by Tonya Brooks
Yes, he was the perfect man for her. It was just too bad he didn’t know it.
Although lately, she had noticed Nicholas watching her with a deep, pensive expression that she hadn't been able to identify. But the look in his midnight eyes had made her knees go weak and caused her body to feel warm and tremulous inside and out. She wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but she liked the sensation.
Maybe a little too much.
~~~~~
“But you won't know unless you look,” her brother pointed out reasonably as he glared at the damned aggravating cat perched atop his desk, staring back at him with a menacing look in his wide blue eyes.
Devlin despised the vicious feline, and it was more than obvious that the nasty tempered beast returned the sentiment. His sister had named the damned thing Rajah, which meant king in some absurd language she'd mastered, and the title was appropriate. The cat behaved just like another spoiled, ill-tempered monarch that he knew only too well.
“Why should I?” Scarlett insisted as she turned those flashing emerald eyes on him again, that infamous Ashbrook temperament back in evidence. “I have no desire for a husband.”
“No one said you did, but it can't do any harm to meet men your own age,” he offered in a placating tone, not wanting to get her riled up again. God knew he had let her spend far too much time with his own friends and the group of jaded rakes was not exactly the kind of men a young lady should be consorting with. Her views on matrimony attested to that. “You might actually find a few that you like.”
She snorted inelegantly and leaned back comfortably against Nicholas when he began trailing his fingers leisurely through her silken tresses in a soothing manner. “That dog won't hunt, Dev. I'd walk all over those foppish dandies and you know it.”
He did. His sister was as headstrong as she was beautiful. Regrettably, he had let her run wild after their parents had died, and it would take a firm hand to control her now. Scarlett would despise a man that she could walk all over, and she wouldn't tolerate one telling her what to do either. He knew that from experience.
“They're not all that bad,” Devlin denied.
“Really?” She scoffed and then challenged, “Name one that you'd consider suitable.”
The scowl covered his handsome face again. “Dammit, minx, I don't go around judging men on their qualifications as husband material.”
“No, just their bad habits,” she agreed in satisfaction. “Like the fact that Lord Hartford can't hold his drink, or that Viscount Blakely cheats at cards, or...”
“Bloody hell,” he muttered as Nicholas laughed softly.
Damn his unruly tongue. Devlin had never curbed his comments around his sister, and now he seriously regretted it. Her decision not to marry was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard of. Scarlett had never mentioned such nonsense before they started discussing her having a season. He was certain that it was something she had come up with just to annoy the hell out of him. It damned well worked. Especially when she threw his own disparagements back at him.
“None of that determines what type of husband they'd make,” he shot back defensively.
One perfectly arched eyebrow rose. “No?” She queried doubtfully as her fingertips absently trailed around the collar of Nicholas's shirt where it rested against the back of his neck. “So you’d let me marry a drunkard, or a man liable to gamble away my dowry... or a womanizer.” That last remark came with a pointed look at both men, who were well known for such rakish behavior.
Devlin wisely ignored the barbed accusation. He knew perfectly well that his sister was deliberately trying to provoke him in the hopes that he’d give in and not enforce her having a season. Well used to her tactics, he countered with a challenge. “Scarlett, a woman as intelligent as yourself would never be taken in by the caliber of man you’ve described. Don't let my jaded view color your opinion. Wait until you meet them and decide for yourself what type of men they are.”
~~~~~
“But there's no reason for it.” she said in exasperation as she rose with a natural seductive grace that she wasn't even aware of possessing. “I have absolutely no intentions of marrying,” Scarlett insisted and placed her hands on her gently rounded hips. “I'm damned if some bossy man will tell me what I can and cannot do.”
Both men sighed wearily as she got started on her latest tirade again.
Scarlett had no inclination whatsoever to marry. She had studied the matter in great depth, and come to the determination that marriage was an archaic form of bondage for women, as their husbands had complete control over them.
Every single culture subjugated women in a subservient role, some even considered them mere possessions, or reduced them to the level of livestock. In British society, marriages were arranged for the purposes of acquiring a title or wealth, and neither of those seemed an adequate reason to give up the freedom to do as she pleased.
“Besides, what could a man possibly offer me as an incentive to give up my independence? I already have an old and respected title, with an equally old and imposing estate, an obscenely large fortune, and the protection of a brother who indulges my every whim.”
“That oversight can be corrected,” Devlin growled in warning, as much at his sister, as to her damned cat, who had pounced on his quill pen and was now attacking it with unsheathed claws.
~~~~~
Always the voice of reason in the midst of their heated storms, Nicholas interjected, “You overlooked one very important thing that only a husband can provide, kitten.”
“What, pray tell?” She demanded as she turned toward him, one delicate eyebrow arched in the sheer arrogance that came as naturally as breathing.
Nicholas knew her as well as he knew himself. As her confidant, he was privy to her hopes and dreams, her thoughts and desires, and what’s more, he understood them, and her, on a level that few would ever comprehend. He knew Scarlett inside and out, so he barely managed to keep a smile off of his face as he said one word succinctly, “Children.”
