Kathryn Smith (32 page)

She had already suspected it, he could see it in her eyes, but she colored anyway. Her back stiff, she sank into the first chair she came to, her gaze carefully avoiding his.

“It was a long time ago,” he heard himself continue, as if it made a difference. Blythe had to know it hadn’t happened recently. “Before she was married.”

Blythe merely nodded, setting her hat and gloves on the low table before her.

Should he be amused or worried by her uncharacteristic behavior? It was jealousy, even he could recognize that.

“You look as though you’d like to take her eyes out. She really is a nice girl.”

She looked at him this time, her expression a mixture of sheepishness and unamusement. “How would you feel toward Carny if I had lain with him before I met you?”

Like I could take his eyes out.
Point well taken.

“Does it bother you?” He already knew the answer—of
course it bothered her. That was obvious. His pride just wanted to hear her say it.

She shrugged. “It does make me a little uncomfortable, knowing she has known you in a way I never can. I have no such person to introduce you to.”

And a damn good thing it was too. He didn’t care how hypocritical it was of him, he’d be insane with jealousy if another man knew what Blythe felt like wrapped around him. And it wasn’t just because he was possessive of her either; it was because he knew that she would never give herself to someone she didn’t love, and the idea of her loving someone else as much as—or more than—she might love him was something he would not be able to accept.

“You could thank her,” he suggested in a lame attempt to dispel her discomfort. “She taught me most of what I know.”

Wrong thing to say. Two spots of dark crimson blossomed high on Blythe’s cheeks. If the thought hadn’t occurred to her earlier to compare herself to Elsie, it certainly would now.

How could she possibly think any woman—first lover or not—could compare to her?

“It was quick, messy, and not very memorable for her, I’m sure.” Common sense told him it would be wise not to admit that their “lessons” had continued after that first time. The less he told her now, the better.

“What was it like for you?”

Of course she would have to ask that, and she would have to ask it here, when either Elsie or her father could walk in on them at any moment.

“Maybe we could talk about this later when we’re alone?” he suggested.

Blythe nodded, her movements stilted. “All right.” But it wasn’t all right. That was obvious as well.

Sighing, he ran a hand over his face. “It was awkward and embarrassing and not something I’d ever care to repeat.”

Her gaze was so hopeful he didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh. “Really?”

He sighed. There was no way he could make her understand the mortification that followed coming before even getting one’s cock wet. It was one of those amazing advantages that women held over men. “Really.”

Thankfully, that seemed to appease her, and just in time as well, for not even two minutes later, Samuel Fielding practically skipped into the room with sparkling eyes, cheeks bright with color, and thick white hair that stood straight up on end. He looked like a gnome.

“Devlin, my boy!” he boomed in a voice bigger than he was. “Here ye are, here ye are!”

As was their custom, Devlin jumped to his feet and crossed the carpet to embrace the older man, and as usual, Samuel caught him in a grip that was surprisingly strong. He might be small, but he was wiry and younger than his white hair would have one believe. Devlin didn’t know if he was even sixty yet.

“It’s about time you brought your lovely wife to meet me,” he chastised jovially as Devlin pulled away.

“You could have met her if you had come to the wedding,” Devlin reminded him. “You were invited.”

Samuel waved a dismissive hand as he pulled a face. “And wouldn’t I have fit right in with all your fancy guests? No, it was better that I didn’t go, but I appreciated the sentiment, m’boy, and the piece of cake you sent home with His Lordship.”

Once Samuel stopped talking, Devlin introduced him to Blythe. As he’d hoped, the two of them took to each other immediately. He had no doubt that old Sam would adore her—the old groom was bound to like whomever Devlin married just because she was his wife, but he’d been a little fearful that Blythe might not appreciate this man he adored like a father.

God love her, she even went out of her way to be polite and friendly with Elsie, even though he knew it must be killing her to do so. When Blythe offered to pour the tea, essentially putting herself in the position of both lady and servant, Devlin knew she was trying to show him that she harbored no resentment toward Elsie, who was a dear friend and had never really been anything more, despite the physical turn their relationship had taken.

“So you have been with Devlin’s family for many years, Mr. Fielding?” Blythe asked, after taking a sip of her tea.

