Sweet Torture

by Dayna Quince

  “I am not married, Devon.” She swallowed hard. She had so many things to tell him, and yet suddenly, her mouth felt as if it were filled with cotton. “After that night, my mother called off his suit. She supports my desire to be with you now. That’s why we are here.”

  He stared hard at her, one cynical eyebrow slowly raised and doubt filled her. She closed her eyes against it and licked her dry lips. She felt like a dried up leaf, brittle and scuffed from life.

  “These are the things you wish to mend? You said you didn’t want me, that I was not good enough to marry. When did you change your mind? When did the puritanical ice queen of London thaw out her heart and decide that love was good enough?” he asked angrily as he backed away from her and retreated into the shadows.

  “The moment you left my room.”

  “You mean the moment our affair became public knowledge,” he sneered. “That’s precisely why you are here with your mother, isn’t it? Now that the great Lady Lydia has been ousted as a doxy, things must be mended.”

  “That’s not it at all.” Lydia quivered. He was nothing but a darker shadow in the darkness, pacing back and forth beside the bed.

  “The hell it is. That’s why my parents are also here. A united front to see me legshackled to the woman I ruined. It’s positively diabolical the length one’s family will go to preserve their own good name. Do you think me such a fool? To blindly fall on my knees before you and beg you to marry me again? Think again.”

  “I love you, Devon. That is the one and only reason I am here. I know you hate me, and I deserve it, but you said you loved me. I take that to mean if I fall to my knees and beg it of you, you will be with me again.” She wanted to go to him, to put her arms around him, but his malice radiated from him in waves, holding her immobilized.

  “Get out, Lydia. Leave this place, and let me suffer in peace.”

  Her heart contracted painfully. She had known he would not accept her easily but to be so maliciously rejected stabbed at her confidence. She clasped her shaking hands together before her and took a deep shaky breath.

  “No, Devon. I already gave up on us once. I will not ever do it again. I will love you until I take my last breath, even though you may hate me now. I will prove it to you.”

  His shadow moved to the bed and sat, his head bowed. “Get out.”

  Lydia moved on wobbly knees, found the door, and left without another word. She had said all she needed to say, for the moment. Tomorrow, the real battle would begin. She returned to her room and climbed into bed. Her biggest obstacle, besides Devon himself, would be Olivia, who was guarding him like a ferocious mother tiger. But if she was to prove how much he meant to her, that would mean spending her time with him and caring for him. That would be difficult to do if Olivia barred her from his room.

  She was exhausted. Her energy flagging greatly, she nestled her head into the pillows and closed her eyes. Tomorrow would be the first day of winning his heart back by whatever means necessary.

  She would have to prove that she was here only out of love. It was true her reputation was in tatters, but it was strange that the occurrence of something she had feared for so long had passed without so much of a flicker of pain to her.

  She cared for nothing but Devon now, for healing the rift between them and beginning again. She no longer cared about the thoughts of others or the social whirl. She had more important things in her life that were worth far more.

  She suspected her mother had a lot to do with diminishing the effects of the scandal on her. They had left for the country that day, retired to their small cottage surrounded by farm fields and meadows, until Lydia was able to open her eyes without crying. Their only communication with the outside world had been with Devon’s mother.

  How quickly one’s priorities could change. How fickle her previous self now seemed. She would do anything to take it all back, to slap the girl she had once been, and tell her that none of it was worth it—the reputation, the balls, the delicate social standing. She had given up on love for such petty things. Now she was paying for it. But in truth, she was blessed. Her eyes were opened, and she was given the gift of a second chance.

  Chapter 16

  Lydia awoke and dressed with a renewed sense of purpose. Carefully pinning her hair in a sedate knot, she arrived in the breakfast parlor to the surprise of her mother and the tentative smiles of the other residents. The men returned to their papers, Lady Lesley and Olivia resumed a conversation about draperies for the master suite, and her mother watched her with kind warmth.

