“Indeed, it was. And it has driven him ever since. When he was invited to join our order, Deverill leapt at the chance.”
“So he could atone for the men he couldn’t save.”
Sir Gawain nodded sadly. “I believe it is his way of trying to redeem himself. Of paying penance for his failure.”
And Deverill was still seeking redemption, Antonia realized. Still punishing himself for his failure. The thought wrenched her heart.
“To my mind, Deverill has paid his penance a hundred times over,” the baronet added quietly, “but he won’t accept it. I would guess that is partly why he has never settled down in marriage. Because he will not allow himself the possibility of contentment, of happiness.”
Antonia thought the comment odd, as was Sir Gawain’s speculative regard of her, but she made no issue of it. “Thank you for telling me about Deverill, Sir Gawain.”
“Yes, well . . . I love him like a son.” There was an awkward pause before he ventured to observe, “Your father also thought quite highly of Deverill, you know.”
“Yes, he did. He would have been pleased to see Deverill take the reins of his own life’s work.”
Sir Gawain suddenly looked uncertain. “That is not quite what I meant, my dear—”
Just then Antonia’s fishing line jerked, and she had to grab at the rod to keep it from slipping through her hands. The next instant the line went slack, and when they pulled in the line, the hook was gone.
Sir Gawain shook his head with regret, but Antonia was more disappointed by the untimely interruption. “What were you saying about Deverill, Sir Gawain?” she asked as he began to thread another hook and rebait it.
“Never mind, my dear.” His smile was a trifle wry. “An old man should know better than to interfere in affairs that are not his purview. Now, enough of this serious talk. We don’t want to drive the fish away.”
He changed the subject then, and spoke of other things, leaving Antonia to puzzle over his enigmatic comments on her own. Yet he had given her a great deal to ponder.
When they returned home from fishing, Antonia promised herself, she intended to go straight to her rooms, where she could be alone with her thoughts about Deverill.
Isabella intercepted her, however, as soon as she stepped foot in the entrance hall. “I trust you won’t mind if I steal you away after luncheon, Antonia. Clara has been asking for you, and you have yet to properly admire Baby Jonathan. I hoped we could spend the afternoon with them.”
“Of course, Isabella, I would enjoy that. But first allow me to change my gown. I caught my first fish today, and I doubtless smell of trout.”
Antonia curbed her impatience throughout the congenial luncheon with Sir Gawain and Lady Isabella, and then for several more hours during her visit with Lady Kenard and Baby Jonathan. The afternoon passed pleasantly enough. Antonia duly praised the tiny child and, on the return carriage ride home, listened as Isabella sang the infant’s praises.
“He is a squirming little red-faced bundle,” Bella pronounced, “but admittedly precious. I vow holding him almost makes me regret never having children of my own.”
“You did not want children?” Antonia asked curiously.
Isabella forced a smile, but Antonia could see the sadness behind it. “I was barren, my dear. Even with three husbands, I never was able to conceive.” She gave a dismissive laugh. “But I was much too busy traveling the world and having adventures to lament the absence of offspring. I had a marvelous life full of passion and excitement, Antonia, with two husbands whom I adored and who adored me. That more than made up for my loss, I assure you. And even now I am hardly ancient. I may yet experience another grand passion, one never knows.”
Observing the countess’s vivacious beauty, Antonia smiled with genuine warmth. “I’ll warrant the odds are greatly in your favor.”
“I wish the odds favored you more,” Isabella said with a shrewd look. “I cannot like the thought of you settling for a marriage of convenience. But that is precisely what you will do when you return to London, is it not?”
Antonia cast a glance at the driver perched in the coachman’s box. Although the landau was open in front with the forward half of the double hood folded back, their conversation couldn’t be heard over the rattle of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves.