Her eyes softened and wistful longing filled her expression. Oh, yes. He knew her well. Aside from horses, the one thing that Scarlett loved most, was children. She devoted a large portion of her days to her nephew and the estate workers' children as well. There was no doubt about it. Scarlett would be a wonderful mother. And she'd produce beautiful children.
~~~~~
Scarlett loved children. God, she wanted to have a dozen of them. At the tender age of eight, she had insisted on helping with the care of Devlin's son, Dare, and as usual, her brother had allowed her to do what she wanted. How she had loved holding his fragile little body and showering the infant with affection.
Scarlett had been the one who held his hands while he took his first steps, the one who had taught him how to climb a tree and conjugate Latin. Yes. She wanted children desperately, but not enough to put up with a husband curbing her independence.
That mischievous nature reared its head. Her smile became decidedly naughty, and her voice dropped to a naturally sultry tone, as she chided playfully, “Nicky, you know perfectly well that a woman can have children without the burden of a husband.”
~~~~~
“Dammit all, Scarlett!” Devlin snapped angrily, that fiery Ashbrook temperament unleashing itself without warning as usual. Good God. He hated it when she said things like that. He really did. And he also knew it was his own damn fault that she did so. He had raised Scarlett in a bachelor’s household where he and his friends hadn't been nearly as discreet as they should have been while she was present.
He'd taught her to ride and shoot like a man, allowed her to have a real education, and now he was reaping the consequences of it. His sister was a strong willed, intelligent woman with a mind of her own. A terrifying breed of female as he was discovering to his eternal regret. “You've got to stop making such outrageous remarks.”
“Nothing outrageous about it a'tall,” she denied and took Nicholas's glass to sip his brandy before returning
it. “I do want children, but I'm damned if I'll be leg shackled to get them.” She gave him a level look and reminded boldly, “You didn't.”
Devlin's own son Alasdair was a bastard, however, that did not mean that his sister could make the same mistakes as he had. “Devil take it, Scarlett!” He thundered as he surged to his feet, snatched up his riding crop, and forcefully whacked it atop the desk. Alarmed at the loud cracking sound, Rajah bowed his back and hissed at him in warning, silky white fur bristling with agitation. “If I ever hear you say something so scandalous again...”
~~~~~
Her brother had only ever been angry enough to paddle her backside once before and even then he hadn't threatened her with a crop. But even that was not enough to force Scarlett to back down or be cowed by his rather daunting anger.
“You see?” She snapped completely unaware that Nicholas had risen behind her and now glared a warning look at her brother over her head. “This is exactly what I was talking about. If you're having a fit over a silly jest, just think what a bloody husband would do.”
Devlin threw the crop back down on the desk where the cat promptly attacked it and snatched up his glass to drain the contents. “You could try the patience of a saint,” he complained as his friend resumed his slouched position.
“Saint Devlin?” She teased and then laughed merrily at the notion. Her brother was a notorious rakehell, better known among his contemporaries as the Devil Duke, due to his vicious temper that could strike fear into a man’s heart with little effort. His skill with pistols and sabers had kept all but the most foolhardy at bay, and those had been thoroughly trounced. “Don't tell me you're getting soft in your old age.”
“Dammit, minx,” he growled in disgruntlement and sank back into the chair. “I'm not old.”
“Of course you're not.” Scarlett walked over to the drink cabinet, picked up the decanter of brandy and went to pour him a refill. She kissed his cheek in apology and then walked around the desk to top off Nicholas's glass before placing the decanter on the desk. Picking up Rajah, she nuzzled her cheek against his silky fur and asked expectantly, “So, you'll make Grand’Mere give up this husband hunting nonsense?”
~~~~~
Their grandmother was a formidable opponent when she set her mind to something, and one of the few people who dared to argue with Devlin. He usually overrode her wishes when it suited him to do so, but this time he and Duchy were in complete agreement. His sister was eighteen now, and she deserved the opportunity to meet some young buck and fall in love, which is why he'd forced this damn season on her to begin with.
“I'll talk to her,” he said evasively.
“See that you do. This Almack's nonsense is enough to put me off my feed,” she informed him in her usual blunt manner and exited the room.
Once the door closed behind her, the men shared a long, speaking look. More brothers than friends since birth, the two men didn't always need words to communicate. More often than not, they knew what the other was thinking. So he knew exactly what Nicholas meant when he said, “Ya know, Dev. I could...”
“No.”
“But you heard Scarlett say...”
“No, dammit,” he growled in exasperation. “This whole bloody mess is your fault.”
“My fault?” Nicholas barked in surprise.
“You suggested it,” Devlin shot back. Which prompted another of those speaking looks that anyone else would have found inscrutable, but he understood perfectly. “Bloody hell,” he sighed in disgust. “You're right. This is all my doing. Now I'm stuck dragging Scarlett to Almack's. Almack's for God's sake.” He snatched up the letter from their grandmother and read over it before cursing a blue streak.
“Now what?” His friend asked warily.
“Apparently, Scarlett didn't read the entire letter,” he said and crushed the paper into a ball. “Duchy's also hired a companion to coach her in manners and deportment before the season begins.”
