound restraint.
“Devil,” she said, uttering the word against his mouth, “Kiss me! Really kiss me!”
He smiled. She could feel the curving of his lips against hers. “You mean scandalously? I thought you wanted a respectable husband?”
“I want you as my husband—respectable or not.” The moment she said it, the truth of that struck her. She could have refused. While his reasons for their marriage were sound and valid, there were other options. But she hadn’t wanted them. She’d allowed herself to be steered into marrying him because it was precisely what she’d wanted in her most secret heart all along. Whatever doubts she might have, whatever she might fear of their final outcome, for the moment, she was precisely where she wanted to be.
As if her words had stoked an answering passion in him, his arm tightened about her waist, his hand sliding down to cup the fullness of her behind as he pulled her closer. She could feel the hard press of his arousal against the softness of her belly. Her blood heated in response, the thrum of her pulse heavy and fast. She was nervous, but eager to know what lay beyond fevered kisses.
He lifted her in his arms easily and carried her to the waiting bed. Depositing her on it, he immediately reached for the buttons that closed the front of her gown. Within seconds, he had managed to extricate her from the garment. Lying there in her shift and petticoats, her stays came next. He loosened the laces and whisked it away. It seemed, within seconds, he’d divested her of everything but her shift, an item of clothing so transparent it did nothing to conceal her form beneath.
A Rogue to Remember Page 20
