It made little difference now that he’d fallen madly in love with her, mad being the definitive word. His behavior had been disgraceful, dishonorable. Even worse, he’d practiced his own brand of deceit by pretending to be someone else.
The fact Christiana preferred to remain an impoverished servant for the remainder of her life—rather than tell the truth about her identity—spoke volumes of her hatred for the Duke of Pemberton.
What a quandary. He needed to soften her heart to a man she knew, but didn’t know. To make her see him for the man he is, and not the villain she believed him to be.
The challenge would require patience, gentle words, and courtly manners—made all the more complicated because he couldn’t even consider making love to her again until she knew him as the Duke of Pemberton.
“First things first,” he said aloud, punching a closed fist. “I must get her safely away from those bloody smugglers. This Blackjack fellow is in for a rude awakening if he thinks to stop me.”
Standing, he paced about the room. “Then there is this absurd notion she has about denying her birthright, and not believing in happily ever after. By God, knights in shining armor do exist. And I care not how many damn dragons I have to slay to prove it.”
Huddled in her narrow bed beneath layers of thin, worn blankets, Christiana stared at the ceiling and fretted over what Devlin might do next. Would duty and loyalty prompt him to tell Pemberton the truth? Then again, he did say the duke would not learn the truth from him. She found comfort in that.
Just then the sound of footsteps paused outside her chamber door. Before she’d gathered wits to enquire who was there, the door opened and a tall shadow loomed in the doorway.
She must be dreaming. He wouldn’t come to her room. For that matter, how did he know which room was hers? She squeezed her eyes shut, held them that way for the count of three, and looked again. It wasn’t a dream.
Holding a candlestick, Devlin wore those scandalous pantaloons he so favored. His fine white shirt, opened at the neck, showed an indecent and rather enticing amount of his masculine chest. He didn’t enter, just searched the darkened room from the threshold until he located her in bed.
“Ah, there you are.”
She gingerly sat up, trying to appear as graceful as possible whilst clutching bedcovers to her chin. A ridiculous gesture, especially since she’d been naked in his arms yesterday. Still, for some odd reason, she felt more exposed tonight.
“Did you think I had run off again?” she asked.
He entered and proceeded to examine the dimensions of her small cell of a room. She heard him swear under his breath as he tapped a thin layer of ice already starting to form in her wash basin.
“I knew it,” he grumbled. “This room is cold as the grave. Get up. I will not have you freeze to death.”
He walked over to the narrow window and frowned at the panes of glass laced with frost. “I should have known your room would be a dreadful hovel.”
Christiana glanced about her chamber. Though small and sparsely furnished, ‘twas her room and she’d grown accustomed to it. Not that she hadn’t sometimes imagined it looking much different—bright, cheery, and even pretty.
She looked back at him, and found he’d turned to watch her.
Setting the candlestick on the bedside table, he stretched out his hand and smiled. “Come with me.”
Her pulse quickened. “Come with you?”
“I want you to sleep in my bedchamber.”
Each rapid beat of her heart pounded in her ears. “Y-you want me to sleep with you?”
“Um, no, actually, I intend to sleep elsewhere.”
Feeling the rush of embarrassment color her cheeks, Christiana nodded. “Thank you for the offer, but no. The thought of being alone in Lord Bellewyck’s bed does not inspire sleep.”
“Then think of it as my bed, but you shan’t remain in this room.”
He crossed to an old wardrobe and searched its contents. A moment later, he removed a soft, woolen dressing gown and placed it in her lap.
“This is not necessary,” she murmured.
“Christiana, I cannot in good conscience sleep when I know you are in this room. Until I decide what must be done about everything, you will obey me.”
She fiddled with the dressing gown. “Where will you sleep?”
“Before the fire in the Great Room.” He folded back her numerous blankets and started to pull her up by the hand.
She gasped in pain.
“What is it? Are you hurt?”
Christiana closed her eyes, gritting her teeth together. “I am…all right.”
“The devil you are.”