Even so, she lowered her voice when she replied. “Yes, Isabella, I will make a marriage of convenience when I return. But I have always known what fate held in store for me, and I willingly accepted it. Marrying into the nobility was the only thing my father ever asked of me. It is not, however, just my duty as a daughter that obliges me, but my love for him as well.”
“I understand, my dear, but duty can be a cold bedfellow.”
Averting her gaze from Isabella’s much too perceptive one, Antonia pretended to study the passing Cornish landscape as a bittersweet ache filled her. She wished there were something more in her future when she
returned home to London than an insipid union of convenience.
“You could always wed Deverill,” Isabella suggested equably. “Sir Gawain supports the match as much as I do, did you guess?”
Antonia turned back to regard the countess in surprise. Was that what Sir Gawain had been insinuating earlier today? That Deverill would make her a good husband? She’d thought he was hinting her away, trying to make her understand why Deverill would never want to assume control of Maitland Shipping. But perhaps the baronet had meant something quite different. Nevertheless . . .
“You know a match between us is out of the question, Isabella,” Antonia replied quietly.
“I believe Deverill is still willing to wed you.”
“Perhaps, but only because his sense of honor won’t allow him to shirk what he sees as his duty. He has no desire to be tied down in marriage. Any union between us would be one of convenience, not love. Deverill is not the kind of man to allow himself to fall in love, Isabella.”
“But it is possible to win the heart of such a man.”
Antonia felt her own heart give a sudden leap. “How?”
Isabella’s smile was very feminine. “An adventurer like Deverill responds best to a woman who understands his need for independence. One who will not chain him with demands and pleas or interfere with his life’s calling. A woman as brave and daring and adventuresome as he is. In short, you must prove yourself his match, Antonia.”
Antonia stared. Was it possible for her to prove his match? Deverill had long been her ideal—strong, courageous, bold, exciting—and discovering the noble cause he served had only increased her admiration and respect for him.
In truth, Sir Gawain’s revelations today had made her feel rather small. What had she ever done that was noble or self-sacrificing? Other than supporting a number of charities, honoring her father’s wishes was the sole thing that could be considered admirable.
But she could change that, Antonia reminded herself. She owned Maitland Shipping. Surely she could use her ownership to aid the Guardians . . . and more importantly, to support Deverill’s calling.
Yet that didn’t mean she could win his heart. He most certainly didn’t want to be tied down in a marriage of convenience to her. He wanted the freedom to be a Guardian.
At least now, however, she better understood why Deverill had been just as willing as she to keep their relationship on a physical plane. Why he seemed resistant to forming any long-term emotional bonds, any entanglements.
Was it even possible for him to form a deeper attachment for her? she wondered. Could he give up his self-imposed penance if he knew she could help his cause rather than hinder it? Could he ever allow himself to love her?
Her thoughts agitated, Antonia returned her gaze to the passing countryside. No doubt it was a foolish fantasy to think of having a future with Deverill. He had merely given her an unforgettable experience, had taught her about pleasure, about passion, nothing more.
But it isn’t only passion that I feel for him, her heart whispered.<
br />
Nor could she continue to deny the traitorous longings that had been building inside her these past few weeks. Lately she’d found herself wishing that she was not an heiress. That she was not obliged to fulfill her father’s dreams for her and could follow her own foolish dreams instead . . .
And if she was entirely honest with herself, she would admit that physical passion was no longer enough for her. She wanted more. She wanted true love, the kind her parents had known.
The kind she had only dared imagine in her most secret fantasies.
Love would be an adventure in itself, Antonia knew instinctively. And love with Deverill would be incredible.
A fierce yearning swept over her, along with a sudden realization: It would be a betrayal of her father, undeniably, but she would be willing to forsake her solemn vow to him if she thought Deverill could come to love her.
At the reflection, a new sensation curled inside Antonia, one edged with anticipation and hope. Overcoming Deverill’s personal demons might be impossible, but she wanted to try.
She wanted to discover if she could win his heart.
