Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Devlin chalked the end of his billiard cue as Lucien potted a ball in the corner pocket and Harry and Justin lounged in their chairs.
He’d lost count of the number of times the four of them had played in this very room, and he sent up a silent prayer of gratitude that his friends had survived the horrors of the war relatively unscathed.
“So, what’s the news from town?”
"Do you remember that mysterious author ‘the Brazen Belle’?” Harry stretched his legs in front of him, closer to the fire. “The one who wrote a newspaper column eviscerating London’s most eligible bachelors a couple of years ago?”
“I do,” Dev said. “She mentioned poor Rhys Davies, once. Hinted he was doomed to fall victim to the famous Davies-Montgomery curse. He was livid. Said it was a load of rot.”
Justin frowned. “Didn’t he end up marrying one of the Montgomery twins?” He had little patience for society gossip, despite his position as a duke. He was more interested in the state of the stock exchange and his business affairs. And his wife. “One of the ones who came back from South America?”
Harry grinned. “He did. That was the curse; to fall in love with his family’s sworn enemy.”
Lucien let out a soft snort of amusement. “A beautiful, witty, highly intelligent enemy. Poor Rhys. What a terrible burden.”
Devlin chuckled at his sarcasm, but Lucien’s comment made him realize that all three of his friends had married their own beautiful, witty, highly intelligent counterparts. Dev was the only one who hadn’t settled down.
Yet.
“Well, it appears that after a year’s hiatus, she—or he—is back with a vengeance,” Hary continued cheerfully. “And you, my friend, have the distinction of being her very first victim—I mean, subject—to start the year.”
Dev raised his brows. “Me? You’re joking.”
Harry shook his head, a delighted smirk on his face. An ex-thief himself, he loved any hint of gossip and impropriety, and he thoroughly approved of anyone who thumbed their nose at society’s rigid rules.
“What did she say?” Dev’s stomach gave an anxious lurch. Not merely about which scandalous rumors the woman might have mentioned—of which there were several to choose—but at the thought that Olivia might be reminded of all the ways he was an unsuitable match.
Now that she might be considering his offer, he didn’t want anything swaying her to refuse.
Harry reached into the inside pocket of his coat and handed him a scrap of paper. “Here you go. I cut it out for you.”
Dev frowned as he read.
Dear Reader,
It’s been several years since D—H—returned from heroically defending his country against Bonaparte, and he’s been dashing the hopes of matchmaking mammas ever since. Now the D—of D—, this aristocratic bachelor seems determined to defend his HEART from the ravages of LOVE with the same fervor.
Blessed with a face and form that could make a Mother Superior regret her vows, an enviable fortune, and no shortage of wit, London’s eligible ladies have all vied for his affections, to no avail.
When one considers the disastrous example of his parents’ union, perhaps his reluctance to wed is no surprise. (His mother, after dutifully providing three male heirs and a daughter, ran off to Italy with her lover.)
But perhaps her example should be seen less as a cautionary tale against marrying for duty, and more as a reminder to follow one’s heart?
Let us hope, Dear Reader, that our handsome bachelor has a heart to give. . .
Yours, as ever,
The Brazen Belle.
“Cheeky wench,” Devlin grumbled, tossing the paper aside. “I have a heart. I just also have a bloody good reason for not getting married.”
Lucien sent him a commiserating look. “You’re still having . . . episodes?”
Dev nodded. “There’s been some improvement. I’m not as affected by sudden noises as I used to be, like when someone drops a glass, but it’s still too unpredictable. I’ve been testing myself with different triggers, but I still react to bigger things like fireworks, and thunderstorms.”
Harry scrunched up his face in an expression of pity. “You’re not alone. I’ve met several other veterans at the Traveler’s Rest who suffer from the same kind of thing. One poor chap flinches every time he hears a dog bark.”
“Do you remember the first time it happened, Justin?” Dev asked. “It was at your house, the night of the celebration fireworks, and I thought you were a Frenchman, about to bayonet me.”
“I remember,” Justin said. “I had to knock you out to stop you from fighting.” He flexed his fist in memory. “I think I broke my little finger on your jaw.”
“Clearly not an ideal solution.” Dev raked his fingers through his hair.
“It’s so stupid. Logically I know I’m not in the heat of a battle, but my body doesn’t seem to understand.
One minute I’m here, the next I’m back at Waterloo.
Every crack of thunder becomes a cannonball landing too close, or a rifle shot, and I can smell the smoke, hear the screams in my head. Everything gets jumbled.”
He shook his head. “If I’m alone, and there’s a thunderstorm, I lock myself in my room and tell the servants not to bother me, even if they hear me shout.” He gave a wry shrug. “I’ve become an expert at predicting the weather.”
“And when you can’t lock yourself away?” Harry asked.
“Then I take Lucien’s suggestion and distract myself with something guaranteed to hold my attention.”
“Boxing?” Harry asked. “Drinking?”
“Fucking,” Lucien provided succinctly. “I told him to go find his mistress, if he had one, or visit a professional, and direct all that pent-up energy into passion of a different kind.”
“It works,” Dev admitted. “If I concentrate. I can lose myself so thoroughly that the roof could fall in and I wouldn’t notice.”
“That’s good then, isn’t it?” Justin frowned. “You’ve found a way to deal with it.”
“Yes, but it’s hardly compatible with marriage, is it?
” Devlin sighed. “The widows and courtesans I visit are experienced enough to deal with the . . . intensity of it. Hell, they seem to enjoy it. But how could I subject an innocent girl from the Ton to something like that? What if scared her, or I hurt her without meaning to? And if I kept going to professionals after I wed, I’d be breaking my vows of fidelity. ”
“You wouldn’t be the first man to be unfaithful to his wife,” Lucien said cynically. “Half the Ton’s at it.”
