Deverell's Obsession: A Risqué Regency Romance

by Sahara Kelly

  Her body tingled at his words, her mind filling with erotic images of Dev, wet, in her bath.

  She drew a shaky breath. This man…he never ceased to amaze her. She doubted he ever would.

  She did take her time with her clothing. Her maid was puzzled, but when she explained her exhaustion, Jenny’s face relaxed. “You just rest then, Miss Léonie. Your bath’s ready when you are.”

  “Thank you.” Léonie smiled.

  She smiled even more when there was a soft tap on her door after the girl had left.

  She let him in quickly, closing them in to their own private world. And turning the key in the lock.

  “Ready to get wet?” He grinned at her.

  “Already am.” She grinned back.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Dev had rushed through his own bath, slipping into a robe and tiptoeing down his own hallway for an illicit rendezvous with his future wife.

  They both knew that sleeping together before their marriage would be problematic—servants knew most everything.

  But brief stolen moments like this would tide them over.

  He had her clothes off her in seconds, and she was in the warm water seconds after that.

  He slipped in behind her and parted his legs, allowing her to scoot back against his body. From his vantage point he could play with all the delightful parts of her under the guise of bathing the dust of their journey away from her skin.

  “Mmmm.” She leaned back and settled herself between his thighs. “This is luxury indeed.”

  “Isn’t it, though?” He found a cloth and soap and proceeded to work up a fragrant lather. Which he then applied with great dedication to her body.

  Her shoulders were thoroughly scrubbed, and then he let his hands spread the foam downward, finding her breasts and paying equally close attention to their welfare.

  “Dev,” she breathed, her heart thudding beneath his hand as he tweaked the rosy nipples. “You excite me beyond all reason.”

  “Good.” He focused on his work. “That is my intention.”

  “Ohhh.”

  God he loved to hear her moan like that. He planned on spending the rest of his life getting that tiny sound from her throat as often as possible.

  His hands drifted further down beneath the bathwater, making her wriggle with desire.

  “You know, I can’t possibly do an adequate job with you half underwater. Even boats go into dry dock for a thorough cleaning.”

  “Hmm.” She responded to the laughter in his voice.” What do you suggest, sir?”

  “I would like you to stand, then turn and face me, if you would.”

  “Why certainly.”

  With no hesitation at all, the calm and collected Miss Léonie Girard rose from the bathtub and turned to face her fiancé. Who winced as he lifted himself onto his knees.

  “I am where I want to be, but I’m damned uncomfortable,” he said to her pussy. “I think my knees are cracking.”

  “That will never do.” She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around herself, stepping out of the tub and rubbing herself halfway dry. “Here. Your turn.”

  He did the same, but instead of dropping the towel, he wrapped it around her and swept her off her feet and onto the bed.

  “Ahhh. Much better.”

  He tore the towel away, spread her thighs and buried his face between them.

  Her muted cry of surprised delight was a pleasure, as was the taste of her, rich and spicy on his tongue.

  He drove her up and over the edge, relishing in her shudders of ecstasy and the pulsating spasms he could feel as she rode the wave of release.

  At last her thighs relaxed and fell loosely to either side of him and he rested his head on her soft belly.

  She gave a chuckle, making him bounce and he sighed, moving away from her. “We must dress. Much as I’d like nothing better than to crawl under the covers with you and sleep until we wake, Bertie is waiting.”

  Léonie nodded. “I will. Just as soon as I think my legs capable of supporting me.”

  He grabbed his robe. “I must go back to my room. And with luck avoid the servants. Sometimes they seem to be crawling all over the damned house.”

  “That’s their job, love.” She had made it to the edge of the bed, but seemed disinclined to go further. “By the way. I loved what you did. I would like a turn myself soon.”

  He felt his lungs seize at her words, but managed a strangled assent. “Uh...I…well...”

  She looked smug. “I thought as much. Now go away, my dear. I’ll see you downstairs.”

  She’s going to be the death of me if she keeps this up.

