“Perhaps, but I’ve never been a man to do something just because it was easier.”
“No, I suppose not,” she said, sounding utterly defeated. She searched his face, then sighed. “You’re a man who does what’s right.”
Cole stared at her, stunned by the reluctant—and entirely undeserved—compliment. If that were true, he thought in disgust, he would have listened to her days ago, rather than let himself be blinded by his thirst for revenge. If he were so damned honorable, he wouldn’t be thinking right now about how much he’d like to take her into his arms and make love to her. How much he wanted to slowly undress her, lay her down in the soft grass, and spend the rest of the day getting to know every inch of her beautiful little body.
“Start at the beginning,” he said. “How did you go from living at the children’s asylum to becoming involved with a man like Jonas Sharpe?”
Her eyes widened. “I told you about the asylum?”
“With a little coaxing from a bottle of brandy.”
“What else did I say?”
Cole shrugged. “Not much. You told me that you have a brother named Billy. And that Uncle Monty isn’t really your uncle.”
Devon stared out over the pond as though lost in thought. “It’s not a very interesting story,” she warned.
“I’d like to hear it anyway.”
She nodded. Slowly, as if resigning herself for the worst, she began, “When I was fifteen and Billy was nine, we ran away from the asylum. At first, everything was fine. It was springtime and the days and nights were warm, and we didn’t need much to get by. We were actually happier than we’d ever been at the asylum.”
“How did you live?”
“Oh, there are ways,” she answered with a light shrug. “We assisted peddlers in the marketplace, and collected rags and bones to sell to the junkmen.”
Cole considered her bleak existence, amazed that out of that had emerged the strong, passionate woman that Devon Blake had become. “What happened?”
“Winter came.”
“Where did you live then?”
She gave a vague shrug. “Nowhere and everywhere. I should have taken Billy back to Mrs. Honeychurch’s, but I was too proud. And I didn’t want Billy to be there. It wasn’t a very…” she hesitated, as though searching for the right word. “It wasn’t a very nice place to be,” she concluded, in what Cole imagined was a profound understatement.
Devon shook her head. “That was a mistake. Billy was so young, and he wasn’t strong like I was. I thought I was smart enough to figure something out, to earn enough money to build a better life for both of us. But the days grew short, and there wasn’t much time to work. After a while, I quit trying. I spent my time stealing food, blankets, wood for our fire. I did whatever I had to do to get by.”
Devon glanced up at him, as though expecting to see cold disdain or silent condemnation. When she found neither, she shrugged and continued talking. She seemed strangely remote, as though she’d learned long ago to detach herself from the memories. “But in the end, Billy caught a fever, and he never got better. After he died, I couldn’t think of what to do. You see, for so long, if I got up on a bitterly cold morning, it was for Billy. If I went out to find, steal, or beg for food, it was for Billy. Finding a warm place to sleep at night was for Billy. When he died, none of it seemed to matter anymore. It didn’t matter whether I got up, or whether I ate, or anything that happened to me. I remember just wandering the streets: as people rushed by, hurrying to get out of the cold, like they couldn’t even see me, like I didn’t exist. That was the worst part, feeling so alone. Then one day I came to a river, its banks covered with ice and snow. I thought about just walking into it and letting it sweep me away, how cool and inviting it looked…”
Horror shot through Cole at the thought of Devon as a young girl staring into the icy banks of a river, contemplating ending her life.
“Then, the next thing I knew,” she continued, “a great bear of a man was there at my side. He began talking to me, very gently, about such silly things. What was my favorite flower? My favorite food? Did I know any songs? We stood there all afternoon, even after it began to snow, just talking. Like we had all the time in the world.” She paused and looked up at him, her eyes shining with a soft light that held him enthralled. “Do you believe in angels, Cole?”
Cole started, so wrapped up in her story that her question caught him completely off-guard. “I—well, I suppose I’ve never thought about it.”
“Hmmm.” She nodded pensively, as if pondering his reply. “This will sound silly to you, then, but when I was a little girl, my mother used to tell me stories about guardian angels. How each of us has an angel that protects us and watches over us. And for a minute, I thought that this man was mine. A great big, roly-poly guardian angel. He appeared out of nowhere and somehow kept me from walking into that river, as if he knew what I was thinking and was sent to stop me, to tell me that even though I’d lost Billy, there were other things ahead for me, other reasons to go on. Somehow he convinced me that laughter and love still existed in the world and that one day I’d be lucky enough to find them again. Isn’t that exactly what an angel would do?”
It took Cole a minute to find his voice. “Yes,” he agreed hoarsely, suddenly aching to touch her, to pull her into his arms. “That’s exactly what an angel would do.”
Devon smiled, her face alight with a soft glow as she shook her head. “I’m afraid it was purely fanciful thinking on my part, however, for there’s absolutely nothing angelic about Uncle Monty.”
Once again, she’d managed to shock him to the soles of his boots. “Your guardian angel was Uncle Monty?”
