soft looks. Dev very nearly shook his head in wonder before catching himself. Pippen had taken off the hot towels, which had been wrapped around Dev’s face to soften his beard, and lathered his cheeks, jaw and upper neck. Now he was applying the razor to Dev’s skin with a look of complete concentration.
Yes, his saviour looked almost like a madonna. The boy’s hair was pitch black and too long for fashion, with curls that sprang in all directions. Some lady of Quality would want Pippen for ulterior motives. But some man of questionable virtue would want the youth for even more nefarious schemes.
Pippen’s long, slim fingers firmly guided the razor up Dev’s neck in one smooth motion. A slight line drew Pippen’s ebony brows together and accentuated the pure green of his eyes. They were the colour of the emeralds Dev’s mother had set aside as a wedding gift for his bride. The jewels would suit Pippen.
The thought was a leveller.
Dev closed his eyes. What was he thinking? He had never been a lover of boys. His last love had been Samantha, who was decidedly female and several years his senior. Since losing her, he had flirted with every eligible girl in Brussels and shared less acceptable activities with the ineligible ones.
No, these wayward thoughts were due to exhaustion and the fact that Pippen was too feminine and delicate. A state no man should enjoy being. He would do his saviour a favour by telling him to toughen up and get to Gentleman Jackson’s for some bouts with the great man. Perhaps, when he was recovered, he would take Pippen there and introduce him. He might even stand as a mentor to the youth during the Season and get the lad some town bronze. He owed Pippen much.
Bit by bit, Pippa slid the razor over Dev’s bergamot-scented skin. Some patches were difficult because of the length of his beard. She had shaved him with a borrowed razor early in his illness when he had been too weak to know what she was doing and then a couple weeks later before he regained consciousness. Now she was unbearably aware of him and did as little grooming of him as possible.
The exotic smell of bergamot seemed lodged in her senses and locked in the tiny space of the room they shared. It was an unusual scent. Her brother used sandalwood or, when he tired of that, lemon. Even as she toweled away the remains of the soap, Pippa knew that every time she came into contact with bergamot she would remember these moments and Deverell St Simon.
To divert herself from this dangerous track, she said, ‘There was a missive for you at the inn. I forgot until just now.’
She dug into the pocket of her jacket and withdrew the cream-coloured sheet of paper that had been folded into a screw and handed it to Dev. He took it eagerly and read it while she put away his shaving gear.
‘What day is it?’
‘The twenty-ninth of July. Why?’
‘My mother is here in Brussels. Her note says she expected to arrive the first week of the month.’ His voice was full of joy and lightness. Genuine pleasure eased the lines around his mouth that were threatening to become permanent. ‘She gives her direction and orders me to come to her when I get her letter.’ He smiled. ‘That is just like her, assuming that, no matter what the carnage of Waterloo, I would survive.’
‘She is an optimist.’ Pippa wished she had the Duchess’s unfailing faith. In a way she did. Everyone thought her brother dead, but she would not believe it. That was very like the Duchess’s determination that her son would live through hell.
‘Very much so. Do you have paper and ink? I need to send her news.’
‘Madame will have something, although not as grand as that your mother used.’
‘Mother won’t mind. She is not a snob.’
Pippa fetched the writing materials and tried not to watch Dev as he jotted down the note. Such joy lit his features that seeing it made her glad. He had come to mean so much to her. It was disturbing.
When he was done, she took it herself. ‘I will go straight away and deliver this.’
‘Thank you. Stay for a message,’ Dev ordered, grinning like a boy about to take his first pony ride. ‘And don’t be surprised if my mother sees you herself and then instantly orders her coach brought around. She is very impulsive.’
Pippa nodded. Her grandfather and brother often accused her of jumping before she looked. There was the time a labourer’s small daughter had dropped her puppy into the trout stream. Pippa had plunged into the icy water without a thought for her own safety. The mountain snows had melted, and the stream had been nearly a river. The current had caught Pippa’s skirts and dragged her hundreds of feet until she had managed to grab an overhanging tree branch. Later she had caught an inflammation of the lungs, but she had saved the puppy. That more than compensated for a week in bed with the sniffles and a fever.
If Dev’s mother was equally rash, she could deal very well with her ladyship.
Dev was not far off the mark, Pippa found out thirty minutes later. The butler had barely shown her into the salon when a petite, vivacious woman burst through the door.
‘Where is Deverell? Is he all right? Why did he not come with you?’
Alicia, Duchess of Rundell, was strikingly beautiful. Shorter than Pippa, she was willowy thin. Her thick black hair was cropped fashionably short in front. The glossy waves shone blue in the late afternoon sun that poured through the large double windows. Her irises were the clear grey of polished silver and ringed by ebony lashes that were so abundant as to make her eyelids appear heavy. Her full, red lips were parted in a welcoming smile as she came to Pippa and grasped her hands.
Taking a step back and studying Pippa, the Duchess said, ‘Why, you are nothing more than a child. What is Dev doing to rob the cradle for his minions?’
Pippa squelched her first impulse to curtsy and instead did the best bow she was capable of with the Duchess still grasping her fingers. ‘Your Grace, I am all of four and twenty.’ The Duchess gave her a quizzical look and Pippa realized her mistake. ‘That is, I am a late bloomer. My entire family matures slowly. That is—’
‘I understand perfectly,’ the Duchess said, releasing Pippa’s now clammy hands. ‘You don’t want anyone to know how young you really are.’ She patted Pippa’s arm. ‘I will keep your secret, child. Now tell me where my son is and how he is doing.’
Before Pippa could speak, the door opened again. ‘Excuse me, your Grace,’ the butler intoned, ‘but I thought you and your guest might like refreshment.’
‘Goodness, yes, Michaels.’ The Duchess gave Pippa a rueful smile. ‘My staff endeavour to keep me from making too many faux pas.’
Pippa grinned. Yes, she could like this woman whose concern for her child superseded all else. In as few words as possible, Pippa brought the Duchess up to date. The last word was barely out of her mouth when the Duchess jumped up and rang the bell.
When the butler once more entered the room, Alicia, Duchess of Rundell, said, ‘Have the carriage brought round immediately, Michaels, and prepare two rooms. I am bringing Lord Deverell back, and his young friend here—’ she waved a graceful, manicured hand at Pippa ‘—will be staying with us indefinitely.’
Pippa nearly choked on the tea the Duchess had poured and liberally laced with cream and sugar. ‘Your Grace, I cannot impose on you. I have my own room and am quite happy.’
‘Stuff!
