A Scandalous Marriage (3 page)

Everyone in the room heard him. McDermott, Leichester, Ruskin, all gathered around Devon, silently siding with him and waiting for him to take action against his enemy.

Devon sat quiet. He did not have a hot head. He’d ignored Julian’s drunken whining in the past. He could do it again.

Or, he could call Julian out, put a bullet in him, and rid the world of his pretentious bragging. Devon’s reputation for pistol and sword was famous. His skill was one of the few things his grandfather admired about him. Better yet, his grandfather would be pleased to have justice finally served.

Instead of what he could have done, what people expected him to do, Devon accepted Julian’s words as a challenge.

So he thought his sister would rather lie with a dog than dance with a Marshall? Devon knew that wasn’t true. Leah Carrollton was not immune to him. He’d sensed her attraction to him immediately.

He would prove it by seducing her.

Devon rose and left the club, content to let Carrollton believe he’d scored a small victory while in truth the game was just beginning…

Only much, much later would Devon admit to himself that he’d chosen that course of action not for revenge but because in spite of himself, all common sense, and all reason, he had secretly wanted to see her again.

* * *

Devon was none of those things, at least not in his own mind.

In his opinion, his only vice was that he adored women. That wasn’t so much of a sin, was it?

He liked women in all their guises—the old, the young, the middle-aged, the rosy plump, the slender, the laughing, the soberly sedate. His cronies thought only of a woman’s face or her breasts or what she had between her legs… and those things were important to Devon, too. But he also admired their intelligence, their spirit, their sense of humor.

He loved the mysteries of their sex: their intuitive powers, their supple strength, their fanciful whims, their serene wisdom. Oh, yes, and their generosity. God bless their generosity. Their bodies and their minds were his altar of worship.

Consequently, they, in turn, adored him.

He never lacked for bed partners, although it was his custom to take only one lover at a time. Part of the reason was his own caution about sex and disease, but he also believed that a man didn’t have the ability to concentrate fully on more than one task at a time… and when Devon was with a lover, he always

“concentrated” very hard.

His partners appreciated him for it. And when he parted company with them, they remained friends, friends that he valued.

Over the years, a few had even claimed to love him. He didn’t understand how. Love was the emotion of poets and dreamers—and Devon was firmly rooted in realism. Many of his lovers had touched his mind, most had found a place of friendship in his heart, but not one had ever reached his soul.

Nor, he discovered to his own surprise, had he ever seduced one. Women had always come to him willingly.

He didn’t realize this gap in his worldly education until he started to mull over the fate of Leah Carrollton.

How did one seduce a debutante? An innocent. A guarded treasure.

He had an extensive acquaintance of villains, sailors, and blackguards who might have experience in such a thing, but he shied from quizzing them. He didn’t want anyone to guess his intentions or examine his motives too closely. He wasn’t certain of them himself.

He also had to be careful. He couldn’t meet her through her usual activities, balls and routs and the such.

He was a gentleman, after all. If Society watched him seduce her, he’d be honor bound to marry her—and a Marshall would never marry a Carrollton. Ever. It was the Unthinkable.

The answer to his dilemma presented itself one morning, when he was coming home at half past ten.

He’d spent the night at a particularly lucrative card party. The cool, sunny March day was one of those rare harbingers to spring, and he decided to take a stroll around the block to clear his head of brandy fumes before heading for his bed.

It was Sunday, a day of rest, and the usually bustling streets were respectfully quiet.

He’d just rounded the first corner when he almost collided with Leah Carrollton. She was accompanied by a maid who had to be close to six feet tall and looked like she boiled fish heads for a living.

Rearing back just in time, he imagined he’d conjured Miss Carrollton from thin air. She was dressed in yellow, the color of jonquils, from the brim of her charming straw bonnet down to the hem of her dress, but no flower of spring had ever had such an impact on him. He was struck dumb.

