Devil in Her Dreams (5 page)

The clash of steel grew louder as they drew closer to the ballroom. Louisa followed Elizabeth inside. John and Marston were in the center of the room, fencing, both reduced to breeches and shirt sleeves. They were so intent on their swordplay, neither gentleman realized the ladies were in the room.

A rush of heat swept through Louisa at the sight of Marston. His deep, auburn hair was mussed. The linen shirt stuck to his back from the sweat and the breeches molded his firm, muscular buttocks. She had never seen so much of the male form before. The layers of clothing men wore did not even hint to what lay beneath. Muscles tightened and flexed as he parried, and his feet moved quickly, back and forth, in a dance unfamiliar to her. Louisa resisted the urge to fan herself. His breath was short, and he grunted when he thrust his sword toward John. Her body tingled. What was happening to her?

Marston’s blade connected with John’s chest without doing injury. Both men let their arms drop. Had this been a real fight, John would now be dead.

“
Marriage has ruined you. It has been years since I bested you.” Marston placed his sword on a table then picked up a towel and wiped the sweat from his neck and face.

“
I didn’t have much opportunity to fence in the stables of Tu—.”

Elizabeth cleared her throat.

If she weren’t so intent on the snug fit of Marston’s breeches, she would have asked John why he spent so much time in the stables.

The gentlemen turned and looked at them.

“
Your skill with the sword is very impressive, Lord Marston,” Louisa complimented.

He hitched a brow, and the side of his mouth tipped in a smile. “So I’ve been told.”

“
Devlin,” John warned under his breath.

What had she said to cause her sister to blush and John to send a warning?

“
This is the first time I’ve beaten John since I was two-and-twenty.”

Is that about the time you became a spy?

Marston tossed the towel aside and the gentlemen walked toward her and Elizabeth. He was tall, lean, and all muscle under his damp shirt. She couldn’t take her eyes away from his firm chest and strong arms.

“
But, I always beat him in a shooting match.”

Louisa forced herself to look up at his face. His eyes were narrowed and the stupid grin was still on his lips. Oh drat, he knew exactly where she had been looking and admiring. Something told her that Marston needed no encouragement from her and already thought well of himself.

“
However, nobody has yet to beat Elizabeth,” Marston added.

“
Really?” Louisa looked at her sister. “When did you go up against Lord Marston in a match?”

There was a moment of silence, and Louisa fought to keep the simple, curious look upon her face and not grin. She could envision their minds working to come up with a plausible explanation since because by all accounts, Marston had not met her sister until yesterday.

“
John told me,” Marston blurted out.

“
I am a rather good shot.” Elizabeth blushed. “You wouldn’t beat Louisa though.”

Marston’s eyebrows shot up.

This time it was her turn to blush. She was rather proud of her skill, not that she’d had much opportunity to shoot a pistol in recent years.

“
Is that so?” Marston’s eyes bored into hers.

“
She is a far better shot than I ever hope to be. Not that I have had much practice.” Elizabeth’s eyes met Marston’s.

“
I am not at all sure how I feel about ladies with loaded pistols.”

Louisa stiffened. Of course he probably thought she should find a quiet chair somewhere and get back to her embroidery.

“
I also find it hard to believe.” He bent to pick up his discarded waistcoat and cravat. “I think I need proof. Why don’t the four of us enter into a contest?”

“
Not for me,” John answered. “I’ve already lost once today and don’t intend to add to my humiliation by losing to two ladies.”

“
I am too tired,” Elizabeth answered, looking into John’s eyes. “I think I should lie down.”

“
What say you, Miss Whitton? Do you care to challenge me?”

Though she knew she shouldn’t participate in such an activity, she wanted to know if she was still as good as before. But what if she wasn’t? It would only prove she lacked any exciting skill. On the other hand, what if she did beat him? Then she would have the private knowledge that she could aim better than someone employed by the Home Office.

“
I accept your challenge.”

Even if she was only half as good as John said, it gave Devlin peace of mind that there was at least one other person in the household who could offer a defense if Savary’s men came here, especially since he didn’t know how many were in the country looking. His source indicated there was only one other, but he rarely completely trusted sources. Savary could have sent teams in without telling anyone else. Of course, that didn’t mean Miss Whitton could shoot a man. A target was one thing, but taking a life was completely different. However, when threatened, people did go extreme measures to protect themselves and loved ones.

He knew Elizabeth was an excellent shot and had witnessed it on occasion. Could Miss Whitton be that good? That little slip of a woman?

As much as he wished Elizabeth and John would join them, he knew they were prepared for those coming after them, and he was glad for the opportunity to be alone with Miss Whitton. There was something about her that intrigued him on a level he had never experienced.

Was it safe to be away from the house, just the two of them? He paused at the window from his room and looked out over the vast lawns at the back of the house. There were gardeners and stable boys out and about. They would be safe in the light of day. The darkness was what offered the danger.

Miss Whitton stepped outside and looked around before she marched off toward a servant. He could not hear her from his second floor room, but she was motioning with her arms, and the young man nodded and rushed off to do her bidding. She continued walking and he fixated on the gentle sway of her hips in the light muslin gown. Golden ringlets fell down her back, bouncing with each step, the sunlight turning them to gold.

