THE SENSE OF HONOR

by Ashley Kath-Bilsky

  Had the poor child died at the hands of the unscrupulous Lord Bellewyck?

  If so, why deny she existed now?

  “I understand Lord Bellewyck maintained his residence in Bath. Is it not possible he wanted items from the abbey placed there on a temporary basis?”

  She made a comical face and rolled her eyes heavenward. “I am quite sure this will shock your sensibilities about the peerage, but Lord Bellewyck had a nasty habit and needed constant funding to support it. Thus, whenever his lordship came to the estate ‘twas for one purpose. A most disagreeable man often came with him. They would drink excessively and discuss which items from the estate would bring the best price in London. I caught them at it when I was quite young. That was when they decided to have some sport with me.”

  Devlin’s stomach clenched. “What kind of sport?”

  She appeared reluctant to answer. When she finally spoke, her words lifted softly into the room as if pulled from a painful memory she’d locked far away long ago.

  “He ordered me to climb the chimney in the Great Room, over and over again. He even made wagers on how many times I could do so without falling. At first I did as he bid me, but then I found a narrow lip inside the chimney where I could rest my feet. Like a bird’s perch. When they became bored waiting, or too drunk to notice, I climbed back down.”

  “I am surprised he did not light a fire and burn you alive,” Devlin muttered.

  “Ah, but then Lord Bellewyck would have had to exert himself. His lordship never did any manner of physical labor. And no one else here would have lit the fire.”

  “What about after your appointment as housekeeper? How often did you communicate with the earl?”

  “Rarely.”

  “Did Collins know his lordship well?”

  She tilted her head and studied him a moment. “Why do you not ask him?”

  Devlin snorted. “I doubt Collins will be forthcoming with me. You are the only one who speaks to me. For some odd reason, I do not think anyone else around here likes me very much.”

  A bubble of laughter escaped her, but she quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

  “You find that amusing?”

  “Well, you have hardly been friendly toward anyone. Indeed, quite the opposite. You have belittled our efforts and accused us outright of theft and treachery. And, I might add, you have done little to exert yourself other than perhaps turn that chair around to watch me work. Then there is the fact you are quite an arrogant man. I think you look upon yourself as being our better, a bit laughable under the circumstances. Dare I remind you, Mr. Randolph, the duke is also your employer? Thus, if you are always so rude to people, I wonder that you have any friends at all.”

  Highly insulted, Devlin came to his feet and walked a circle about the room. Agitated, he rubbed the back of his neck. Did she truly think so ill of him? He could barely sleep at night with images of her rose and lemon-scented body tormenting him.

  He stopped short when another thought came to mind.

  Good God, the wench is trying to distract me, and turn me away from questioning her further about the earl. And it had worked.

  He turned about to find her smoothing the wrinkles in the silk embroidered counterpane. Well, he could be quite adept at distracting someone, too.

  “I suppose you do not find me attractive either.”

  She straightened and faced him.

  “Many women find my company quite agreeable.” He folded his arms across his chest and smiled, noting a rise of color coming to her porcelain cheeks.

  “How fortunate for you.”

  “Come now, do you truly expect me to believe you do not find me the least bit amiable, charming, or handsome?”

  She smiled sardonically. “I think it rather obvious you do not need me to point out your attributes, Mr. Randolph.”

  “Devlin,” he reminded, taking three steps closer to her. “I must say you have roused my curiosity with your comments. As I recall, you were not repulsed by my attributes in the orchard.”

  Her face blossomed with color. “The orchard was a mistake.”

  “Was it?” He stopped before her.

  “I will not discuss the orchard.” She looked down, clearly uncomfortable with the subject. “Indeed, I prefer we never speak of it again.”

  Irritated by her refusal to admit that most of what happened between them in the orchard had been glorious, he lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger and made her look at him. And in her eyes he saw the truth. Despite the impropriety of their impetuous behavior, and the blasted argument they had afterwards, she couldn’t forget the wondrous intimacy they’d shared.

  She’d found pleasure in his arms. And he had no doubt whatsoever it had been the first time she’d ever experienced passion. Nay, she’d not forget it. She could never forget it. For God’s sake, she was breathless right now, her eyes resembling iridescent pools of desire.

  “Do you really dislike me so?”

  “I never said I disliked you.”

  With a teasing grin, he asked, “Well, then?”

  She sighed with apparent resignation. “Very well, if it makes you feel any better, you are a most attractive man.”

  “A most attractive man,” he repeated with a crooked brow. “In other words, you are attracted to me.”

  “I said you are attractive, not that I am attracted to you.”

  Employing his most seductive smile, one that left most women melting into his arms, he cupped her delicate face in his large hands and shook his head. “Must you always be so adamant in your denials?”

  “Do not do this,” she whispered.

  “Do what, my sweet?”

  “Pretend you care about me.”

  Suddenly, he had no desire to tease or jest a moment longer. Instead, he stared at her and came to terms with the powerful feelings this woman conjured in him. Try as he might to deny anything more than intense sexual desire, he recognized the truth. More importantly, he felt compelled to tell her that truth.