Miss Carrollton wasn’t. Her back straightened, her nose took a haughty tilt. “Come, Mae.” She stepped around him, carefully pulling her gauzy skirts aside lest they inadvertently brush against his leg.

“Pity a fine lady can’t walk down the street without being practically run over by these young bucks,”

Mae grumbled. “High and mighty in the instep they are just planting themselves in our path!”

“Yes, they are,” he heard Miss Carrollton agree. “And for no reason.” She added emphasis to her words with a sniffing glance over her shoulder.

His tiredness vanished. He had just been given the cut direct by a Carrollton.

The gauntlet had been thrown down. He accepted the challenge.

With a hunter’s instinct, he followed in the wake of the two women.

They turned at the corner. His pace leisurely, Devon approached the corner and then hesitated when he realized where they were headed.

Miss Carrollton and her maid had started up the steps of a church to join a number of other ladies and gentlemen, dressed in their Sunday finest, who already greeted the curate standing at the door.

Catching sight of Miss Carrollton, the ruddy-faced young churchman welcomed her enthusiastically as though the two were not strangers. And was it Devon’s imagination, or did the fellow hold her proffered hand just a tad too long for politeness?

Then the two women disappeared inside.

Devon stood in indecision on the walk below. Several other churchgoers passed him, nodding a good morning. He smiled and pretended he felt perfectly comfortable. The walls of the church would probably come crashing down if he stepped foot in it, something he hadn’t done since mandatory services during his school days.

And yet, where else would he be able to make contact with Miss Carrollton? Studying the people entering the church, he did not recognize anyone.

He climbed the steps.

The curate glanced in his direction and then completely ambushed Devon by greeting him by name.

“Why, Huxhold! This is a surprise!”

Devon frowned at the lanky man wearing glasses. “You have the better of me, sir,” he said uncertainly.

A smile spread across the curate’s face. “We were in school together. Geoff Rodford. They called me Roddy.” He waved a dismissive hand. “You may not remember. We did not travel in the same circle, but good God! To think Huxhold is walking into my church.”

Devon didn’t recall a Roddy. Worse, he would be damned to even name the school they’d attended together, since he’d been asked to leave more than a few in his misspent youth.

Several people overheard Roddy’s remarks and began whispering Devon’s name to each other. Raised eyebrows and knowing expressions were directed his way.

Devon couldn’t turn tail and run now. “Well, very good to see you again, Roddy. I look forward to your sermon.”

As he entered the cool darkness of the building, Roddy called out, “Oh, it won’t be me doing the service, but the Most Reverend Highgate.”

Devon nodded, already searching for his quarry. Crossing the alcove’s stone floor, he moved into the church sanctuary. The air smelled of incense and candle wax. The white beadboard pews with their dark walnut railing were not crowded. He scanned the backs of heads. He’d never realized how all bonnets look alike from the rear—and then he saw her. Or rather, she saw him.

She glanced over her shoulder, a cursory look, nothing more—and then her eyes widened in disbelief.

Devon grinned at her, enjoying the moment.

Her disbelief turned to anger. Very deliberately, she gave him her back.

Intrigued, he walked up the aisle until he came to the pew directly behind hers. If she was conscious of his approach, she gave no sign… and yet, he sensed she was aware of his every movement. Very aware.

Especially after he squeezed past a rotund man guarding the aisle to sit directly behind her.

He could almost see the hair stand up on the back of her neck.

Her maid, lost in her own prayers, was oblivious to his presence. For whatever reason, Miss Carrollton didn’t raise the issue after the woman shut her prayer book and waited for the service to begin. A moment later, the Most Reverend Highgate started the service, but Devon didn’t hear a word he said.

Leah. He rolled the syllables of her name around in his mind as he watched her bow her head in prayer.

The curve of her back fascinated him, as did the graceful tilt of her head. He wondered what it would be like to place his lips against her neck, to feel the pumping of her heart, to taste her skin with his tongue.

Her back straightened. Her head turned slightly, and a spot of color burned each cheek as if she could read his mind.

