The Devil to Pay (25 page)

“I beg your pardon?”

Before Sidonie realized it, Lady Kirton had slipped Sidonie’s glove down. She ran her forefinger lightly around Sidonie’s bare wrist. “This is an unusual scar,” she murmured, staring at it. “A rope burn, I collect?”

“An accident aboard ship,” she admitted.

“Yes, the deck of a ship can be a dangerous place,” said her ladyship. “But I daresay an intrepid girl could soon learn to tie seamen’s knots, rig sails, climb masts, and do all manner of skillful things.”

Sidonie smiled weakly. “It is sometimes necessary,” she agreed. “In this case, I was helping furl a sail, but I grew careless.”

“Ah, one must never do that!” said her ladyship, patting Sidonie’s hand. “All manner of dangerous things can happen when one grows careless. Do you know, my dear, I’ve seen but one other scar like this in all my life.”

Sidonie faltered. “A-Another?”

Lady Kirton’s eyes held hers quite steadily. “These sorts of scars are quite rare, are they not?”

“I—why, I should have said they were quite common.”

“On men, perhaps,” her ladyship agreed, releasing Sidonie’s hand. “But I’ve known only one other woman so marked. So be watchful, my dear, if you wish no one to notice it. Have a care when you—oh, let me think of an example!—yes, when you reach across a wide counter to hand something to someone. Money, for instance? A short glove, you see, will gape just a little when you tilt your hand.”

Sidonie felt suddenly sick. She reached out, and seized the back of an armchair to steady herself. George’s warning about her visits to the Nazareth Society echoed in her ears.
“Have a care, my dear,”
he had said.
“The good ladies who volunteer there are not fools.”

But Lady Kirton was still rattling on about ships and balls and violins, as if nothing earth-shattering had happened. “I beg your pardon?” Sidonie finally managed.

“A quadrille, my dear,” Lady Kirton repeated, smiling blandly up at her. “I hear the violins striking up a quadrille. Supper must be ending. Shall we return to the ballroom and find Miss Arbuckle?”

Sidonie wasted no time in lighting her candle upon arriving home. She was anxious. Anxious over Lady Kirton’s veiled suggestions and anxious to tell Devellyn what she had learned from her brother. The lies were beginning to suffocate her. A part of her believed Devellyn would laugh and say he didn’t care. But Sidonie cared. She had hidden enough from him. She would not hide this.

Carefully, she opened the velvet drapery and set the candlestick on the window ledge. The glass was fogging, and it had begun to rain again. Across the street, Devellyn’s house was dark. Still, he must have been nearby, for it was but seconds before she heard a faint knock at the door. She moved the candle to the table and closed the drapery again.

He was drenched when she opened the door. “Good heavens, come inside!” she said, helping him from his greatcoat. She shook the rain from it and carried it into the parlor to dry over a chair.

He moved at once to kiss her, but she pushed him gently away. “Please sit down,” she said. “I have something I wish to say.”

He scowled. “I am not going to like it, am I?”

But he sat down, and did not interrupt while Sidonie repeated what George had told her.

“Incredible!” he said when she was done. “Claire Bauchet, eh?”

“You knew her?”

His gaze was distant. “I have heard her spoken of,” he murmured. “Her relationship with the previous duke was hardly a secret.”

Sidonie got up and began to pace the room. “I know,” she said. “But I have been away for a dozen years, Devellyn. No one remembers me now. And I did not wish to claim kinship to Gravenel—or to my mother, if you wish the truth.”

A certain knowledge came over his face. “George
Bauchet,”
he said slowly. “That is what you almost called your brother in Covent Garden. Why does he call himself Kemble?”

“George became estranged from our parents when he was young,” she whispered, still pacing. “I collect he changed his name to avoid the association. He…he also chose a way of life which our parents strongly disapproved of. You know, perhaps, what I mean?”

Devellyn shrugged. “I daresay,” he answered. “It matters little to me. But what does this mean to us? Why does your brother loathe me so?”

