Lord Devere's Ward

by Sue Swift

  “She was beautiful, wasn’t she?” Kate hoped she wouldn’t weep, shaming herself in front of Uncle Randolph. Despite his kindness, he was still a virtual stranger.

  Sorrow pervaded her. She’d been disillusioned about her grandfather, her uncle Herbert, her husband… Was there no one upon whom she could depend?

  “Aye, your mother was lovely. And you have her sweetness of temper and high spirits. Never think you aren’t a worthy daughter, Katherine. Have another berry tart, and don’t be blue-devilled.” Her uncle smiled at her, placing a pastry on her plate. “All’s well that ends well, what?”

  She tried to shake her foul mood. Her uncle didn’t deserve to share her megrims. “It is grand that you now own the Abbey and the title. The Gillenders deserve it.”

  “Yes, we do, don’t we?” Randolph said

  complacently. “Now all we need is for you and your husband to mend your fences.”

  “I don’t know if that’s possible.” She fiddled with the napkin in her lap.

  “Best consider it, Katie. I don’t know many Earls, but I can’t imagine that a peer would take too kindly to his wife running out on him. Humiliating.” Randolph stirred his tea.

  “I’m the one who was humiliated.”

  Her uncle shrugged. “Gossip’s the wine and bread of the ton, niece. In a fortnight, there will be another scandalbroth to amuse the quizzes, and no one will remember Kate Tyndale’s hasty marriage.

  Don’t refine upon it.”

  “He doesn’t love me, Uncle. Whatever shall I do?” Despair sat in the pit of her stomach.

  “What’s love got to do with it? You rubbed along rather well, didn’t you, before you saw that wretched cartoon?”

  “Well, yes.” She ran a finger around the rim of her teacup.

  Her uncle scratched one of his chins. “Care for your own happiness, not the scoffs and scorns of others. Do you think I care a dace for society’s good opinion? Would I have bought the title and the Abbey if I did? I know what they’ll say. The ton gossips will unsheathe their claws and label me a pretentious upstart, a pert mushroom…all of that. It doesn’t matter. My children will be presented at court, and they’ll make good marriages. That’s what matters.” She picked up her pastry fork. “I want a marriage like my parents had.”

  “Ah, Bennett and Margaret, they were quite the pair. Once they laid eyes on each other, nothing could keep them apart. You wish for a rare kind of love, Katherine. Best make do with what you’ve got.”

  “What I’ve got is nothing.” She poked at her tart.

  “And whose fault is that? You ran out on your husband. You’ll be fortunate indeed if he does not take a cane to your back.”

  She bit her lip. She knew that few husbands spared the rod, but couldn’t picture sweet-natured Quinn wielding it. But he’d shot Osborn, hadn’t he?

  He’d seemed eager to kill Uncle Herbert. Quinn did indeed have a violent side to his nature.

  “Papa! Papa!” Lydia Gillender, a sparkling sixteen year-old, burst through the open French doors onto the balustrade. “There’s an assembly!”

  “An assembly?” Randolph asked his oldest child.

  “Yes, in Salisbury two nights hence. We can go, can’t we?”

  Randolph glanced at Kate. “Yes, if the Countess will stand as chaperon while your Mamma is in London.”

  “Oh, please, cousin Kate! ’Twould be quite unexceptional!”

  Kate smiled. She’d missed her share of parties in her abbreviated maidenhood and wouldn’t deny herself this pleasure. Perhaps the dance would help her forget her troubles. And she knew Lydia, in the two years before her presentation in London, would benefit by attending a few small gatherings in the country. The poise gained would assure the diminutive Lydia, blessed with the unusual combination of blonde hair and dark eyes, entree into the ton’s most exalted circles, for she was a diamond of the first water. “I should be delighted to attend.”

  * * *

  Dressed in her white and blue, Kate sat down after a country dance and fanned her heated face. “La, Bryan!” She laughed up into the face of her friend. “I fear this dance has given me a jolly great thirst.” Bryan St. Wills picked up his cue immediately.

  “Shall I procure you a lemonade or perhaps champagne, Kate?”