Opening her eyes, she noted his obvious upset.
“What happened?” He combed his hand thorough his thick sable hair in an agitated manner. “Bloody hell, is this why you were late today?”
Her bottom lip quivered, and she looked away.
“For God’s sake, tell me what happened.”
“I fell,” she said in a near whisper.
“WHAT?”
“Well, my hand was bandaged,” she argued. “That does tend to impede one from getting a firm grip when climbing a cliff.”
“You fell off a cliff?”
“Not all the way down. Hardly any distance at all really.”
He sat slowly upon the edge of the bed, his expression gentle. Yet his brow furrowed as he studied her face and form. “Did you strike your head? Your back?”
“Nothing is broken, Devlin. I just have some bumps and bruises. I would have been home this morning, but Blackjack gave me a bit too much laudanum.”
Devlin’s posture stiffened. “You were with Blackjack?”
“I was unable to ride. While I slept, he sent word to Mr. Godolphin at The Green Dragon. And Godolphin contacted Gordon to fetch me.”
“I suppose it never occurred to you to send word to me.”
“I was asleep, Devlin.”
Apparently pacified, he nodded. “Are you certain sure you are all right? Perhaps I should summon a physician.”
“I do not require a physician.”
“Is this why you kept your body so stiff in the library?”
She did not respond; there was no need.
Ever so gently, Devlin helped her stand. “Come, Christiana. I refuse to let you remain in this dreadful room another night.”
“This does not seem right or fair, Devlin. I feel guilty. What about Polly?”
He rolled his eyes heavenward. “God forbid you have feelings of guilt where I am concerned, eh?” She looked askance at him and he smiled. “I was teasing. But, for propriety’s sake, it would be best if we opened one of the guest chambers for Polly.”
“And Sarah, too?”
He shot her an exasperated look. “I thought Sarah roomed off the kitchen with her grandmother.”
“Yes, but, well, there is a lovely bedchamber I often thought would make a perfect room for a young girl. Sarah would so enjoy a nice, cheery room all to herself.”
“Good God,” Devlin grumbled under his breath. But, in truth, warmth embraced his heart and soul with increasing admiration at Christiana’s sense of generosity and consideration toward others. Her transformation into a duchess would be most intriguing, especially when his very proper mother tried to explain rules of behavior between servants and their employers.
With a slight grin, he said, “If it will help you quit this room tonight, we shall move all the servants to the guest chambers of the abbey. God knows there are more than enough rooms to spare for all of us. It might even make this place seem less a tomb.”
The smile she graced upon him made Devlin ache to hold her close, to kiss her senseless. Instead, he watched as she cautiously tied her dressing gown.
“Of course, Tom will not want to move from the gatehouse,” she continued in a distracted manner. “And Bertie is quite content in her quarters.”
“Fine,” he said.
She followed his lead as they walke
d downstairs to his bedchamber. Upon entering, she sighed. “Oh my, ‘tis so warm and cozy in here. And, look, you built up the fire by yourself.”
“Imagine that,” Devlin said, biting back an outright laugh.
Devlin studied Christiana as she stood before the fireplace and warmed her hands. It proved impossible to resist the sweet picture she made. He took her delicate hands in his and kissed them.
“I promise you this much, Christiana. You will never be cold again.”
The longer he held her hands, the more difficult it became not to stare at her enticing pink lips. More than anything, he wanted to pull her into his arms, to divest her of the prim bedclothes, and make love to her. But until she knew the truth about his identity and they were legally wed, he’d vowed not to be intimate with her again.
“Climb in bed.” He commanded gruffly.
“Are you quite sure you do not mind?”
“Oh, I mind, but there is nothing to be done for it now.”
With a shy smile, she carefully removed her dressing gown and climbed into the high bed. Once situated under the covers, she eyed him curiously. “This is quite nice of you.”
“I am only doing what Pemberton would expect.”
“Oh,” she said in a quiet manner. “You like him very much, do you not?”
“Who? Oh, Pemberton you mean?”
She nodded.