  “Christiana, what would you do if I said you torment me day and night? Or, that I believe you the most beautiful, exciting woman I have ever known? Shall I confess I cannot sleep for want of you? That I was in bed until the wee hours of this morning rock hard with need of you, contemplating all the many ways I want to pleasure you, taste you, take you.”

  “Do not speak it,” she pleaded, the hint of tears glistening in her eyes.

  “Do you not think I have tried to deny what I feel? To convince myself it was only lust.” He laughed caustically. “Nothing could be further from the truth. Whatever is happening between us is beyond our control as mere mortals. Admit you feel it, too.”

  “All I know is I cannot trust my feelings for you.” She pulled away and crossed to the hearth, her arms hugging her slender waist. “Neither can I forget what you said to me in the orchard.”

  Devlin ran a hand through his hair with acute frustration. “Devil take it, I spoke in anger. I was upset. I would sooner forfeit my life than cause you pain or see you harmed in any manner. Is it so difficult to accept that not every man is like Lord Bellewyck?”

  “I know you are not like him.”

  “Then why can you not trust me?”

  She spun around and looked at him, her exquisite eyes glistening like liquid amethysts with unshed tears. “Because when someone has known only shadow and darkness, it hurts too much to look into the light.”

  The stark pain in her eyes and the meaning of her impulsive words caused a strange ache in his heart. He knew not what to say, how to respond. They simply gazed at one another, the sound of their breathing—fast and shallow—resonating in the quiet room.

  It seemed he stood upon a precipice, facing a decision that would alter the remainder of his life—a decision between suspicion and faith, between logic and love. And in the time it took from one beat of his heart to the next, the choice became clear.

  In two strides he pulled her into his arms and captured her lips slowly,
tenderly, wanting to prove the depth of emotion he felt for her. Only then did he pull back enough to whisper against her slightly parted lips.

  “One cannot find dreams in shadows, darling Christiana.” He would have said more, but she pressed two fingertips against his lips and smiled through her tears.

  “Then show me how to dream, Devlin,” she whispered. “Now, before the darkness returns and the shadows fall.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “All this, and Heaven too!”

  ~ Matthew Henry

  (1662-1714)

  Life of Philip Henry

  His kiss transcended time and space, and swept Christiana into an enchanted kingdom ruled by desire and passion. Yet awareness of so many earthly details endured.

  The quiet of the room.

  The sighs and cadence of their breathing.

  The texture of his clothing.

  The scent of his skin.

  The muscles contracting in his back with each movement.

  And the scandalous sensation of his arousal pressing against the skirts of her gown.

  He kissed the side of her neck, resulting in a most curious reaction. A fluttering feeling deep inside her belly grew more insistent. Slick moisture gathered between her thighs. A moment later, his masterful lips slid down to place sensuous kisses upon the swells of her bosom. She clutched his strong, upper arms and directed a rather unfocused gaze to the ceiling.

  Do not faint, she told herself.

  Then, he stopped. Pulling back, he flicked his hand and—much to her startled amazement—her gown slid to the floor.

  How had he accomplished such a feat without her knowing?

  Standing before him in her half-corset and chemise, she had little time to think about the gown. His long masculine fingers deftly released the taut lacings of her corset with a skill that made her blink. Pulling the undergarment off her body, he grinned. “I do so like the shorter version.”

  “How did you learn—”

  He pressed a fingertip against her lips. “You do not really want to know, do you, sweetheart?”

  “No.” For certain, she didn’t want to think about his past lovers. Yet their vaporous images sprang up anyway, making her feel gauche, inept, and ignorant. As if he understood the direction of her thoughts, he led her to the side of the bed.

  “Sit.”

  Not knowing what he wanted or expected from her, Christiana watched as he slowly removed her shoes and stockings. Her chemise remained the only article of clothing on her body and he seemed to debate whether—or how—to remove it.

  Perhaps he expected her to perform the task? She looked to the open draperies, noting how much light they allowed into the room. Then again, he’d seen most of her body in the orchard. For that reason, she stood and brazenly opened her chemise. It slipped from her shoulders and pooled about her feet.

  Determined to convey a sense of worldliness, Christiana kept her arms at her sides and waited for his slow, heated inspection to conclude. His nostrils flared, and the muscles of his throat shifted as he swallowed hard.

  He moved toward her—one step, two steps. A hairsbreadth apart, he turned her about and kissed the curve of her bare shoulder. His right hand rested flat against her belly whilst his other hand cupped her left breast. He groaned low, pulling her back against his chest. The hard ridge of his still unseen erection pressed against her naked skin.

  “You do not play fair, my sweet,” he whispered into her ear.

  She tilted her head slightly and saw their reflections in the pier glass mirror. His eyes were closed, his brow tense as if pain had been inflicted upon his person. She suddenly realized he struggled to control himself. The swift, ragged intensity of his breathing conveyed some difficulty at the task.

  Thrilled to see the effect she had on him, and curious to learn the extent of her feminine powers, Christiana placed one of her hands atop his and guided it further down her belly.

  A wicked grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “You play with fire.”

  “Do I?” She asked in a tremulous whisper.