  “Thank you.” Closing her fan with a snap, she perused the ballroom. All of fashionable Salisbury had turned out for this assembly. Country matrons herded their chits, dressed in their best, into the room to be partnered by the blushing sons of the local gentry. Older personages indulged themselves in a dance or two as they chaperoned the young folk.

  Bryan returned with champagne for Kate, who sipped it while chatting with him and watching out for Lydia Gillender. She needn’t have worried, for Lydia was a hit. Dressed in lemon yellow sarcenet and lace, she hadn’t sat down for two hours as her attentive swains made certain that the soles of her dancing slippers would be worn through by midnight.

  Kate leaned into her chair, tipping her head to address Bryan. “A lovely evening, is it not?” Bryan, however, didn’t return her comment.

  Instead, he seemed intent upon someone, or something, taking place across the crowded room.

  She turned to see what phenomenon had caused the normally polite Bryan to ignore her.

  An exquisite of unusual height and striking mien had entered. Her breath caught in her throat.

  Taller than the other gentlemen by at least a head, the dandy’s shoulders, sheathed in impeccable black superfine, filled out his superbly cut jacket as though the garment had been molded to his masculine body.

  The severe black-and-white of the Corinthian’s evening dress was relieved only by a large ruby in his cravat. He advanced, parting the throng with more panache than Moses dividing the Red Sea.

  He drew closer. Long, elegant hands,

  immaculately gloved, were half-covered by a luxuriant fall of lace from the wrist, an unusual, old-fashioned touch. Clearly this beau wasn’t afraid to defy or create fashion at his whim.

  She couldn’t breathe. Her head swam.

  “St. Wills.” Quinn nodded at Bryan.

  Bryan inclined his head. “Devere.”

  “A pleasure to see you, sir. We had quite lost track of you after you set out to retrieve Kate.” Quinn’s voice was silken. Reaching down, he lifted one of her hands from the arms of the chair she clutched. He caressed her palm as he smiled down at her, mischief infusing his gaze.

  She closed her eyes. She hadn’t known what to expect when next she saw her husband, but flirtation in the midst of a crowded assembly hadn’t entered her thoughts. A trembling heat captured her lower body.

  “I didn’t find Kate at Badham Abbey and continued on to Somerset to visit with my parents,” Bryan said. “I wished to apprise them of my pending nuptials.”

  “Then congratulations are in order. Lady Sybilla Farland?”

  “Yes.”

  “A charming girl. It is to be hoped that the four of us see each other frequently in the future. We have so much in common.”

  “Thank you.” Bryan cleared his throat. “I understand from Katie that you all experienced concern over my whereabouts. Please accept my most sincere apologies. I did send a message, but the post in some areas of Somerset is not what it should be. I shall speak to the Home Office about the matter.”

  “Quite so.” Quinn paused. “My wife.”

  She opened her eyes and raised her gaze to Quinn’s. He seemed amused at her discomfiture.

  “Will you allow me this dance?”

  She swallowed. “Yes, my lord.”

  The small orchestra struck up a waltz. Quinn slipped one arm around her waist as he took her hand. Holding her in a close, possessive clasp, he whirled her into the throng.

  The room spun. He pinned her gaze with his. The fiery heat in his brown eyes seemed to consume her every thought. She knew that this dance could have only one end. Did she welcome it, fear it, or both?

  Would she come meekly to heel, or would sh
e run?

  Why should she not leave? He didn’t love her.

  She was merely his possession, and he’d come only to assert his claim, to take her back to London and a life she couldn’t face without the comforting bulwark of his devotion.

  She didn’t need him. Though her property became his upon their marriage, she had found a refuge. Uncle Randolph would take her in for as long as need be, although he didn’t approve of the break between Kate and her husband. For the nonce, she ignored the void in her heart she’d felt without Quinn.

  Quinn twirled her out of the room into a darkened hall, then into a small quiet chamber hung with the cloaks and pelisses of the assemblage. He kept hold of her hand as he tossed a coin to the servant in the cloakroom. “Make sure no one enters.” The woman nodded and left.

  Kate gasped with surprise. “What on earth are you doing?”

