by Faye Hall
His breathing calming, Devon found some reality returning to him, with it his continued curiosity as to the mystery of who this woman was. Holding her to him, her soft, naked curves still molded against his own, he wondered if she was who he needed to return some hope back to his life. After all these years, she was the first woman to have stirred any form of emotion and passion inside of him.
Sliding behind her, Devon held her against him. His fingertips ran along the long, soft strands of her light red hair where it rest against her back. She was so soft, so intoxicating, so real.
“Is your name really Lotte?” he asked her, his fingertips running affectionately up her back and over her shoulder.
“It’s really my name,” she answered. “Why do you ask?”
His fingers stilled. “Because I knew a girl named Lotte once.”
She rolled over to look at him. “Is she the woman who died?”
Devon nodded. His fingers went to her face, in awe at the softness of her skin under his fingertips. “You look so much like her, you could almost be—”
“I’m not her, Devon,” Lotte finished off for him.
“I-I know. It’s just…” His words trailed off. Studying her eyes, Devon marveled at their crystal blueness. “Are you sure—”
But his words were cut off by her lips hungrily devouring his.
Feeling himself again surrendering to this woman’s passions, Devon struggled to push her away from him. “I’ve never let any woman from this hotel touch me,” he said, rolling her beneath him again.
“Have any wanted to?” Lotte asked, her foot caressing his naked calf, her lips kissing and lightly biting his chest.
Again, Devon tried to push her back down on the bed. “Should they have?” he asked, his breath ragged from the attention of the naked beauty beneath him. He could feel Lotte lifting her hips beneath him, closing the distance he was trying to keep.
“You’re a very handsome man. Any woman would be lucky to have you in their bed.” Her tongue ran gently down his chest. “A man such as yourself would make any woman desire him.”
“Do you desire me?” Devon asked softly, before he could stop himself. He didn’t know why her answer was important to him, all he knew was he wanted to know.
Lotte lowered her caressing mouth away from him and lay back on the bed, looking up at him. “You are an easy man to desire, Devon.”
He pushed his hips against hers, grounding his naked passion against her. “I don’t want to hear what you’re being paid to say, Lotte. I want to know, if I were here with no money, would you still welcome me in your bed?”
Lotte nodded. “Yes, I would welcome you in my bed even if you were the poorest of men.” She kissed his chest lightly. “I don’t care who you are the son of, Devon.”
Devon pushed her back on the bed. “What did you say?” he asked, something familiar about her tone.
Lotte lifted her hips skillfully, lodging his aching self deep inside of her. “I don’t care who you are the son of, Devon.”
Ghosts from his past haunting him upon hearing her soft comment, Devon pushed deep inside of her welcoming self, remembering another time with another woman. Hearing her soft moans of pleasure coming louder and closer together, he could feel his own climax approaching. Squeezing her hip firmly in his fingers, Devon held this woman to him as he spilled inside of her.
His flesh well sated from making love to this woman yet again, Devon fell back on the bed to catch his breath, struggling with the myriad of emotions filling him. This woman was unlike any other he had ever laid with. The pleasure she filled him with, the passion she had given him, calling out his name as he brought her to ecstasy again and again; only one other woman had ever done that, a woman who—
“What are you doing?” he asked, grabbing at her arms and pulling her caressing mouth away just inches from him.
She looked up at him, appearing as if disappointed.
“I’m not paying you for that,” he stated, trying to ignore the urge he had to let her continue.
Lotte struggled against him, licking his stomach. “But don’t you want to know what it feels like, Devon?”
Devon pulled her to him, sitting her astride him. “Do you know what is thought of women who do that to a man, even in a place like this?”
Lotte shrugged, spreading her legs wider so she might welcome him again. “I don’t care, Devon. I want all of you.”
Hours passed, their bodies entwined, their passions exploding into an unquenchable rapture. Devon could never have imagined this would be what he found when he first came to the Pioneer Hotel. He had expected coldness and routine affections. Instead, what he found with this woman was… He honestly didn’t know what it was.
When Devon had first traveled to the tavern, he wanted alcohol and nothing more. Only after suggestions from both his gardener and the bartender did he reluctantly decide to take a woman, hoping it would rescue him from his haunting memories. But now, having been with this woman... Had he not held his lost love as she lay dying in his arms almost four years ago, he would have sworn this woman he now laid with—Lotte—was his lover back from the dead.
Rolling on his side, he pulled her against him, his arms enfolding her and holding her close. If they were different people in a different world, then maybe…
Exhaustion filling him, Devon felt sleep beginning to consume him. On any other occasion, he would fight it, knowing the dreams and memories that usually plagued his mind, but tonight he welcomed sleep and the dreams of the passionate woman he held in his arms.
* * * *
Lotte lay with Devon, waiting for him to fall to sleep, his arms wrapped around her, holding her tight against him. This wasn’t what she thought to find on this night, nor was it who she thought to find.
Sure, it was Devon lying in the bed with her, but she knew deep in her heart that this man wasn’t the same man she had fallen in love with years ago. He was so different, so much more distant than she ever remembered him being.