She nodded. “He introduced himself, told me his name was Montgomery Persons, but that I could call him Uncle Monty. Then he asked me my name, and about the little boy he usually saw me with. When I told him that Billy had died, he just stared at me for the longest time, then he asked me if I wanted to come home with him. Just like that. I looked from him to the river, and suddenly the river didn’t look like such a wonderful place to be anymore. Suddenly it just looked cold and dark. So I let him take my hand and lead me home.”
A feeling of dread crept over Cole as a dark suspicion attached itself to his mind. He wondered if Monty was in fact a man with a predilection for preying on young girls. “What happened once you arrived there?” he asked carefully, but Devon’s next words put him at ease.
“He sent a maid to give me a hot bath, fed me the best meal I’d had in years, then showed me to a warm bed to sleep in. The same thing happened the day after that, and the day after that. He’d talk with me about a book I was reading, or whatever I’d done that day, but that was it. He never demanded anything, or made me feel in any way uncomfortable. I don’t think either of us expected it to last, but I suppose we enjoyed each other’s company, for we settled into a sort of routine without even thinking about it. After a couple of weeks, he showed me a few card tricks, and then a few other tricks, and the next thing I knew, he and I were in business.”
Cole let out his breath, feeling shaken, relieved, and a host of other emotions that rushed through him too quickly to even identify. Devon had been lucky. Damned lucky. He considered what could have happened to her, then quickly pushed the grim thought away. “I thought you said that wasn’t a very interesting story.”
“Well, perhaps interesting,” she acknowledged with a shrug, “but it’s certainly not flattering. At least not to me.”
Cole studied the petite beauty standing next to him, thinking of the way she’d stood up to him from the very beginning, refusing to allow herself to be bullied or threatened. She’d wrestled with the difficulties life had thrown her, obstacles that would have sent grown men crashing to their knees. But not Devon. She’d fought back, and done it with an inner strength and conviction that amazed him.
“There is a point to my telling you all this,” she said, looking determined to finish and get it over with, as thou
gh revealing this much about herself had been an incredibly distasteful chore.
“All right,” Cole said slowly, watching her.
“The point is, everything you said about me before was true. I’ll lie, cheat, steal, do whatever I have to do to get by—”
“Devon,” he interrupted, hating himself for what he’d said, for how quick he’d been to judge and condemn her.
“No, let me finish. We both know that it’s true, so there’s no sense pretending we don’t. That’s what I am. But I wanted you to know why—not that it makes what’s wrong, right. It doesn’t.” She paused, then drew herself up, tilting back her chin to look him straight in the eye. “I’m a crook, a liar, and a thief. But I’m not a murderer. I didn’t kill that man.”
Cole heard it again, that combination of fear and nervousness skimming just below the surface, belying the bravado of her words. Telling him there was still something he was missing, something he hadn’t quite grasped. When it finally hit him, he was furious at himself for not having seen it sooner. “But you know who did, don’t you?”
Devon stared at him for a long moment, something that looked like sadness or regret flashing through her beautiful green eyes. Finally she nodded. “Yes.”
“Who?”
“My fiancé.”
CHAPTER 10
Cole wasn’t taking the news well at all. Which was too bad, considering how he’d been able to accept everything else she’d told him without too much difficulty. She’d been afraid she’d see scorn or contempt—or worse still, pity—etched on his rugged features as she revealed her past, but she hadn’t. Instead he’d listened with a tolerance that amazed her, as if he truly understood. But this, the fact that her fiancé was a murderer, this seemed to bother him.
“Your fiancé?!” he repeated, in what sounded like a roar.
Devon nodded. “Boris Ogglesby.”
“You have a fiancé?!” He was still yelling. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“I tried to. You wouldn’t listen.”
“You didn’t think it was important enough to mention again?”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter now in any case, for I considered our engagement broken once he framed me for murder.”
Cole stared at her as though she’d just sprouted a second head. “How very sensible of you.”
“I thought so.”
He sank down onto the grass, looking suddenly exhausted. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”
She frowned. “Do what?”
“Never mind.” He reached for her arm, gently pulled her down beside him, and asked pleasantly, “So who was the son-of-a-bitch?”
“I told you, Boris Ogglesby.”
Cole arched a tawny brow. “You were actually going to marry someone who answered to the name Boris Ogglesby?”
“I thought it sounded rather dignified,” she replied stiffly.
“If you’re a Saint Bernard, I suppose it is.”
Anger surged through Devon. “Fine,” she snapped, rising to her feet. “If all you want to do is make snide comments—”
He caught her arm and brought her back down beside him. “Devon, wait. I’m sorry. I’m listening, I promise. I just wasn’t prepared to hear this.” He studied her, then a dark shadow passed through his eyes. “Were you in love with him?”
“In love with him? Of course—”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“But you just asked.”
“Listen to me. You may think that you’re in love with him, but you’re not. Trust me, I know.”
Of course she wasn’t in love with Boris Ogglesby. But how would he know that?
With one deft move, he answered her silent question. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her smoothly onto his lap. “Because if you were in love with another man,” he murmured huskily, “would you let me do this?”