  He pressed her against a paneled wall. One hand, still clasping her wrist, raised it high above her head.

  His other hand explored her, long fingers stroking her throat, then dipping lower. His body caressed hers.

  She moved her free hand against his chest, needing some room. His hips pushed hers.

  Carved trim rubbed against her buttocks. The sensation wasn’t uncomfortable, but stimulating in a way she didn’t want to experience at this particular moment.

  “That’s precisely my question to you, wife. What did you think you were doing when you left our home so suddenly?”

  “I—I—I—” She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t explain. How could Quinn, so full of masculine confidence and assurance, possibly understand? “It’s not my home.”

  “Everything I have is yours, and you are mine, Kate. Mine.”

  “No!”

  “Yes.” He bent his head toward hers, seizing her mouth in a savage kiss. Hard and demanding, this was the kiss of a conqueror, an invader, and it ravished her to her soul. His hand eased into her low-cut bodice, taking her breast. A gloved thumb passed back and forth over her nipple, igniting her.

  She whimpered, opening her mouth. He stroked her tongue with his, then released her hand, which prickled as the blood flowed into it anew.

  “Mine.” His voice was a guttural growl against her lips. He tugged her bodice down, revealing both breasts, and palmed them. Her nipples tightened into sensitive cones beneath the stroke of his gloved hands.

  She tore her mouth away from his. “Stop it!”

  “Why?” He lifted her skirt, sliding one hand up to her knee. He untied a garter.

  Horribly reminded of the dreadful caricature, she struggled for freedom, but failed as he shifted his weight to crush her against the wall. His strength outstripped hers, and she moaned. She didn’t understand his mood. What would he do to her? He’d never forced her before…never had to.

  He didn’t have to this time, either. With despair, she felt her traitorous body respond to his nearness, his masculine power. Her muscles loosened, becoming pliant under his touch.

  “That’s better, sweet Kate.” He loosened his pantaloons, rocking side to side until he stood between her spread thighs. With one hand on her breast, he pushed her skirts out of the way and hooked his other hand beneath her knee, lifting it.

  He’d made her completely accessible and available to him. She felt herself redden, sensed the rush of blood through her body with every quick beat of her heart. She couldn’t stop him. She didn’t want to.

  He filled her, thrusting with a steady rhythm.

  Gasping, she clung to his shoulders. Her slipper fell off her foot as she put her leg around his waist for balance. Her standing leg began to tremble as she became a slave to his passion, and her own.

  With both hands, he pulled her down off the wall and lay with his back on the floor. She drew in a surprised breath as his thick, hard erection slid to its full length inside her.

  “Quinn. What are you doing?”

  Laughing up at her, he rotated his hips, swirling inside her, and she moaned. Her knees were bent on either side of his body. She planted her hands on each of his shoulders to keep her balance as she learned to move with him in this variation of the ancient ritual of loving. Arching as she rode him, she threw back her head.

  Exaltation and delight overwhelmed her as Quinn’s laughter turned to groans of passion. She bent over to kiss him, darting her tongue inside his mouth while she rocked herself on him in the ways she found would pleasure her the most. She stretched, offering her breasts to his mouth, moaning as he suckled her. Roles blurred as Kate took her husband down the magic road of desire to fulfillment. Who was possessor or the possessed?

  “Kate, ah, Kate, don’t leave me again. I love you, Kate.”

  “Oh, Quinn.” Her body seemed to explode in a cascade of glittering sparks. She collapsed on his chest, kissing him wildly. “I love you so much. I’ll die without you.”

  They lay together on the floor in a tangle of limbs and clothing until he stirred. “Why did you leave, love?”

  She gulped. “It—it—I—I—”

  “Was it this?” He reached into a pocket of his coat and removed a twist of paper.

  She recognized that hateful caricature. “Yes,” she whispered, her stomach churning.

  “Poor darling Kate. So young to experience your first taste of the ton’s cruelty. Where did you get hold of this bit of poison?”

  “I—I—saw it in the window of the print shop on St. James’s Street.”

  “Why did you not come to me?” The reproach in his voice knifed her to the heart.