She knew what she was doing to him was cruel, making him hunger for a memory, yet never telling him the truth of what happened to her after the shooting. Still, Lotte knew she had little choice. If she were ever to prove Elizabeth was the one guilty of not only her own shooting, but the deaths of so many others… Her own survival had to remain hidden, at least for now. She knew that to have her revenge, she didn’t have to sleep with Devon. She wasn’t with him here, now, for revenge. She was here for another reason much closer to her own heart.
Slowly moving Devon’s hands to her hips, Lotte knew this was what she had always wanted to have with Devon. Now that she could have this chance, Lotte wasn’t going to turn him away.
Lotte knew the risks she was taking again being so intimate with Devon. She risked him seeing her scar and discovering that she really was the woman he thought died nearly four years ago. She didn’t know what she would do should this happen. The madam had suggested to her that using her real name may risk discovery too, but Lotte assured her that her name was far from unusual in the district or amongst the many new arrivals arriving in the country from England. Besides, Lotte knew she couldn’t bear hearing Devon call her by another woman’s name, especially while they made love. The only name she wanted to hear fall from his lips was her own.
Hearing Devon’s breathing calming behind her, Lotte knew that sleep had finally consumed him. Very carefully, she slipped out of his arms and the bed and slowly began to dress, her skin still tingling from their lovemaking. She didn’t want to leave him like this, but she knew that if she stayed until morning, her true identity would undoubtedly be discovered. The concealment she had worked so very hard for would have been for nothing.
Finishing dressing, Lotte turned away from the man still sleeping on her bed and stepped toward the door quietly. Hearing a stirring noise behind her, she stopped and turned suddenly.
“T-there’s money in my trouser pocket,” Devon mumbled from the bed, his voice very sleepy. “It s-
should be enough to pay for the night.”
“I don’t want your money, Devon,” Lotte replied, her tone soft.
He lifted his head from the pillow, trying to focus on where she stood. “If not for money, then why did you spend the night with me?”
“I didn’t want your money. I just wanted you.” With that, she turned and walked from the room, closing the door behind her.
* * * *
Elizabeth stood in the darkened part of her estate garden, waiting for any signs of the informant whom had sent her word earlier to meet with them. Hearing footsteps in the grass behind her, she turned suddenly.
“Where the hell have you been?” Elizabeth sternly asked the young man.
The informant didn’t answer her.
“What information do you have for me?” she demanded impatiently. “It best be important for you to have dragged me out here at this time of night.”
The informant lit a cigarette. “The body of a young man was taken to the whores at the Pioneer Hotel some years back—Patrick Higgins his name was. They tried to patch him up, but he was too badly wounded. Seems you were the last person to see him alive, Mrs. Munroy.”
“Are you implying I had something to do with this man’s death?” Elizabeth asked.
The young man nodded. “That I am. Why else would you be so eager to send all us street rats out to find what information we can about the Higgins family?”
Elizabeth smiled coyly. “Now, now,” she tried to coerce him. “Surely we can come to some arrangement?”
The informant smiled coldly. “I want more money or I’ll tell the police what I just told you. Might also happen to let slip you’ve been paying me to spy on the new owner of the Higgins estate so you can get your hands on it.”
“You think you can blackmail me?” Elizabeth asked as she walked toward the informant, her steps measured carefully, trying not to draw attention to the knife she was reaching for in her belt. “You really think some little rodent like you can intimidate me?”
“Money!” the young man demanded, his tone harsh. “Or I go to the police!”
Without any warning, Elizabeth threw the dagger straight into the man’s throat. Going to collect her knife from the man’s now dead body, Elizabeth wiped it clean on his shirt.
Chapter 16
Waking the following morning in a bed at the Pioneer Hotel, Devon quickly reached for his clothes. Never had he spent the night in a brothel, nor had he intended to last night. But the woman he’d been with was so soft, so welcoming…
Running his hands along his face, trying to wake himself up, he wondered if everything that had happened last night was reality or just another of his haunting dreams. Moving his arms to pull his shirt around him, Devon felt a slight stinging in his chest. Looking down, he noticed several bite marks on his chest. Unconsciously, he rubbed at them, remembering again the passion this woman had shown him last night, the rapture she had released on him again and again. And her name...Lotte.
Was this some kind of cruel trick? Was it not bad enough that the woman he’d spent the night with could have been the twin of his dead lover, did she have to share the same name as well?
Confused by the events of the previous night, Devon quickly finished dressing and made his way downstairs. Reaching the bottom of the steps, he walked out the front to sort payment out with Patrick, but the bartender was busy with what seemed to be several tearful and frantic working girls.
“Is everything all right?” Devon asked when Patrick walked over to him.
Patrick shook his head. “It’s one of the girls. Her brother was found dead this morning in the scrub area near the waterhole. He had a knife wound in his throat.”
Devon shook his head in dismay. “Terrible business. I’ll just pay for my room then let you go about helping those poor girls.”
“Pay?” Patrick asked, obviously confused. “But you don’t owe anything, Devon.”