  But he went.

  *~~*~~*

  It came as a bit of a surprise, a few days later, when two carriages pulled up keeping Baxter busy shepherding half a dozen soberly dressed gentlemen into Deverell House.

  They were assisting, and surrounding, Colonel Girard.

  “Papa.” Léonie ran downstairs with her hands outstretched. “I didn’t expect you to be up and about so soon. When did you arrive in London?”

  He kissed her cheek. “We left yesterday and arrived late. But I wanted to see you and keep my promise.”

  He glanced up to where Dev was watching over the bannister, and gave him a salute. “Good morning, Dev.”

  Dev saluted back and hurried down the stairs, holding out his hand to the older man. “Good to see you, sir. But come and sit down. I don’t care how sturdy that cane is, you still need to rest.”

  Girard demurred, but Dev noted that he did indeed allow himself to be seated in a wide wing chair. His attendants settled him and then, on his orders, took themselves off to find a cup of tea with Cook.

  Dev had a feeling that they were more of a guard than a group of assistants, but said nothing, trusting Baxter to make sure they had everything they needed.

  Then he went back into the salon and closed the door behind him. Only to have it open on an irate Aunt Bertie. “Damn it, Dev. Were you going to leave me out of this?”

  Dev opened his mouth to reply, but the Colonel was before him.

  “Dear Lady Bertrande. As beautiful as I’ve been told. Forgive me for not rising and thanking you for your patience. Early morning guests are the very devil, are they not?” He twinkled at her.

  Dev, who had read that expression somewhere, was fascinated to see it in action. The man was very good indeed. That was a definite twinkle.

  He glanced at Léonie to see her watching her father, and smiling. This was the man who had charmed and spied his way through the Congress of Vienna.

  No wonder he was such a success.

  “I took the liberty of arriving at such an early hour because I wanted to keep my promise and tell you all.”

  “Should I leave?” Aunt Bertrande hesitated by her chair. “If this is a matter of Government or diplomatic secrets…”

  “No, no, lovely lady. Not at all.” Girard waved her to a chair. “Do not desert us. You would leave us disconsolate.”

  Even Bertie lifted an eyebrow at that one. But she sat and arranged her gown. Green, this morning, Dev noted. She looked like a poppy with her red hair. But it suited her.

  They disposed themselves around the Colonel, with Léonie sitting closest, and a small table in front of him. He nodded. “This is perfect. Because I present to you the heart of the business.”

  He removed the box from inside his coat. “I shall be glad to see the back of this.”

  “Oh my.” Aunt Bertie leaned forward. “They told me, but it’s hard to believe there are three of them.”

  “Isn’t it?” Léonie reached out her hand and touched the inlaid wood with her fingertip.

  “They all open the same way,” said the Colonel. “Since that’s what everyone is wondering.”

  “Not a hard thing to guess,” chuckled Dev. “You’ll need my ring?”

  Girard nodded. “Yes, if you please.”

  Dev slid it from his finger, missing it as soon as it was gone. Strange how co
mfortable he had become, wearing a token of his love for Léonie on a permanent basis.

  The Colonel reached into a waistcoat pocket and produced a small tool, which, when rotated, presented a thin blade, not unlike the one Dev had used on the first ring.

  And, as before, the stone dropped free, showing a tiny notched piece within.

  Girard had clearly done this many times. His movements were unhesitating and confident and he had the box open in a trice.

  The room was silent as he lifted the lid and withdrew—not the piece of paper Dev had expected—but something wrapped in white fabric. Perhaps silk, but Dev didn’t know. There was a sheen to it that he didn’t recognize.

  Moving with care, the older man placed it on the table in front of him and delicately folded back the fabric to reveal…

  The biggest emerald Dev had ever seen.

  “Oh my God,” breathed Léonie. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it,” answered her father.

  “I thought you said the directions to its whereabouts were in the box. You let us think it was somewhere overseas.” Dev shot a quick look at the Colonel.