Nearly a hundred miles to the south, Deverill was staring restlessly out to sea, his thoughts roiling as his inner longings battled with his common sense.
He should, in fact, have been celebrating his victory. The past night had been long and arduous, but he had captured his quarry—the murderous smuggler who had preyed for months on the Cornish Freetraders—while sustaining no injuries to his own crew and little damage to his schooner. He was now sailing back to Falmouth with his prisoner locked in his ship’s hold.
Deverill wasn’t certain if his urgency to complete his task had been driven more by his need to save innocents from a killer, or by his eagerness to return to Wilde Castle, where Antonia awaited him. But now that his mission was successfully concluded, his focus most definitely had turned to Antonia—and to his own dilemma.
He was losing the battle against her. Against his fierce desire for her.
Deverill squeezed his eyes shut, picturing Antonia as he’d last seen her, remembering the silk of her hair and the warmth of her skin as she both succored him and drove him wild. Simply the memory made his loins harden—and aroused a peculiar ache in his chest at the same time.
For a long while now, he’d been aware of the special tenderness he felt for Antonia; a soft feeling would flow through him at odd moments, so unexpectedly he had no defense against it. Yet only now was he forcing himself to examine the more complex emotions assaulting him: A savage yearning that was not only sexual but something even more disturbing. A need for her that had grown to dangerous proportions.
Antonia, he grudgingly acknowledged, had burrowed under his skin like no woman ever had or ever would. And she was likely to stay burrowed.
It was a dire complication he had never counted on.
He couldn’t deny his reluctance to give her up, either. In truth, if he closed his eyes, he could actually imagine a future with Antonia.
Amazingly enough, he could envision being wed to her—a prospect that had unexpected and startling appeal. If he ever were to marry, he would want a wife exactly like her. She was spirited and challenging enough to keep him forever intrigued; adventurous and brave enough to be a Guardian’s life mate.
Any Guardian but him.
He wasn’t like his colleagues; he couldn’t be. He couldn’t permit himself to reach for happiness as if he were deserving of it. His search for expiation was nowhere near over. His vow to atone for the past would never be completely fulfilled. He had dedicated his life to his calling, and he would allow nothing to interfere . . . most certainly not his own personal desires.
Desire for Antonia. She made him dream of impossibilities. Made him yearn for things he would never allow himself to have.
He had to relinquish her before it was too late, Deverill knew. When he returned to Cornwall, he intended to end their affair. And when he returned to London, he would use the opportunity to sever his ties with her for good.
Indeed, Deverill resolved, the moment he received word from Macky that all their plans were in order, he would set sail for London . . . and he would leave Antonia behind.
It would be wiser for them both, allowing them to avoid any more of the dangerous intimacy that had filled their relationship the past few weeks. He couldn’t allow her to sail with him. The risk would be too great.
Instead he would make a clean break.
Antonia would be unhappy about his decision, undoubtedly. She would likely fight him. But at least he would stand a chance of ending their liaison with minimal pain . . . and eventually putting her out of his mind and heart for always.
After her conversation with Isabella regarding how to capture Deverill’s heart, Antonia arrived home in high spirits, her mind churning with possibilities and plans.
Her optimism immediately suffered a blow, however, for she was forcibly reminded of the threat Deverill still faced. A letter was waiting for her from her trustee, Phineas Cochrane.
Excusing herself, Antonia took the letter into the library, where she broke the seal and quickly perused the contents.
My dear Miss Maitland,
In formal correspondence Phineas always addressed her as Miss Maitland rather than Antonia, as he did in private.
I have reviewed the account books as you requested and regret to inform you that Director Trant has indeed been unlawfully transporting slaves, as you suspected, using the power of his office for his own gain.
When I confronted him, he claimed that by means of extortion and blackmail, Lord Heward compelled him to falsify the accounts to conceal their illegal activities and their immense profits.