  Lydia proceeded to the sideboard, where she began to gluttonously fill a plate with eggs, kippers, ham, toast, and bacon. Breakfast had become her favorite meal of late, and she relished every savory bite, washing it down with a steaming hot cup of tea. Her mother watched her favorably and always remarked on the health benefits of such a hearty appetite.

  Lydia sheepishly slowed her pace as she became aware of Lady Lesley’s and Olivia’s curious stares. Lady Lesley smiled knowingly. Olivia raised a puzzled brow before turning back to her own breakfast.

  Lydia concentrated on her own plate and thought about how to bring Olivia to her side. Never before had they been in opposition to each other. Olivia had always been there for her, been her ally and staunch supporter even when Lydia herself was getting in her own way. Olivia was as honest as they come, as she always wore her heart on her sleeve and was never afraid to speak her mind or do what she thought was best. Now, that included keeping her brother from the woman who drove him away.

  Lydia had queried the young girl assigned to assist her this morning and was told that Olivia took it upon herself to tend to the majority of Devon’s needs. His valet had arrived yesterday as well, but it was Olivia who brought him his meals, checking on him frequently throughout the day. Lydia wanted that role. The more time she spent with him, the more she could convince him of her love. It was not about marriage and reputation, which is exactly what he thought now. It was about earning his forgiveness, proving to him that she regrets every second that they have spent apart, and that she will do anything to guarantee they would have a future. Her only obstacle, besides Devon himself, was Olivia.

  The gentlemen stood and excused themselves from the ladies. Lady Lesley and her mother were discussing a trip to the village, and when Lydia turned to Olivia, she caught her gaze darting away.

  “Perhaps you and I could take a turn in the garden?” Lydia asked. “I would love to tour your new home with you.”

  She could read Olivia’s hesitancy on her face. She had hoped their tender feelings of friendship had not withered in such a short time.

  “I suppose I can ignore the beast for a while longer,” Olivia murmured. They both stood and exited toward the French doors.

  “Your pelisse, Lydia, you mustn’t catch a chill,” Lady Covington called after them.

  Lydia waved her off and stepped out into the early morning sun. Olivia was ahead of her, and she directed them to a winding path through raised beds, leading toward the back of the formal gardens.

  “If you’re up to it, there is a brilliant walk to the east that leads to a view of the ocean.”

  “What do you mean, if I am up to it?” Lydia said in puzzlement.

  “You’ve never been very fond of nature. Remember those amorous birds?”

  Lydia smiled. “Who’s to say birds are not capable of being discreet? They were obviously exhibitionists of the worst sort.”

  Olivia laughed, and Lydia’s spirits rose considerably. Perhaps it would not be difficult to rekindle their friendship.

  “You’ve changed,” Olivia said quietly.

  Ah, and there it was, the conversation she had been hoping for and dreading at the same time. “As have you Mrs. Darling.”

  “Yes,” Olivia smiled warmly.

  “You have exactly what you wanted. I’m happy for you, Olivia, and vastly curious about how you came to be married to your heart’s desire.”

  “It was not without some
difficulties, I assure you, but I could not be happier. Well, maybe I could if Devon were happy too. Then my happiness would be complete.”

  Lydia turned the words over in her mind and thought about what to say next. They were rounding a large shrub, and they would soon be out of sight of the house. Should she tread carefully or jump in with both feet?

  “Olivia…” She hesitated.

  Olivia stopped and turned to face her. “What is it you wish to ask me, Lydia?”

  “I want to be the one who cares for Devon. I have a lot to make up for, and I cannot do that if I am not able to see him.”

  “Maybe he doesn’t wish to see you.”

  “That is probably true, but I believe in time, he will forgive me if I can only show him how much I love him.”

  Olivia looked away, her brow furrowed in distress. “There are a lot of questions to be answered, Lydia. I just don’t know… What happened with Lord Caverly?”

  “Nothing. Devon was seen leaving my house in the middle of the night, and from that point on, we eschewed all society. I believe my mother severed all notions of the courtship in a note to him that morning before we left for the cottage.”