Believing this might be the perfect opportunity to commence singing praises about the Duke of Pemberton, Devlin feigned a thoughtful mien. “Yes, I do like him. Indeed, I admire the duke very much. Pemberton is both intelligent and honorable.”
“What does he look like?”
Devlin shrugged, determined to appear nonchalant about the subject. “Many women consider him handsome. In truth, I have knowledge from the best authority that throngs of beautiful women compete for his favor wherever he goes.”
She made a somewhat sour expression. “How old is he?”
“About my age, I suppose.”
Christiana sat in his bed, her bandaged hand outside the covers resting almost demurely in her lap—the picture of innocence. She wore a simple, white nightdress buttoned high on her neck—prim enough for Mrs. Lloyd. But the wide flounce of a linen cap shadowing her eyes and long, twin plaits of raven hair reminded him of a young girl. The thought definitely made it easier for him to leave her alone.
He smiled. “You look like a child in that big bed.”
She frowned, clearly affronted by the remark.
“Can I get you something before I leave? I have no laudanum, but I do have that bottle of Scots whisky in the library.” He snapped his fingers. “By jove, I have it. I shall fetch you a glass of warm milk.”
“Thank you, no.” She raised her chin and arched a delicate eyebrow in a rather queenly, dismissive manner. “Goodnight, Devlin.”
With lips pursed firmly together in an effort to stave off laughter, Devlin presented his best courtly bow then departed. Once outside, however, he couldn’t hold back his laughter or even care how loudly it echoed through the ancient hallway.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“God is not averse
to deceit in a holy cause.”
~ Aeschylus
(525-456 BC)
The unmistakable song of morning beckoned and Christiana reluctantly answered. It took a moment to realize she wasn’t in her little bed. Smiling, she wiggled her toes and stared at the drawn bed curtains. Curious as to the hour, she leaned forward on an elbow to peek through the toile curtains. Startled by a loud snore, she promptly fell out of the bed—landing with a hard thud on the floor. Wincing at the pain to her already bruised ribs, she rose to her feet then stared in disbelief.
Devlin slept on his belly, his face turned toward her. A strange, swooshing-type sound emerged from his slightly parted lips. Was he drooling? Recalling another time when he’d pretended sleep by snoring, she poked him in the arm. He didn’t move. She poked him again with more force. He grumbled in his sleep then turned to face the opposite direction.
Looking to the window, she noted—with some degree of guilt—bright sunlight. She’d always been an early riser, ready to start the day well before dawn. Everyone would be looking for her, anxious to know what had happened between her and Devlin last night.
Donning her dressing gown, she went in search of Polly and found her friend entering the abbey carrying Devlin’s freshly laundered shirts.
“Where have ye been?” Polly’s expression was fraught with worry. “I came to yer room this mornin’ but yer bed was empty. I thought mayhap ye were hidin’ in the brewery or the Shadow Walk. Why are ye still in yer bedclothes? Are ye not feelin’ well?”
With a finger poised at her lips, Christiana motioned for Polly to follow her into the Great Room. After securing the heavy doors, she turned to her childhood friend. “Mr. Randolph came to my bedchamber last night.”
“The devil ye say.”
Stirring the fire in the hearth, Christiana noticed an old drinking horn on the floor. Without thinking, she knelt down to pick it up then placed it on a nearby sideboard.
“Tell me what happened,” Polly demanded.
“Mr. Randolph claimed he could not rest knowing I slept in such a cold room, but I suspect another reason. Now that he knows I am the Bellewyck ward, he is behaving most strangely—almost like a guardian himself.”
“Ye told him the truth then?”
She explained to Polly what had transpired between her and Mr. Randolph, up to and including waking and finding the fully dressed steward in bed beside her. The maid eyed her suspiciously.
“Are ye sure nothin’ happened after he got in bed?”
“I believe I would know if it had.” She placed a hand against her bandaged ribs. “Besides which, he made it clear last night he never would have seduced me had he known the truth. It seems as the ward, I am no longer a desirable woman. The last thing he said before he quit the bedchamber last night was that I resembled a child.”