  “I couldn’t face you. I couldn’t tell you that I—I can’t share your life, Quinn.” She slipped off him and stood, adjusting her clothing. Tears pricked her eyes.

  She’d told him the truth. She hadn’t the slightest idea how she’d live without him, but she knew that she’d never be happy as part of the ton.

  Rising, he took a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.

  “Thank you.” She dabbed her eyes, then cleaned herself.

  “You’re welcome to anything I have. My dear, I don’t understand. You’re the one who’s always saying that she doesn’t care about the foolish opinions of others. Why turn tail at the first sign of trouble?” He buttoned his pantaloons.

  “I don’t like it.” A sudden anger flooded her. “I don’t want to be the target of gossip. I don’t like people constantly watching me. And, quite frankly, I don’t like London particularly. Being back here made me understand that I’m really just a country girl at heart. I want to go back to my home in Somerset and forget that the last eight months happened.” Quinn laughed, and Kate stared in astonishment.

  “My darling girl. We don’t have to live in London if society pleases you not. In fact, I spend most of my time in Surrey.”

  Hope leaped, matched by curiosity. “Surrey?

  What on earth is in Surrey?”

  “Devere is in Surrey. My horses are in Surrey, and you and I and our children will live in Surrey.

  One doesn’t raise children in London, sweetheart.”

  “Oh.” Bewildered by this surprising turn of events, she repeated him like a numb-wit. “Surrey?”

  “Yes, Surrey. We’ll go there after you’ve finished visiting with your uncle and his family.” Epilogue

  Devere Manor, Surrey

  Eight years later

  Kate sat on the lawn, an open picnic basket nearby. A sumptuous repast, half-eaten, was spread out on the blanket bedside her.

  The delights of potted ham and strawberry tarts had given way to the more interesting pastime of badminton as her son and daughter strove to best their father. Quinn, his cravat untied and face red with exertion, dashed after the shuttlecock hit by Margaret, their seven-year-old. He whacked it firmly with his racquet. Kate watched it sail into the branches of a large oak.

  “I’ll get it!” she called. Standing, she brushed crumbs off her skirt.

  “You will not.” Quinn strode over.

  “Please, don’t tell me to
keep my dignity here in the country.”

  “Where we are has nothing to do with it. You are a good eight months pregnant.”

  She covered his mouth. “Darling, the children,” she murmured. “And really, it’s more like seven months.”

  “You are not climbing into that tree.”

  “Mama! Papa!” Bennett shouted.

  Turning, both parents gasped as their four-year-old swung from his knees upside down from one of the old oak’s limbs.

  “Bennett! You will get out of that tree this instant!” Quinn shouted, leaping over to its trunk.

  Bennett grinned and threw the shuttlecock down to his father. “Catch me, Papa!” He dropped, hitting Quinn in the chest and knocking his father to the ground.

  Quinn untangled his limbs from his son’s.

  “Pestilential imp.” He glanced at his wife. “But I must say that he comes by his climbing skills honestly.” She smiled. “To be sure, they may come in useful in the future. Who knows when he may have to climb out of a tower prison?”

  Quinn frowned as Bennett squirmed put of his grasp. The children ran off to continue their game.

  “My sweet Kate. I had hoped that after all these years, you had forgotten that terrible episode in your life. You have not had nightmares for a quite a long time.”

  “No, no more bad dreams, but I haven’t forgotten. How could I?” Kate scooted over to nestle her head into the hollow of his shoulder. “And why?

  After all, it brought me to you.”

  ~ End ~

  ~ About the Author ~

  Best-selling, award-winning author Sue Swift has written over fifteen novels, plus several short stories and non-fiction articles. She writes in numerous genres including romance, mystery, paranormal, historical, contemporary comedy and erotica, which she publishes using a pseudonym.

  Her books have been favorably reviewed in Publisher’s Weekly, Kirkus and Booklist, attained the finals of the RITA and reached the top ten on a bestseller list.

  A former trial attorney, her hobbies are yoga and world travel. She resides in northern California, where she’s writing her next manuscript, working as a freelance editor and planning her tenth and eleventh overseas journeys.