  “You lost your reputation?” she asked with sympathy.

  “I don’t give a fig about my reputation,” Lydia said fiercely. “I made a terrible mistake the moment I let Devon walk out that door, and I know it. I lost my heart, ripped it from my own body.”

  In her mind, Lydia remembered that night, the moment she had given up on true love. Her whole being had screamed in defiance, but she remained as she was on the bed, torn from him by her own hands. The mere memory was enough to undo her.

  “What do you intend to do?” Olivia asked warily.

  “Win him back. I know it is an uphill battle, but I do not intend to lose. I will need your help, Olivia. You must believe that I am only here for Devon’s happiness. I believe I am an integral part of that happiness, and he is a vital part of mine. I will spend the rest of my life erasing every moment of pain I have caused him. I need your help, Livie,” Lydia begged.

  Olivia turned away from her and hastily wiped away a tear. She began to climb the path, and Lydia followed her silently. They did not speak one word until they crested the top of the hill, and the crisp ocean breeze buffeted them in its jubilant stream. Together they looked out toward the water. A small swath of beach could be seen, and a lone fisherman in a dingy bounced in the surf.

  “Devon has been through so much. I’ve never seen him like this,” Olivia confessed.

  Lydia turned to look at her, but Olivia had her gaze focused on the water.

  “Will you help me?”

  “You have to understand what he went through, Lydia—the opium, the self-hatred. He is quite content to be a miserable, insufferable arse for the rest of his life all because of you.” Olivia finally turned to her. “He doesn’t want you, he doesn’t want me, he doesn’t want anyone. He doesn’t want to be happy, Lydia.”

  “I love him, you love him, and he is surrounded by people who love him. We cannot let him remain this way.”

  “You are the one who hurt him!” Olivia accused.

  “All the more reason why it should be me who heals him, and we can heal each other.”

  “I want my brother back, my parents… They want their son back. Promise me Lydia, promise me you won’t ever hurt him again.” Tears now streamed down Olivia’s cheeks.

  “I promise,” Lydia vowed. “But I will need your help.”

  A small smile cracked Olivia’s lips as she wiped away tears with her sleeve. “Finally someone asks for my help.”

  The girls returned to the house, arms linked, and smiling as they used to. Lady Lesley and Lady Covington smiled warmly at the sight as they passed through the parlor.

  “That’s a good start,” remarked Lady Lesley.

  “Yes, indeed. Lydia has been forlorn without Olivia’s friendship. Their personalities complement each other, I dare say. How is Devon, might I ask?”

  “He is a far cry from his old self. These past few months have certainly left their mark, and I’m afraid they will not fade with time but remain quite permanent. All we can do is hope for the best.”

  “Lydia has proven quite resilient these past few months. I pray she will succeed, and they can mend the rift between them,” Lady Covington said.

  “I will say, I was surprised when you wrote to me about the situation. I myself had no idea they had forged such a connection. I had begun to hear rumors and then poof—he disappeared. Add in Olivia’s exploits, and I feel as though I’ve lost all control of my children. “

  Lady Covington nodded. “I know the feeling. Where have the gentlemen taken themselves off to this morning?”

  “To inspect a fence or some such. Mr. Darling is a fine young man from a fine family. A true friend to Devon. I couldn’t have asked for a better husband for Olivia.”

  “I must confess…” Lady Covington took her hand. “Not long ago, I thought Devon was cut from the same cloth as my errant husband, but ’tis not so. Beyond Devon and Lydia, only I know the heartache of that night. Devon is a much better man than my husband ever was. He cares a great deal for my Lydia, more so than a mother can even hope for in a marriage. I feel such guilt. Had I not filled her with such thoughts against marrying a handsome young man, she and Devon would have been a true love match. They would have married with all the pomp and fuss we would have insisted upon, and I feel as though it is my fault he has come to such an end.”