She was the most intriguing woman he had ever met. Besides all the descriptions he had heard last night, Miss Whitton was also headstrong and opinionated. How did she hide those attributes from everyone but him? And how did she get it into her fool head that a lady didn’t need protection? Even Elizabeth needed to be protected, just not as much as most ladies, given her career. Louisa was cut of a different cloth. Gentle, kind, delicate. A lady he wanted to wrap in his arms and keep safe while enjoying her delicious lips.

Marston stilled. His attraction and desire for the young lady was more than he realized. And he wanted to do much more than kiss those lips. He wanted to divest her of her gown and enjoy all the secrets the muslin hid.

He shook his head and turned away from the window. She was a vicar’s daughter, and he had no business even thinking about her lips or any other part of her anatomy. Yet that one kiss they shared last night still lingered in his mind.

If he read her eyes correctly, she was not immune to him either. Though he and John were both in a similar state of undress, she never looked at her brother-in-law once. After her eyes rose from staring at his chest, her cheeks had developed a deep, rosy hue, and there was a slight breathiness to her words.

Miss Whitton was just as attracted to him as he was to her. But what was he to do about it?

He pulled the damp shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor before he walked to pitcher and poured cool water to wash the sweat from his body.

He couldn’t pursue her. He had three sisters to worry about and could not even think about a potential wife for himself until he had them out from underfoot and settled. To pursue her for anything other than a wife would incur the wrath of the Duke of Danby, and no gentleman in his right mind would even think about offending His Grace. Not if that person wanted to continue to live in England.

Devlin pulled a clean shirt from the wardrobe and threw it on. Maybe she wouldn’t find a husband when she returned to London, which would give him time to court her after his sisters were settled.

He pulled on his waistcoat, tied his cravat, and slipped into his coat. First things first, however. He needed to beat her during the shooting match to prove to her that ladies did require the protection of a gentleman. After that, he would woo her until she couldn’t recall the name of any other gentleman of her acquaintance or be interested in anyone else who may wish to court her once they were all in London.

Bloody hell. She beat him. No, Miss Whitton trounced him. Thank goodness no one was about to witness the event or he would never be allowed to forget this afternoon, especially by those he once worked with out of the Home Office. Who would have thought a young, genteel lady such as Miss Whitton was such a crack shot?

When she opened the engraved wooden case and removed the Miquelet-lock pistol decorated in gold and pearl he was taken aback. He never expected the lady who had sat so serenely last evening and stitching such a delicate pattern, before she was yelling at him of course, would own such a pistol, or any pistol for that matter, let alone know how to use it with such deadly accuracy. He had even brought a gun for her to use, assuming she didn’t own one. Yet she was confident when she loaded and shot, over and over. The only time he gained ground was when the targets moved further away. Her gun lost accuracy with longer distances. She even beat him when they made a contest of who could load, reload and shoot the most objects after lining them up on a fence. When hers were all gone, he still had two items sitting there. It was downright embarrassing.

Right now she was humming softly, a gentle smile on her lips as she put her gun back in the case.

“
Where did you learn to shoot?”

She glanced up at him. “Edgeworth, my cousin.”

He shouldn’t be surprised, knowing what little he did about the man. “Why?”

Miss Whitton closed the gun case and turned to him. “When my mother died, he wanted to bolster mine and Elizabeth’s spirits, so he taught us how to shoot.”

“
There weren’t more ladylike pastimes he could think of?” Devlin pocketed his own gun and walked toward her.

She laughed. “I am sure there could have been, but he was concerned about us.”

“
How so?”

“
Elizabeth and I did not have any older brothers. My father was grief-stricken for a time, and Edgeworth wanted to make sure we could protect ourselves.”

Devlin nodded.

“
It helped us through some trying times.” They turned and walked back to the house.

There were moments last winter and spring he would have loved to have something with which to distract his sisters. The loss of their father and brother in such a short time had been devastating, and he could think of nothing to comfort or amuse them. He felt the loss as deeply as they, but he had other things to occupy his mind, such as taking up the reins of the title, attending parliament, learning how to run an estate, and making the decision to leave the Home Office. He could no longer be gone for endless weeks, unable to tell anyone where he was. He now had responsibilities at home.

For his sisters, they had nothing new thrust upon their shoulders to take their mind from the loss.

“
As you just witnessed, I can shoot as well as any gentlemen and do not need someone protecting me.” Miss Whitton’s voice intruded on his thoughts.

“
Yet a lady should not need to worry about protecting herself. A man should have that responsibility.”

Miss Whitton huffed. “But a gentleman is not always around.” She tilted her head a studied him. “Maybe I will teach your sisters to shoot.”

“
Good God, no.” He shuddered at the thought of any of them with a loaded gun. Calista would probably spend more hours than necessary thinking about it before trying to understand it from all angles, and end up shooting herself. Miranda would no doubt use it to extract the information she currently sought. A vision of her confronting Lord Stalbridge with a loaded pistol in her hands flitted across his brain. She would probably shoot the man and either hang for the offense or need to move to the Continent. Then there was Penny. That was even more terrifying. While holding the gun on any man, she would also talk incessantly until he grabbed it from her and shot her just to shut her up. No, none of his sisters needed to be around guns.