  He cupped that part of her weeping for his touch. Her breathing hitched. She arched slightly toward him, wanting more, needing more. Soon, the rhythm of her breathing became more frantic as his fingers deftly pleasured her, drawing her ever near the exquisite release she remembered from the orchard.

  Then, suddenly, he took his hand away, leaving her bereft and tense. She looked again at the mirror, curious as to why he’d stopped.

  He stared back at her in the reflecting glass. “Do you want more?”

  “Yes.”

  With one sweeping motion, he lifted her high into his arms then placed her atop the bed. “Do not move.”

  Quivering with anticipation, she watched him bolt the door. Turning once more to face her, the molten look of sexual hunger in his eyes made her heart flutter. Slowly crossing the room, his gaze steady upon hers, he removed his jacket and waistcoat, dropping each article of clothing along the way.

  Everything this man does is erotic, even so simple a thing as undressing.

  She bit her bottom lip to keep from screaming for him to hurry. When at last he’d removed his shirt and bared his chest to her view, she drank in the sight of him. From the smooth breadth of his shoulders to the narrow of his waist, he embodied masculine perfection.

  Draping his fine linen shirt over the back of the chair, he sat down to remove his boots. Well-defined muscles in his arms flexed, prompting her mouth to turn dry.

  “It is not too late to change your mind,” he said without looking up.

  “I have waited too long for this moment—and for the right man to share it with.”

  His gaze lifted to hers. “And are you certain I am that man, Christiana?”

  “I see no other.”

  He dropped a boot onto the floor and laughed. The rich, seductive sound caused her heart to beat even faster.

  I love him.

  The startling realization echoed from the depths of her soul. She’d tried so hard to fight her feelings. To focus on the misgivings she had about his presence and his steadfast loyalty to Pemberton. But the powerful emotion had prevailed. Like the haunting refrain of a heavenly tune, love beckoned her to this man, whispering words that—at long last—had unlocked the secret chambers of her heart.

  Lingering in the back of her mind, reason warned what dire consequences befell a lady who compromised her virtue. Her well-guarded virginity was all she had left—the one aspect of her person that belonged to her alone—pure, untarnished.

  Did she really want to lose the last vestige of maidenly innocence now? And with a man who’d made no profession of love? Then again, he knew nothing of her love for him.

  All things considered, perhaps it would be best we not speak of such things.

  She mustn’t deceive herself into thinking this moment was anything more than a glorious yet fleeting dream. They did not have a future together. They would never marry or live happily ever after. Her life followed a dark, dangerous path, one that offered no pardon or end—except in death. This could be her only chance to experience physical intimacy, and she wanted it to be with the man of her choosing. The man she loved.

  Devlin Randolph had somehow resurrected long abandoned girlhood hopes for love and romance. And so, for this whisper of time, he would be her courtly knight and Bellewyck Abbey their castle. She could even pretend ‘twas their marriage bed and make the dream complete.

  “What are you thinking?”

  She blinked, caught off guard by his question. “I…um, was just, well, admiring your fine form.”

  “Ah,” he said with a crooked brow. “Pray continue, my sweet.”

  She smiled and proceeded to peruse his body with a discerning eye. His well-defined chest was smooth, except for a dusting of dark hair that narrowed rather enticingly into a fine line beneath the waistband of his trousers. Her gaze fell upon the undeniable evidence of his masculine desire for her, and her body quickened.

&
nbsp; He slowly approached the foot of the bed, a sinful promise of untold pleasure in his expression. “I see you have duly noted the scandalous fit of my trousers.”

  “They do appear rather confining.”

  He slowly climbed onto the bed with the stealth of a lion stalking its mate. “Only when you are about.” He breathed against her mouth. “You have no idea the self-control I have had to master around you, my beautiful Christiana.”

  He nuzzled and kissed her neck, conjuring frissons of breathless delight. “I…um…I must say at times you have looked decidedly un-uncomfortable.”

  Devlin chuckled low and nibbled playfully on her earlobe.

  She tried not to giggle, but he truly reminded her of a masterful lion—king of the bedchamber. Clearly misunderstanding her amusement, he tickled her until they were both laughing and twisting about on the recently made bed covers. Just as quickly they grew quiet, very much aware of the intimacy of their bodies and where they were.

  “Christiana, I am not in the habit of seducing—”

  “Servants?” she interrupted with a smile.

  “I was going to say virgins.” He gently cupped the side of her face. “Making love will complicate matters between us. We will likely still argue, for I shan’t abandon what I have been charged to do at the abbey.”

  Christiana swallowed hard. She never doubted he would continue his search for the truth. Neither had she believed he’d consider marriage to her, but to have it put so boldly caused a deep ache in her heart.

  She envisioned the woman he would one day marry. A breathtaking picture of femininity, refinement, and impeccable manner. For certain, no one would mistake her for such an epitome of womanly grace. Despite her guarded virtue and cultured tones, she was a housekeeper who—on occasion—dressed in mannish clothing, climbed chimneys, and scaled cliffs as a smuggler. No, she had no future with Mr. Randolph. But she could have this moment.