  “I did. Forgive me for the lie. But this is beyond price. I couldn’t take the chance of anyone knowing it was here, in England.”

  Aunt Bertie just stared at it. “It’s almost unreal. I love jewels, but this…I don’t know. There’s something about it. The way it catches the light.”

  “You are most observant, dear lady. This is not a pure emerald, such as would grace your lovely neck. Nobody is even sure it is an emerald, since on close examination you will see a variety of inclusions that make it appear to be more opalescent, more like a black opal, than an emerald.”

  “It’s old, isn’t it?” Léonie stared at the gem.

  “Very old, my dear. It must have been old when used in the scepter of a long forgotten Egyptian king.”

  “Why is it so valuable then?” Dev looked at Girard. “What is it that makes people ready to kill for it? If it’s not pure, then that size…well, I haven’t seen any that big, but I daresay the Russian court has bigger and better ones…”

  “They do.” Léonie nodded. “As do the Indians, who have incredible emerald jewelry, and most royal families feature at least one set of emeralds, either as a parure or in a coronet.”

  “So what’s all the fuss about?” Bertie got straight to the point.

  “The fuss, as you call it, is this.”

  The Colonel picked up the jewel and held it between his thumb and forefinger. Then he turned and looked around, toward the window, and the sunlight streaming through it.

  “A hand, my dear.” He held out his arm to Léonie who helped him stand. “If I have this right…” He raised the gem and put it in the way of an incoming beam of sunshine.

  Everyone gasped as the entire room turned a brilliant blinding green.

  “I…oh my goodness.” Bertie slumped back in her chair, eyes wide.

  “That is magical, Papa.” Léonie’s eyes were wide as well, taking it all in as she turned in place, looking from the ceiling to the floor to Dev.

  He just shook his head. “Well that is a marvel, as you say, Colonel. But an unusual refractive feature…does that really warrant greed and murder?”

  The Colonel returned the gem to the table and the room to its normal colors. “That is an excellent point, Dev.” He sat back down with a sigh of relief.

  “However, I ask you to put yourself in a land where there are no sophisticated museums or collections of gems. Where there are few books and even fewer schools.” He spoke quietly. “For example, when Napoleon arrived in Egypt, many hailed him as some kind of god because of his clothes and his weaponry. Which I’m sure he enjoyed enormously.”

  “Hmm.” Dev couldn’t argue with the man’s assessment.

  “So this new god could easily arrange to appear in a town’s market place and fill it with such light. I will mention that outside, in direct sun, the effect is far-reaching and even more striking.”

  Dev was beginning to understand. “So wielding a stone like this in front of a native crowd…”

  “Could be the beginning of one of the largest armies seen in centuries.” The Colonel’s face grew stern. “Fanaticism is one of the worst, and most effective, forms of recruitment. Can you imagine what would have happened if Napoleon, for example, had had the opportunity to use this in such a way? The mind trembles.”

  “Why didn’t he?” Léonie looked at her father.

  “I cannot say. I really have no idea. Perhaps he was unaware of the full force of what this can do. Or perhaps, in his arrogance, he believed his French army would be sufficient for his needs. All I can say with confidence is that I’m very glad he never explored the power of this stone.”

  “Amen to that,” added Dev. “There would have been a massacre of biblical proportions if the Emperor had traveled back to France across North Africa, collecting tribes, and adding to his forces everywhere he passed.”

  “Exactly.” Girard nodded. “So you see why several governments were anxious to secure this gem, and make sure it landed somewhere it could do little or no harm.”

  “And where will that be? Can you tell us?” asked Bertie.

  “The British Museum, my Lady. Among its fellow Egyptian antiquities. It will be added simply as a recent discovery from an ongoing excavation. No fuss, nothing to draw attention to itself. And there, we hope, it will remain for many years hence.”

  “An excellent home for it, indeed,” Bertie approved.