“But I must owe something for the room and the woman?” Devon asked. “Your working girls do not come free of charge.”
Patrick smiled. “She didn’t want your money last night, Devon. All she wanted was you.”
Devon didn’t try to hide his confusion. “But—”
“The crates of alcohol you asked for are waiting for you in your carriage.” Patrick turned away from him then, needing to return to his distraught working girls.
“Patrick, wait,” Devon called after him. “The woman last night, the redhead I spent the night with, what was her name?”
Patrick stopped, turning slowly to face him. “Lotte,” Patrick answered him. “The woman’s name is Lotte.”
Before Devon could question him any more, Patrick left him and returned to the company of the distraught girls.
Leaving the hotel and hopping into his carriage, Devon called to his driver to take the long way back to his estate.
“Past the waterhole, sir?” the driver asked.
“Yes,” Devon replied. “Past the waterhole.”
Listening to the carriage wheels turn on the rough dirt road, Devon’s thoughts again turned to last night and the woman he had spent it with. The redness of her hair, the softness of her curves, the crystal blueness of her eyes… Shaking his head, Devon called himself a fool. Lotte Higgins was dead, killed by his own hand.
Whoever this woman was who was claiming to go by the name of Lotte, whatever her name, she wasn’t the woman from his past.
Remembering all he had done with this woman last night at the hotel, guilt began to fill Devon. He’d lain with no other woman since the very first time he had met Lotte Higgins at the waterhole nearly four years back. He never wanted to be with any other woman. When she had died in his arms that night, Devon swore he would never again allow himself to enjoy the passions of a woman. Last night he had broken this promise.
Looking out the carriage window, Devon looked at the blueness of the waterhole, memories coming back to him of the woman he had met there, of the woman he had made love to. Tears filled his eyes as he remembered all he once had, and hoped to have, and finally lost.
“Come back to me, Lotte,” Devon muttered to himself as they drove past the waterhole. Guilt stabbing his heart, he let his eyes drift shut. “Please come back to me.”
“The estate is just ahead, sir,” the driver called out.
Looking out the window, Devon gazed upon his family’s estate house. His father had bought it shortly after moving to Brandon, when Devon was still only a child. He remembered being in awe of it and its strong stone structure. It was a match for nearly any other estate house in the district. Devon loved growing up in this house with its large property. He could never have imagined being anywhere else. Now though, now he wanted to be anywhere but here.
Waiting until the driver pulled his carriage to a complete stop, Devon stepped out—right into the path of the many fleeing servants. Reaching out, he grabbed one of them by the arm.
“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Tell me what happened!”
Just then, Devon heard the loud, sharp voice of his wife screaming at the servants, calling them every unmentionable name, usually unheard of from a lady of her position.
“We can’t stay here, sir!” the servant begged.
“But where will you go?” Devon asked, trying to persuade the man to stay. “There is a murderer out there.”
The servant pulled away from his grip. “I would rather face a murderer than stay in service to your wife, Mr. Munroy.” With that, the obviously distraught man turned and fled with the others.
Devon followed his wife’s screeching to the source of the commotion, determined to find out what was happening.
Opening the door to his wife’s room, Devon quickly ducked, narrowly being missed by the vase his wife had aimed straight for his head. Hearing tearful screams, he looked over to see his wife’s tearful handmaiden cowering under the dressing table. Carefully, he made his way over to the distraught young girl and helped her up, escorting her safely out of t
he room. Closing the door, he walked toward his wife, catching the next vase she threw at his head.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Elizabeth?” he asked, placing the still intact vase a safe distance away.
Feeling the stinging pain of his wife’s hand connecting sharply with his cheek, Devon rubbed it.
“The girl is a child!” he roared at her. “Surely her crime was not so bad you had to nearly frighten her to death!”
“Must you persist on sending your whores to work for me, Devon?” Elizabeth said. “They know nothing about the life of a society woman.”
Devon raised his brow. “Then I see you and your handmaiden have something in common.”
Elizabeth went to slap him again, but was stopped by his strong hand on her wrist.
“You had best explain to me exactly why you have my house in an uproar, Elizabeth,” Devon demanded. “Now!”
Pulling free from his hold, Elizabeth walked over to the window. “Have you seen the front of our house, Devon?”
Walking over to the tray of alcohol on the sideboard, Devon poured himself a drink. “No, but—”
“But nothing!” Elizabeth cut him off. “The Lord and Lady Harold are coming to take tea this afternoon and Andrew Hult, that gardener you insisted must work here, has trimmed our hedges into birds. Everyone in polite society knows Lord Harold hates birds!”
Sipping his drink, Devon nodded, accepting what he was hearing as normality. “Even so, why did I walk in to find your young handmaiden in tears and cowering under a table? I’m certain it was not her who trimmed the hedges.”
Elizabeth waved her hand at her husband as if no longer interested in what he had to say. “The girl was a whore, Devon. I’m sure she was quite talented in your bed, but I assure you she knew nothing about how to attend to the needs of a lady.”
Devon eyed his wife curiously. “Did she try to dress you in blue instead of pink?” he asked.