She looked at him with sorrow in her eyes. “I think my brother is only human, Devellyn,” she said softly. “Someday you will bear the title that would have been his had life been fair. Can you understand the resentment he probably harbors and yet cannot recognize, even in himself?”

“Yes, of course, how could he not?” Devellyn held out his hands to her. “I am sorry, Sidonie,” he said, taking her fingers in his. “You and George got a bad bargain, but you both made the best of it. I got better than I deserved and buggered it up pretty thoroughly. I wish the title would pass to him—he’d do it more credit than I ever would—but it’s a fate we can neither of us change.”

“I know.” Sidonie tightened her grip on him, and he squeezed her fingers reassuringly.

He held her gaze. “Well, we can’t fix our family troubles tonight, can we?” he said, slowly pulling her to him. “Come, Sidonie, give your new cousin a kiss.”

She went to him, knowing full well she should not allow the embrace. Knowing that if she ever gave in to him, if she ever went to his bed, he would see the truth and hate her. Why was it so hard to say
no
to this man? She was not sure. She knew only that something in him seemed to draw her, complete her. They were wandering souls, she and Devellyn, both of them touched with a darkness of the heart. Outwardly, they were different. But inwardly, she feared, too similar. She felt now—had felt from the very first—a bone-deep hunger for him. It was something which transcended sensuality, though they were both, she thought, very sensual creatures.

He pulled her another inch, and they came together. His mouth came down on hers, gentle but insistent. She opened beneath him, and let him have his way.
Just a kiss,
she told herself. But it was a lie. She did not want to stop at a kiss.

One of his heavy hands slid down her back, and cupped her buttocks, drawing her fully against him. He felt as he had felt that night at the Anchor, his erection already hard and demanding beneath the fabric of his formal trousers. His mouth slid down her neck. “God, I still want you, Sidonie,” he said. “I want to f—no, blister it, that’s not right!” He swallowed hard. “Sidonie, I want to make—”

“I know what you want,” she whispered, her lips pressed to his ear.

“Do you?” he rasped. “That’s good, since I’ve so little experience in asking for it prettily.”

“But prettiness is rather like charm, is it not?” she murmured, looking up at him through her lashes. “Superficial. Fleeting. Sometimes…a little dull.”

He kissed her again. “Let me,” he whispered, one hand going to her breast. “Let me have you. Let me get just a taste of you, Sidonie. God, it’s been an age since I wanted anything so desperately.”

But it had not been an age, thought Sidonie. It had been but a few days. He had wanted Ruby Black very desperately indeed. But she could not bear to think of that now. Devellyn was massaging her breast in his warm, wide palm, and all rational thought was leaving her.

“Devellyn,” she whispered. “I can’t do this.”

“You can,” he insisted, tugging down the fabric to bare her right breast. Her nipple hardened at once to his touch, and Devellyn stroked it with his thumb as if it were a rare jewel. “Sidonie,” he whispered, his voice soft but commanding. “I’ve tried to resist, but I cannot. I have to have you.”

“Here?”

“Here is perfect,” he said. With that, he pushed her left sleeve down her shoulder, fully exposing her breast. Her breath came fast and sharp. Urgent. She had to stop. She
had
to. But Devellyn’s mouth was on her now, sucking the hard tip of her breast into the swirling heat of his mouth. She looked down at his full, sensual mouth, watching as his tongue teased her so wickedly, and her mind swam with desire. She wanted him. God, she was going to have him, too, and damn the result.

“The candle,” she choked. “Put it out.”

“Put it out?” His voice was soft with disappointment.

She let her hands skim down his back. “Yes, please,” she whispered. “Do you mind terribly?”

“Not at all.” He turned without releasing her, and blew it out. Darkness washed the room, which was cool and still. He buried his face against her neck. “You’re freezing,” he whispered, the words warm on her skin. “I’ll build up the fire.”

“No,” she said hastily. “You will warm me.”