  “So when I arrived in London…”

  “Yes, Léonie. I believe that was the Montgomerys’ doing. Perhaps they thought you had some idea of where the gem was. Or maybe their sources had begun to talk about the box. When you proved to have nothing…” Her father’s voice hardened into ice. “They thought to dispose of you.”

  Dev’s skin chilled. “Taking care of a possible witness to their identities?”

  “Exactly.” The Colonel’s face was blank. “Although the fact you survived gave the woman another option on the shore at Yarmouth. They paid the price for their brutality. With Montgomery dead and his wife in custody…”

  “What will happen to her, Papa?”

  “Once her injuries heal—good shot, daughter, by the way—she will be brought to London to answer for her crimes. But it will be done quietly, as such things are.” He looked around. “I am trusting all of you with these details. Even down to the powers of that jewel. None of this is known beyond the innermost circles of our government, so I pray it stays that way.”

  “Goodness.” Bertie fanned herself with her hand. “To think that we’re privy to some important secrets.” Her lips curved into a naughty grin. “I shall keep them tucked away in my mind, along with all the others I’ve accumulated over the years.”

  Dev rolled his eyes. “A conversation for another time, Aunt.” He turned to Girard. “Sir, the Elwyn connection puzzles me…”

  “Ah yes, poor Aubrey.” He looked crestfallen. “A good man. I met him many years ago before he assumed the title. You might remember him, Léonie. He was a tutor back then. Brilliant mind. We fell into conversation and found mutual areas of interest. It became a most pleasurable friendship.”

  “And you connected again over the years? After he became Lord Elwyn?”

  “Yes we did.” Girard nodded. “Several times I had occasion to be in England and I looked him up. He was trustworthy, a proven friend, and far enough away from anything in the way of political turmoil that I felt him an excellent repository for the first box.”

  Silence fell for a few minutes as everyone contemplated the terrible result.

  “I have to believe it was the Montgomerys again. I know Lady Montgomery was indeed with the Auvergnes for some years, just as she told you, Léonie. And years of making contacts all over Europe…you know how the smallest bits of information can become important.”

  “I do, Papa. You think she heard about your friendship with Lord Elwyn?”


  “She must have. Probably not of much interest at the time, but I’ll wager that both the Montgomerys were intelligent, and unscrupulous. There are many such people still on the continent, looking to profit from the business of secrets, of which there are still many to be learned. One tiny bit of information and these two were off and running. Straight to Elwyn, poor man. I shall always regret that I was responsible for those deaths.”

  “You weren’t.” Dev spoke firmly. “It was the people who killed them that were responsible. You’re well aware of that, sir. It’s a horrid tragedy, but there is no fault on your part. His death led to discovery of the first box and put us all on the path to where we are now.”

  “That is true, lad. But I will still bear his loss as a shadow. I cannot help it.”

  Léonie reached out and put her hand on his, a gesture of comfort. “Did you know about the Elwyn-Deverell connection, Papa?”

  “No, I didn’t. So how that paper and the ring got sewn into your jacket…well that is completely beyond me.”

  “It must have been on the boat coming from France.” She frowned. “I still cannot remember the crossing at all. No flashes of memory or anything.”

  “Perhaps it was the hand of Fate, dear.” Bertie tapped a finger on her lips. “We cannot know who masterminds the little twists and turns that change lives. I’d like to think there was a good angel on your boat who decided to protect you.”

  “That’s a nice idea, Aunt Bertie. Until I recall anything else, I believe I will hold that one close.” Léonie sighed. “I’d still like that missing bit of my memory back though.”

  “You know,” Dev blinked. “Speaking of small pieces of information, weren’t we told that Elwyn’s housekeeper had recently returned from a trip? What if she were on Léonie’s boat and sensed something? She’d certainly know how to sew a ring and a note into a collar. Working for the Elwyns, she would know of their connection to us Deverells, I suppose. Or perhaps Lord Elwyn gave them to her when she traveled, just in case she found herself in difficulties?”

  “It’s one enormous coincidence, but not impossible,” allowed Girard. “But we cannot know for sure, and probably never will.”