  Ann reached over and took Lady Covington’s hand. “We cannot see the future nor control the actions of others. Do not bear that burden. Devon is his own man and his actions are his own. All we can do for our children is give them love and support.”

  “Oh, how I wish otherwise.” Lady Covington sighed heavily.

  “As do I.”

  Chapter 17

  Devon dismissed his valet after a bath and shave. He grudgingly admitted to himself that he missed having a clean smooth jaw. He did like sporting longer hair, much to his valet’s chagrin; it was almost long enough to tie back but not quite. He felt better overall, although Olivia had yet to bring his bloody breakfast. Was she trying to starve him? Given his attitude of late, he probably deserved it. He sat in the chair beside the fireplace and melted into the back. His energy was still flagging, but it was getting better. The bath alone had fatigued him. There was a knock on his door.

  “It’s about bloody time,” he muttered as the door opened, and a female pushed through with her back while balancing a tray with his breakfast. No Olivia?

  He turned his back to the woman as she entered and directed her to put the tray on the small table by his chair. He heard the clatter of the tray being set down but not the sound of her leaving. “You may go, I can feed myself, thank you,” he snapped.

  Still no sound. He spun around in agitation, prepared to bite the maid’s head off, and froze. It was Lydia, hair pulled back, apron over a simple white day dress, and looking lovelier than the day was long.

  “What are you doing here,” he growled, “and for god’s sake, why are you wearing an apron?”

  “I was warned you can be rather unruly, so I came prepared.” She raised a challenging brow.

  Devon narrowed his eyes as he stepped closer to her and was rewarded with her sharp intake of breath. He looked down and inspected the food. “No bacon?”

  “It was all gone. I could have the cook make more?” She smiled sweetly.

  “I’ll survive.” He stalked around her and sat in his chair, pulling the tray onto his lap.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  Devon looked at her hotly and just stared. A vibrant pink blush infused her cheeks, and she looked away. She began to fuss with the bed hangings and studiously avoided meeting his gaze. He watched her carefully as he ate and drank in the sight of her. It was bittersweet. His eyes feasted on the reality of what his mind had longed to recreate in his dreams. She was here and he was afraid
to know why. Was it to save her reputation? He was even more afraid that if that were true, he would eventually give in, but not before dishing out his own brand of torture.

  “You’re wasting your time, Lydia. Whatever it is you seek to get from me, I will not give.”

  Her hands froze in the process of tying back a panel of drape. “All I want is time, Devon. Perhaps you will find it in yourself to forgive me?”

  Devon snorted. “I don’t believe I am the forgiving sort.”

  “You won’t know unless you try.”

  “You may as well save us from the frustration and just leave, Lydia.” He speared some eggs viciously.

  “No. Be as nasty as you want, but I told you I am not giving up,” she said vehemently. “I’m to be the one seeing to your needs. You can make this difficult or you can make this easy, but either way, I am here to prove that I love you and that you still love me.”

  “Do not speak of love to me when not long ago you cared so little for it."

  “And I freely admit I was wrong. I was extremely wrong.” She walked over to his chair and stepped before him. “Can you not believe me?”

  He refused to look up. He didn’t want to be swayed by her limpid blue eyes. “I apologize if I haven’t been clear, Lydia,” he said sardonically. “I don’t want to believe you.”

  “Why?”

  “Just leave.”

  “But Devon—”

  “Get out!”

  She backed away from him. “I’m sorry," she said quietly. “I’m sorry for everything.”

  Devon scowled at his half-eaten breakfast. His hunger evaporated, and it was replaced by the anger and turmoil that had been his constant companions for weeks now. And sneaking itself in like a knife between the ribs was a slice of guilt. He didn’t want to shout at her; he thought he no longer had the desire to hurt her like she hurt him, and yet angry words erupted unbidden. He pushed the tray onto the side table and stood. He walked to the windows and stared out over the grounds. He was agitated now, the muscles in his back tensed and bunched under his skin, and his neck felt hot. She was still there; he could feel her presence like a warm breath on the nape of his neck.