He ran his hands down her sides in a long, smooth caress. Then he returned his mouth to hers. One hand kept weighing and caressing her breast while the other went to the buttons at the back of her dress, expertly slipping them free as if he’d done it a thousand times. He probably had. She should have said no. But instead, she pressed herself urgently against him and lost herself in his next kiss. She felt her dress slither down her hips and pool around her ankles.

It was not just a yearning of the body she felt for him now. It was a yearning of the heart and soul. She had tumbled off the edge of reason. She had fallen hopelessly in love, and no one would have been more surprised than she. Devellyn deepened the kiss, and her last sliver of doubt melted away.
At least this once,
she told herself. At least this once, she would give herself to him, and hope the memory of it would sustain her.

Outside, the rain was growing stronger, the wind whipping it into sheets which lashed at the windows and brickwork. In the slender gap between the draperies, she could see it running down the window, the trickles catching the feeble gaslight. But inside the darkened parlor, a sense of quiet intimacy was building, as if they were two lovers alone in a secret world. Sidonie let her hands roam at will. It was the ultimate luxury. Devellyn was all masculine strength and physical beauty, his limbs long and thick, his muscles taut with power. Though she had seen him naked only fleetingly, the memory of it was burnt into her brain.

In the darkness, they undressed one another, neither asking, neither speaking. Words seemed so unnecessary, so disturbing to the natural rhythm. His coat fell away, her chemise followed. Waistcoat, trousers, stockings, and drawers sailed to the floor, until they stood naked together in the darkness. He let his hands run over her, as if blindly memorizing her curves and turns. He shaped her face and shoulders, her hips and her waist, then weighed her breasts in his hands again. Sidonie’s nipples felt afire as his palms brushed up. Something warm and delicious went twisting through her, all the way to her belly, until her knees sagged with longing.

She reached out to steady herself, and in response, Devellyn swept her up in his arms, a graceful, shockingly romantic gesture. A thick wool carpet lay in front of the hearth, and he knelt there. “Do you wish my coat for cover?” he asked as he gently laid her down.

Sidonie’s hands reached eagerly for him. “Just you.”

He spread his body over hers, shielding her from the night’s chill and taking his weight on his elbows. He covered her completely, his long, muscular legs pressing hers down into the softness of the wool. For long moments, he just kissed her, his lips opening over hers, his tongue plumbing the depths of her mouth, then curving sinuously around hers. His patience and tenderness shocked her. As always, he smelled of lime and of something woodsy—chestnut, she thought—and of warm, aroused male. She breathed him in, and felt a bone-deep ache. His mouth was at her breast now, sucking and teasing as his other hand caressed her nipple. Desire surged, making her hips rise against him.

“Are you eager, love?” he murmured. “What do you want?”

Sidonie’s head went back against the carpet as she writhed involuntarily beneath him.
“You,
Devellyn.” She whispered the truth into the darkness. “Always you.”

“Aleric,”
he said softly.

“Aleric.”

His mouth returned to hers, and she took him hungrily, drawing his tongue into her mouth, sliding hers along it. She kissed him deep, and her need seemed to drive him. With a deep groan of pleasure, he stroked his hand down her belly, making her skin shiver as he touched it. Then he slid his hands between her thighs, touching her intimately.

Sidonie writhed again. “Mmm,” she said. “I want you
now.”

He chuckled softly in the darkness and moved until she sensed he was kneeling between her legs. Firmly, he set his hands on her inner thighs, and pushed them wide, but did not mount her as she yearned for him to do. “Come back,” she pleaded, the words soft and thready. “On top of me. Please, Aleric. Please.”

Instead, he lifted her ankles over his broad shoulders, and slid his hands beneath her hips. It was the most decadent position imaginable, her hips tilted up by his powerful hands and arms. Still on his knees, he bent his head, and touched her lightly with his tongue, right at her most sensitive place.

Sidonie made an inarticulate sound, all she was capable of.

“Do you like that, love?” he rasped. Then he slid his tongue deep into her folds, stroking her deep, all the way through. Raw lust shuddered through her like nothing she’d ever known.