Indignant, Polly snorted. “Well, ye were not a child night before last. He is likely frettin’ ‘bout what Pemberton will do to him.”
“Mr. Randolph did nothing that I did not want him to do,” Christiana said in a quiet voice.
“Do ye think he plans to tell Pemberton?”
“I do not know.” She watched as Polly set the laundered shirts down on a chair. “He did say Pemberton would not learn the truth from him. I suspect he wants me to step forward and tell the duke.”
“Hah, and have the duke take charge over ye?” A speculative gleam came to the maid’s eyes. “Mayhap I know a way ye can stop Pemberton and stay here with us.”
Christiana arched a brow. “And what might that be?”
“Marry Mr. Randolph before the duke finds out the truth. Then Pemberton would have no say in yer future.”
“Give a false name in marriage?” Christiana shook her head. “Even should Mr. Randolph want to marry me, he would never agree to that. He is exceedingly loyal to Pemberton.”
“But the man compromised ye.”
“I will not force him to marry me, Polly.” Christiana sighed and absent-mindedly touched one of Devlin’s fine shirts. “When he learned about the smuggling, he became so angry—so disappointed in me. Still, he vowed to help me. He was so dear, so loving. I believed he might truly love me. I do not understand how his feelings could change so much just because I am the ward.”
“Because of that blasted high and mighty Pemberton.” Polly placed her hands upon her hips and stomped her foot. “Mr. Randolph loves ye, I know it. Ye should have seen the way he stalked ‘bout here lookin’ for ye, askin’ where ye were. When not pacin’, he stayed in his chamber. We all saw him by the window watchin’ the road to the village. I only managed to do a quick job of strippin’ the bed when he talked with ye in the library.”
“Is that why the counterpane is missing?”
Polly smirked like a prim, spinster aunt. “ ‘Tis missin’ because I plan to keep it safe ‘til t
he steward does right by ye. If I must, I will wave it in front of Pemberton’s nose.”
“I hardly think that necessary.”
“Well, I say if the duke tries to take ye away against yer will, we show him proof that his comely steward bedded the virgin ward.”
“There may be other proof to show Pemberton.”
It took a moment for the light of understanding to dawn in her friend’s eyes. “Caw,” Polly gasped.
Crossing to the fireplace, Christiana studied the marble chimneypiece with its elegant carvings documenting the noble lineage of the Bertram family—her family. “Polly, I have been thinking. Perhaps I should come forward as the Bellewyck ward. That is to say, if Mr. Randolph believes it best.”
“Are ye daft? Tell Pemberton ye’re Christiana Petrovsky?”
“If I could have a future with Mr. Randolph, then yes.”
Polly’s green eyes glistened with understanding. “If that is what ye want, ye best remind Mr. Randolph ye’re a woman. Seems to me he is actin’ like a fish flounderin’ on a hook. Now is the time to put yer net under him.”
With a laugh, Christiana hugged her dearest friend.
“Did I not tell you he was the one?” Polly grinned.
“Yes,” Christiana whispered. “He is the one.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Christiana saw the door to the cellaret open and frowned. She walked over to the cabinet and studied five bottles of ale, two of which were now empty. “Good heavens, this explains why he is sleeping so deeply. He found the drugged ale.”
Polly paled. “If the man drank those two bottles, he will not remember how he got into that bed with ye or what happened afterwards.”
“I wonder,” Christiana said with a mischievous grin. “Perhaps I should use this to my advantage, and remind my darling Mr. Randolph that I am not a child.”
Devlin groaned as bright sunlight filled the room behind his eyelids. Who the devil had the gall to come into his room and open every damn curtain? Covering his eyes with a forearm, he tried to return to sleep. It proved futile. Stretching his arms, he slapped the mattress in frustration. It was then he realized he still wore his clothing from the night before. Despite the fact his shirt was open and his trousers unfastened.
THE SENSE OF HONOR Page 22