“If you’d only be marrying to provide the dukedom with an heir, then I don’t see why it matters,” Justin said, equally pragmatic.
“That’s what marriages of convenience are all about.
Provided you set expectations up front, the lady would have nothing to complain about.
I can think of a dozen women who’d jump at the chance to be a duchess, even knowing they’d have to turn a blind eye to your ‘indiscretions’. ”
“I wouldn’t be marrying for heirs.” Dev said truthfully. “I don’t care about that. Dom or Damien can inherit the title after me, if it comes to it.”
“You don’t need to marry for money, either,” Harry pointed out. “No heiress required to restore your leaky roof or fill your empty coffers.” He sent Devlin a shrewd, assessing look. “Which means the only other reason to marry would be because you’re head over heels in love.”
“It happened to the three of us,” Lucien shrugged, shooting a wry glance at Harry and Justin. “So miracles can happen.”
“But you’re not thinking of marriage, are you, Dev?” Justin asked. “It’s not as if you’ve found a girl—”
Dev’s bleak laugh pulled him up short. “I’ve found a girl. Found her six years ago, before we ever went to war.”
Harry, Justin, and Lucien all gaped at him in astonishment.
“What?”
“You love someone?”
“Who?”
Dev gave a wry smile. “I can’t believe you haven’t guessed. She’s in this very house right now.”
Three identical frowns greeted him.
“Tess?” Justin growled.
“Ellie?” Harry bristled.
Dev rolled his eyes at their stupidity.
“I know you can’t mean Daisy,” Lucien drawled. “Since she’s your sister, but please don’t tell me you’re in love with a scullery maid or a washerwoman.”
“You’re all such idiots.” Dev sighed. “It’s Olivia. I’ve been in love with her for as long as I can remember.”
Harry raised his brows. “Oh. Well. In that case . . . shit.”
Justin eyed him with new interest. “You want to marry her?”
“I almost asked her before we left for France, but then I thought I might be killed, and I didn’t want to leave her a widow.
And then when I came back, I had this stupid problem.
I tried to keep away from her, even though it was torture, so she’d have a chance of marrying someone who wasn’t so .
. . broken. But she didn’t. And then her stupid father caused this scandal and died, and she clearly needed saving, so I rode over there and. . . got her.”
He trailed off, suddenly aware he’d been babbling, and felt an uncharacteristic heat suffuse his face.
Lucien’s lips twitched in sardonic amusement. “You got her? What does that mean?”
“It means I was so determined to get her away from her uncle that I forfeited an I.O.U of six hundred pounds. And then I realized the only way to really protect her—both from her father’s mess and every lecherous bastard who’d take advantage of her—is through marriage.”
“You’re probably right,” Justin said. “I suppose we can draw up a list of gentlemen who might be—”
“There’s no need for a list,” Dev muttered. “I offered to marry her myself.”
“You?” Lucien drawled, his dark brows lifted high in surprise.
Dev shrugged. “I gave her that option, at least. To become my duchess if she wants. It’s her choice.”
There was a moment of silence as they all digested this information. Then Justin spoke. “You love her?”
“Yes.”
“But you proposed without telling her that?” He gave a delighted laugh.
“Well, yes.” Dev admitted. “But I pointed out all the other reasons it made sense.”
His three friends sent him identical expressions of amusement mixed with horror.
“She doesn’t need to know how I feel about her,” Dev said defensively. “I don’t want it affecting her decision, especially if she doesn’t feel the same way about me. She needs saving, and I’m in a position to do it.”
“Have you offered her a marriage of convenience?” Harry asked.
“Not exactly. I’ve told her if she wants me in a physical way, then she only has to ask. And if she doesn’t want me, then I’ll leave her alone. Even if it kills me.”
“But what about your problem?” Harry asked.
“If she accepts, I won’t break my vows and go to another woman. I’ll hide it from her and barricade myself in the wine cellar or get one of the footmen to restrain me if I have an episode.”
“Why not just tell her?” Lucien asked, his expression serious.
“And have her look at me as if I’m mad?” Dev scoffed. “No thank you. There’s no reason for her to ever know. It’s easy to avoid fireworks, and thunderstorms are pretty rare. I’ll just stay away from her if I think there’s one coming.”
Harry shook his head, a pitying look in his eyes. “If you really love her, you’ll let her see all of you. Even the broken parts. You might find she loves you despite them. Maybe even because of them.”
Lucien and Justin both nodded, but Dev had no time for their philosophy. “I don’t plan to find out. If she wants to marry me, then I’ll protect her to the best of my ability. And if she doesn’t, then I’ll do whatever it takes to make her life better.”
“You’d let her marry someone else?” Lucien drawled.
Dev gritted his teeth. “As long as I thought whoever it was would treat her well, then yes.”
Lucien grinned. “Liar! You’re like a dog in the manger. You don’t want anyone else to have her.”
Dev scowled, hating that he was right. “Just don’t say anything, all right? Not even to your wives.”
His three friends looked mildly offended at the suggestion that they might break his confidence, but there wasn’t much they didn’t share with their wives.
Dev held up a warning finger. “I’m serious. And no meddling, either. I’ve only got a couple of days to convince her to marry me, and I don’t need your dubious help.”
“Very well,” Justin sighed, but there was a sparkle of gleeful anticipation in his eye. “We’ll leave you to your own devices. Good luck!”