His mouth captured hers in a kiss that was completely different from their first. It wasn’t tender, soft, or gentle. This kiss began right where the last had ended, full of unrestrained passion arid fiery longing, igniting a heat deep within her that set every nerve in her body ablaze. Devon leaned into him, their bodies locked together as she eagerly sought the play of his tongue. Her hands moved with wanton abandon over his body, tracing the hot, rough velvet of his skin, the corded muscles of his back and thighs.
Cole let out a low groan and tore his mouth away from hers as he pressed her back into the soft grass. He leaned over her, trailing soft kisses down her throat as he gently unbuttoned the top of her gown. That accomplished, he slowly eased the garment past her shoulders and brushed light kisses over the tops of her breasts. Her camisole came next. Moving with an expertise that she didn’t want to think about, Cole pulled the delicate ribbons free and removed the thin cotton barrier. He cupped her breasts in his palms, gently caressing them until her nipples tightened to firm, solid peaks that he teased with his tongue.
The tension Devon felt inside abruptly exploded into wonder. She dug her fingers into Cole’s back and arched her hips against his as their mouths joined once again. Their kiss deepened, following the reckless motion of their bodies, gaining a momentum that seemed to carry them forward, awakening a primal hunger deep within her that she was only just beginning to understand.
She’d never been less in the mood for conversation in her life, but Cole seemed to have something on his mind. He pulled back and commanded huskily, “Tell me you don’t love Boris.”
It seemed a rather silly request, but she decided to comply anyway. “I don’t love him.”
Cole rewarded her by finding an unexplored spot on her throat to kiss, a spot just below her earlobe that was so sensitive, the touch of his lips sent shivers racing down her spine, despite the heat of the day. “And you never did,” he said.
She smiled. “And I never did.”
His tawny eyes flashed victory. “I knew it.”
Devon pulled back, regarding him warily. She rolled out from beneath his embrace and hastily rebuttoned her gown. “What do you mean, you knew it?”
Cole reached for her and gently smoothed back a lock of her hair. “You wouldn’t have let me kiss you the way I did, either now or last night, if you were in love with another man.”
“What a ridiculous thing to say!”
He shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s the truth. Women are run by their emotions. They can’t separate love and lust.”
Devon felt her temper soar once again. “Oh? And I suppose men can?”
“Of course. Men are ruled by logic. That’s why we’re men.”
“What you are, Cole McRae,” she shot back, “is a horse’s ass! But only half as intelligent, and not nearly as pleasant to look at.”
“But I was right about this Boris… Boris…”
“Ogglesby.”
“Whatever. You don’t love him.”
“Love him! You idiot, of course I don’t love him. I’ve never even met the man!”
Cole stared at her for a long moment, then said carefully, “I thought you told me he was your fiancé.”
“He was.”
“But you’ve never met him.”
“That’s right.”
He let out a deep sigh. “Devon, it’s nearly noon now. I’d like to get to the end of this story by midnight if it’s at all possible.”
Her emerald eyes flashed fire. “Don’t blame me. I’m trying to tell you, but you keep interrupting. Or I suppose kissing me was just the logical thing to do after I told you my fiancé was a murderer.”
Cole opened his mouth, then abruptly closed it. He frowned, tugging his hand through his thick blond hair.
“You just let me worry about what’s logical, all right?”
“Oh, fine, McRae. You’re so good at it. I forgot, you’re a man, aren’t you?”
She could see him summoning his patience. He seemed to have to do that a lot—or at least whenever she was around. “All right,” he said slowly.
“Why don’t we begin again, shall we? Tell me how you came to be involved with Jonas Sharpe. And why you think this Boris person, the fiancé you’ve never met, framed you for murder.”
Devon frowned. It sounded absolutely ridiculous when he said it. And yet at the time, it had all made perfect sense. She hesitated, wondering where to begin, then slowly started, “It was my idea to get involved with Jonas Sharpe. You see, he and Uncle Monty had done business together in the past—”
“What sort of business?”
“Legitimate business. Shipping, investments, that sort of thing.” At Cole’s frown, she continued, “Just because Uncle Monty was a crook doesn’t mean that every transaction he was involved in was crooked. In fact, just the opposite is true. The more successful he was, the more capital he accrued, and the more influential he became. Uncle Monty happens to have friends among judges, politicians, and prominent solicitors, as well as the average ruffian on the street. Every level of society. He’s truly a remarkable man.”
Cole nodded, apparently impatient to leave behind her glowing praise of her uncle. “So what happened? Did one of their deals go bad?”
“No, nothing like that. Jonas Sharpe mentioned to Uncle Monty that he had an associate in the States, a fellow Englishman who was looking for a good English wife. A lady. Someone of solid background, outstanding character and moral fiber, reasonably attractive, and young enough to bear children.” She paused, acutely aware that the only one of those criteria she met was “young enough to bear children.” Obviously Cole would be aware of this as well. Nevertheless she continued, determined to reveal the shameful nature of her misdeed. “So I suggested me. I thought that maybe I would be his wife.”
Silence. Total silence. “Were you serious?” Cole finally asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Years of practice enabled her to come up with a casual smile, despite the havoc of her emotions. “At the time, it actually seemed a good idea,” she answered with a light shrug, then stood and moved away from him. She paused beneath a tall pine, picking at the bark as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world.
Captured Page 17