He sent her a knowing look, one that he knew from experience made women’s knees weak as jelly. I want you.

Almost as if in answer to his thought, she shifted, the gesture restless, impatient. She then slid down onto the kneeler. Bowing her head, he could feel her shut him out.

One hour passed, then a second. It could have been a decade. Devon no longer considered time important. Not when he was close to her.

His senses were full of her—the sound of her clear voice raised in song, the tendril curls at the nape of her neck, below which thick hair was tucked into her bonnet, the smooth perfection of her skin. She smelled of the rose water that seemed common to debutantes, and of powder, and of a lusher, more verdant scent that was uniquely her own.

He barely registered the fact the service had come to an end until the parishioners around him were up and moving. Miss Carrollton slipped out of her pew and made a beeline for the church door, the maid hurrying to keep up.

Devon was anxious to follow, wanting another opportunity to speak to her—even if she did shoot daggers from her eyes at him. Unfortunately, his way out of the pew was blocked by his overweight neighbor, who had decided to visit with another gentleman in the aisle. By the time Devon had excused himself and squeezed around the man, Miss Carrollton had disappeared.

Damn, he’d lost her. He could have punched the air in frustration.

Then, to his surprise, she walked back into the sanctuary. Her maid didn’t follow her. She paused, looking directly at where Devon had been sitting. Her gaze shifted until she honed in on him. She made her way toward him.

Devon waited, uncertain.

She stopped, a hand’s breadth between them. Her dark eyes burned with outraged pride. “I know what you want, Lord Huxhold. I know what you think you are doing. And I will tell you now, you will never receive anything other than scorn from me.”

She turned and walked away.

Devon watched her, admiring her bravado and the sway of her hips.

He shoved his hands into his breeches pockets and smiled. Silly girl. Her confrontation only made the chase more interesting.

It was with a lighthearted step that he left the church.

Leah had known Lord Huxhold had been watching the twitch of her skirts as she’d marched out of the church. She’d felt him watching, just as she’d been so aware of him during the service.

She’d had every intention of informing her family of his audacious behavior. It would serve him right for Julian to call him out.

However, walking home, she changed her mind. No good ever came from inflaming her brother’s quick temper. In her head she could hear her mother admonishing her to be prudent with what she said in front of Julian and Father.

So, Leah decided to keep the incident to herself. Her parents didn’t need more worries. Her maid was completely loyal and wouldn’t murmur a word, although she must have known who Lord Huxhold was.

Mae had joined the family when Leah was born, shortly before the “tragic accident” that had brought so much misfortune upon the Carrolltons.

Besides, Leah knew she could make short shrift of a rake like Huxhold. In fact, she found herself anticipating their next meeting and making plans to give him a proper set down.

There was no doubt in her mind that she would be seeing him again.

“A virgin!” The words burst out of the Baroness Charlotte de Severin-Fortier accompanied by a peal of delighted laughter.

Devon quickly hushed her. “Charlotte, not so loud. Remember the servants.” He frowned. “Besides it is not that astounding.”

Her expression said it clearly was. With her head of silver hair and sparkling eyes, Charlotte was a woman of indeterminate years. Tall, striking, and very French, she numbered among her lovers monarchs, Turkish pashas, Cossacks, dukes, and Devon. Theirs had not been an affair of passion as much as good-humored friendship.

Over the years, they had come to each other for various favors. He’d always valued her wise counsel, although this was the first time he’d discussed a matter concerning another woman. But then, she was the only one he trusted to hold her tongue.

She sat up from the silk pillows she had been lying on as supple and graceful as a cat. The gold threads of her caftan shimmered in the candlelight as she set aside the mouthpiece of the hookah she’d been smoking.

“Who is this young woman,
cher
?” she asked in her accented English.

He saw no reason to hide her name. She’d hear of it sooner or later. “Miss Leah Carrollton.”

“Carrollton?” The name did not sound familiar to her. She repeated it once more, then recognition struck. “These Carrolltons, have I not heard that your families are enemies?”