“Oh, God,” Nicholas groaned. “Scarlett's gonna have a fit.”
That was an understatement. When he'd told her that she was going to have a season in town, his sister had had a fit that would have equaled Vesuvius erupting. This was just adding insult to injury and was likely to incite a tantrum to rival the wrath of God. “There'll be no living with her now,” Devlin sighed in resignation.
~~~~~
Nicholas almost felt sorry for him. Almost, but not quite. After all, Devlin had brought this fiasco down on his own head while knowing how his sister would react at being forced to have a season. The most annoying thing was that it would prove to be nothing more than a complete waste of time. The odds of Scarlett falling in love with one of those dandies littering the ton were too ridiculous to comprehend.
At least he hoped like hell it was.
Nicholas wanted her with a fierce, unreasoning hunger that threatened to drive him to distraction. Even now his body still ached with the white hot need that had consumed him the moment she'd plopped her perfectly rounded ass in his lap. And the feel of her fingers trailing across the back of his neck... he barely repressed a shudder of pure desire.
A man would have to be made of stone to resist a woman like Scarlett. She was a born seductress, and he was by no means impervious to her charms. Unfortunately, there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it, so he suffered the agonies of the damned each and every time she was near. On that depressing note, he drained the glass of brandy, stood and said, “If you change your mind...”
“I'll let you know,” his old friend agreed.
~~~~~
Once he was alone, Devlin sat there for a long time just staring at the portrait of his ancestor that hung over the mantle. Sir Devlin of Ashbrook had been a knight. A warrior. A conqueror. A man who laughed in the face of death and forged his own path through sheer ruthless will and determination, not to mention his skill with a sword. A man who looked exactly like him.
However, Devlin possessed the smooth facade of a civilized veneer, whereas his ancestor had not. The man in the portrait looked positively fierce. Frighteningly so. Not the kind of man who would have tolerated his little sisters tantrums and indulged her every whim. Oh, no. Back in those less civilized days, Sir Devlin would have spanked the saucy wenches arse and locked her away in the keep until he could marry her off.
Then again, he might have had a hell of a fight on his hands.
According to the family archives, the first Lady Scarlett had been highly skilled with a sword and had led her own army into battle for king and country. Due to her diligence and service to the crown, the fiery tempered wench had been granted the title Baroness Montvale. Thanks to a rather unusual letters patent, her title had been passed on to every red haired, green eyed vixen born into the family since then.
Scarlett was just as skilled with weaponry as their ancestor had been. Her aim with a pistol was deadly accurate, and her proficiency with a rifle by far exceeded that of any man he knew, himself included. She was also one of the most bruising riders he'd ever seen. Unfortunately, she had no more idea how to behave like a proper lady than her ancestor had.
Apparently, not much had changed in five hundred years.
Chapter Two
Devil's Keep, England, 1812
Langford’s ducal seat, Devil's Keep, was an ideal place for the duke and his friends to spend their leisure time. Because of its proximity to Town, they could be in London enjoying all the revelries it provided in under an hour. So it was not at all unusual to find Devlin entertaining his closest friends and relations on a regular basis.
Such a gathering of eligible bachelors would set many a feminine heart a flutter and fill many a masculine heart with envy. They were, of course, the crème de la crème of fashionable society. All titled, handsome, wealthy men feverishly sought after by marriage minded mamas and socially aspiring hostesses alike.
Over the last decade, they had become hellions of epic proportions and their licentious exploits were legendary among the ton. A dozen year
s ago, they had been a group of twelve young bucks, wild and full of themselves. Someone had drunkenly dubbed the group, the Brotherhood of Rakes, and the highly inappropriate, if well-deserved name, had stuck.
Each of them was a libertine, a predator in his own right, and their chosen prey was the opposite sex. Women were mere playthings to the group of jaded rakes, and they guarded their hearts as diligently as they did their fortunes. The unnamed leader of the group was the Devil Duke himself, a man that each of them trusted and respected above all others.
Devlin had come into his title and all the responsibilities that went along with it at the tender age of eighteen. Charlton had seen to it that his heir was well prepared to step into his place, so he had little trouble accepting the burdens that had been thrust upon him. Unfortunately, he had been ill prepared to raise his little sister.
His father had made being a parent seem so easy. He had always known when to be stern and when to be lenient. He'd always had an encouraging word, even when he was scolding. Of course, that had been part of the problem. Devlin had done very little scolding of his sister after their parents had died. Scarlett had seemed so frightened and fragile, not at all her normally exuberant self, that he had given her anything she wanted, just to see her smile.
Knowing that Scarlett needed a woman to guide her, he had gone in search of a bride, much to his grandmother’s delight. After spending a season in the company of the tons newest crop of eligible young misses, Devlin had determined that most of them hadn't had a thought in their head beyond the latest fashions or on dit, and would have no idea how to nurture a child by far more intelligent than them.
Though he had more luck finding a bride during a trip to Scotland, and an intelligent one at that, he had no choice but to have the marriage annulled. Identical twins, he had wed one sister and mistakenly bedded the other. Not the best start to a relationship, he quickly discovered.