Mr. Trant most certainly must be terminated from employment at Maitland Shipping—and perhaps be charged with felonious wrongdoing—but I shall await your further instructions before acting. It is my considered opinion that he is eager to escape prosecution and thus may be willing to help expose Lord Heward in exchange for leniency. It appears that Trant is deadly afraid of his lordship.
As you insisted, I have said nothing to Heward, so as not to alert him. Naturally, however, it would be best to act sooner rather than later. It is therefore my hope that you will provide me with new instructions regarding this highly distressing matter. I hold myself to blame for negligence in overseeing your company’s affairs and wish to make amends as soon as possible.
Your obedient servant,
P. Cochrane
Anger flooded Antonia at this first, conclusive evidence of Heward’s perfidious nature. It outraged and shamed her, not only that he had engaged in the terrible practice of transporting slaves for the lucrative profit, and that he had employed extortion and blackmail for his own devious ends, but that she had been so easily duped. Heward had betrayed her trust and her late father’s memory, criminally using the company to line his own pockets . . . and probably much worse.
After this revelation, she had not a shred of doubt that he was capable of killing an innocent woman and framing Deverill for the murder . . . and of poisoning her father as well.
Yet the difficult matter of proving Heward’s guilt remained.
Antonia’s fist clenched involuntarily around the letter. He had likely killed her father, and she would see him punished if it was the last thing she ever did—
Just then, Lady Isabella swept into the library. “I understand your letter came from London, my dear. I hope it contains good news and not bad?”
“Possibly good,” Antonia said, looking up. “We have a witness to at least one aspect of Lord Heward’s perfidy.”
She intended to send Phineas’s letter directly to Deverill at the inn in Gerrans, so he could read it the moment he arrived home from his patrols.
She hoped he returned soon, for she was more determined than ever to return to London. She wanted Heward brought to justice—and she wanted to be there to personally insure it happened.
Antonia received word about Deverill much sooner than exp
ected. The next morning Lady Kenard sent a message to Wilde Castle with the glad tidings that the scourge of the coast had been apprehended, and that her husband, Sir Crispin, had gone to Falmouth to meet with Mr. Deverill and see to the disposition of the pirate. As the local magistrate, Sir Crispin would take charge of the prisoner and arrange all the proper legal proceedings.
Antonia read the news with relief, knowing that Deverill was safe after having successfully captured his quarry. She expected him to call on her when he completed his business with Sir Crispin in Falmouth, but her eager anticipation turned to impatience by mid-afternoon when there was no sign of him. No doubt he was busy, but at five when she still had heard no word from Deverill, Antonia sent a message to his inn. The innkeeper wrote back that Mr. Deverill had given up his rooms there and that his belongings had been delivered to Sir Crispin’s home.
It puzzled Antonia yet didn’t alarm her, since it was perfectly reasonable that Deverill would be invited to stay at Kenard House. It startled her, however, when Fletcher Shortall was shown into the drawing room soon after dinner, where Antonia was restlessly pacing the carpet while Sir Gawain and Lady Isabella sat reading.
“Have you brought word of Deverill?” Antonia asked immediately, trying to hide her anxiousness.
“Aye, miss.” The wiry seaman bowed respectfully to Sir Gawain and handed him a sealed letter. Then he did the same to Antonia with another letter. “His
nibs . . . er, Mr. Deverill . . . bade me beg yer ladies’ pardon that he can’t deliver this in person.”
Antonia broke the seal and quickly read the contents.
Deverill’s message was quite brief: A report from his London colleagues had been waiting for him upon his return, asserting that the path was clear to finally put his plans in motion. Thus, he would sail for London the following morning. Regrettably he would have no time to call on Antonia to take his leave, but would keep her informed of events once he reached London.
Antonia stared at the letter with welling trepidation. The time had come for Deverill to confront Lord Heward. Then another implication dawned on her: Not only did Deverill mean to sail without her, he planned to go without even saying farewell.
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