‘No,’ she said, indignant that he should think so. ‘They were mine before I met Farley. You may sell them.’
He stared at the jewellery and at her. ‘Not quite yet, Maddy. Keep them for now.’
She carefully rewrapped the package.
‘I have been thinking.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘I have depended upon all of you too long. Poor Sophie, her fingers sore from sewing. You, ready to sell your treasures. Bart, searching for labour I’d not ask an enemy to perform.’
She stroked his cheek. ‘I have caused you this trouble.’
He clasped her hand and held it.
Suddenly shy under his gaze, she glanced down. Her eyes rested on his chest and widened. ‘Devlin, you have scars.’
His torso was riddled with them. Now, thinking about it, she realised she’d felt rough areas on his chest, that day she had touched him and almost made love with him. She had not looked, however. Now, so close to him in the candlelight, she recognised the long scar from the injury in Spain, but there were so many others, short and jagged.
‘It is repulsing, is it not?’ he said.
She touched one of the scars with her finger. ‘Oh, Devlin, how could you think such a thing?’ With gentleness, she traced it, still pink from healing. ‘What happened to you? How did it come about that you have so many?’
‘Waterloo.’
She placed her palm against his firm chest. ‘I know it was at Waterloo. I should like to hear what happened to you.’
He rose, walking over to his window. ‘The tale is not fit for fair ears.’
‘Fustian. Nothing about me is fair.’ She followed him. Standing behind him, she marked the scars on his back with her fingers. ‘You had to endure this. It cannot be worse for me to hear of it.’
He turned to face her. She placed her hands on his shoulders as he gazed at her. The green of his eyes turned soft as moss. ‘I have a proposition for you, Miss England.’
She stiffened, pulled away, but he held her firm.
‘Not that kind of proposition.’ He took her chin between his thumb and fingers. His expression turned serious again. ‘I will tell you about Waterloo on one condition.’
‘What condition?’ She could imagine no other condition but bedding him. He meant a proposition, after all, no matter how he coloured it. When he touched her like this, she dared hope for it.
He gave her a light kiss on the lips, which merely gave her an urge to kiss him harder in return. ‘I will tell you about Waterloo, if you tell me about how you came to be with Farley.’
She pulled away and rubbed her arms. ‘Nonsense. I told you already that he seduced me. What else is there to tell?’
He crossed the room and picked up the cloth wrapping her necklace and earrings. ‘I want to know how a girl who owned these came to be in Farley’s gaming hell.’
She turned away. She had never spoken of her past to anyone, not even Sophie. In fact, she chastised herself if even a thought of the past invaded her mind.
She faced him. ‘Very well, I will tell you, but not this night. I do not wish to speak of it this night.’
‘You have a bargain, Maddy.’ He returned to her, kissing her on the cheek. ‘I do not wish to speak of any of it tonight.’
The chaste kiss disappointed her. She wished something else from him. She wished to pretend she was the farmer’s housewife readying for bed with her husband. There was no Farley, no Waterloo, no shortage of money. Just days full of useful toil and nights filled with love.
He walked back to the window and stared out at the street for countless minutes. She knew not whether to stay or leave, but she did not want to leave him, especially with the weight of all their problems on his shoulders.
‘Sophie is teaching me to sew.’ Her voice sounded foolish in the face of his troubled silence.
But he turned to regard her with a kind look in his eye. ‘That is very well. Had you not learned before?’
‘Oh, I was taught, but I did not heed the lessons.’
He chuckled. ‘Your head too full of horses?’
She smiled. ‘Sadly, you are right. I never could keep my mind on much else.’
He sat on the window seat, his long legs stretched out before him. ‘I know precisely what you mean.’
She sat next to him, tucking her legs beneath her and leaning against him. His arm circled around her shoulders. ‘It is a pity that I could not procure employment in a stable. I could do all manner of things there.’ She sighed.
He became silent again, and she struggled to think of some other topic to converse upon. She rested her hand on his knee and in a moment, he covered it with his own warm, strong hand.
‘No, I shall find the way,’ he murmured.
She snuggled against him, the moment acutely precious.
Devlin lifted his hand to her hair, stroking gently. Her locks felt like spun silk beneath his fingers. He inhaled the faint scent of lavender in her hair, and recalled that fragrance from his first meeting of her. After Waterloo, when fever made him delirious and his sisters bathed his forehead with lavender water, his Miss England swam through his dreams.
He had never expected to see her again, and here she was, more wonderful than he could have believed.
He snuggled her closer. She tilted her face to him, the pupils of her eyes wide, her pink lips moist and irresistible.
He kissed her, tasting the sweetness of her, wanting to remove every pain and care from her life and resolving once again to do so. No matter what he must bear.
As his lips gently rested against hers, she whispered, ‘Devlin, I…’
He moved to the tender skin beneath her ear.
‘I will make love to you, Devlin.’
He stopped and searched her face. ‘Only if you truly wish it.’
She cast her gaze down. ‘I do wish it. I know it is wicked of me.’
Lifting her chin with his finger, he forced her to meet his eye. ‘It is not wicked.’
‘But it is,’ she insisted. ‘I know it is.’
‘Well, then, I must be damned indeed.’ He ran his lips over her brow. ‘I wish that much to make love with you.’
Her face flushed pink. ‘It is different for a man.’
‘And how is it different, sweet goose?’ He pulled the pins from her hair, freeing it to tumble over her shoulders.
‘It is no