“Call me Sam, my dear lady. Aye, I’ve been with the Rylands for as long as ever I can remember and my father before that. Why, I remember when this one here”—he gestured toward Devlin—“was born. His father brought him out to the stables that same day to meet us, despite the surgeon’s orders. Biggest babe I’d ever seen.”

Blythe chuckled at his humor. “I imagine he was.”

Samuel nodded. “Lord Creed held him out to me and said, ‘Look at this, Fielding, is he not a fine son?’I said, ‘Aye, m’lord, but I cannot imagine him being anything but.’ The next time he entered my stables, his father took him up on his first horse.”

His wife seemed charmed by the old groom’s reminiscences, but Devlin could only stare in stupefaction. His father had taken him out to the stables when he wasn’t even a day old just to show him off? He’d called him “a fine son”?

“I remember the day when Devlin went off to war,” Samuel went on, his face clouding with memory. “Oh, that was a dark day, my lady. Lady Creed kept to her rooms, weeping, and His Lordship looked as though the boy was already dead. He didn’t like his boys being too far away from him, no sir.”

His mother had cried? No, that had to be wrong. She’d been positively dry-eyed when Devlin left. Although she had been clutching a handkerchief in her hand as she waved good-bye…

“Every time His Lordship would get a letter from Devlin
he’d come up to visit and we’d have a drink while he read it aloud, and whenever they’d print something about him in the paper, it was the same thing. Lord Creed had to come boasting. He cut every mention out of the paper and tucked it aside in a little box. ‘That’s my boy, Fielding,’he’d say. ‘That’s my boy.’ He was so proud of his son the hero.” Samuel’s gaze was full of emotion as it settled on Devlin. “We all were.”

Devlin didn’t utter a sound. It was as though the power of speech had been taken from him. He sat there, dumb and mostly mute for the remainder of the visit. Thankfully Blythe was comfortable enough to talk without him, and old Sam certainly had no trouble keeping conversation flowing. Devlin spoke when spoken to, and other than that, barely said a word.

He hugged both Elsie and Sam as they left, and mumbled a promise to return again soon. He thought he heard Blythe tell Elsie how happy she was to have met her, but he wasn’t certain. She could have threatened to slit her throat for all his muddled brain knew.

His father had been proud. His mother had cried.

His silence continued as they drove home. Blythe didn’t bother trying to get him to talk either. She seemed content to let him be silent until he decided otherwise. The quiet between them was far from uncomfortable. If anything, it seemed to bring them even closer together, because he knew she understood his silence. Normally someone knowing him so well would make him uneasy, but not so with Blythe. She might lament not knowing much about his past, but she knew him better than anyone, possibly even better than his brothers.

Once they were back at the town house, she led him upstairs to the privacy of their room, and with the door safely closed behind them, she turned to him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

“They loved you,” she said softly. “Even you must accept that now.”

She was right. Hugging her tight against him, Devlin pressed his cheek to her temple, trying to quell the storm of emotion raging within him. All these years he’d thought that they hadn’t wanted him, that he hadn’t mattered, and he had. He just couldn’t see it, and his mother and father hadn’t been very good at showing it, at least not to him. Then again, they hadn’t been overly affectionate with any of their children, not really.

Christ, how could he have been so stupid? He’d gone off to fight in hopes of winning their love, love that was already his. What if he had died over there? He never would have known they cared.

All he had done, all he had seen and endured, had been for nothing. It had been an empty quest, a search for something he’d had all along. He could have avoided the whole war, could have eluded all the bloodshed.

He wouldn’t have killed the Frenchman. He would never have killed at all.

“They loved you,” she murmured once more, her hands stroking his back through his coat. “I love you.”

A shudder wracked his body at her gently spoken words, and as the tears coursed down his cheeks, Devlin didn’t know if they would ever stop.

“Where is Devlin?” Carny sat on the sofa, one leg crossed elegantly over the other.

“I sent him off to White’s with Miles.” Sent him off because she sensed he needed some time away after allowing her to witness the force of his emotion. Never had she seen a man weep as he had after their return from Samuel’s. She had forgotten all about Elsie and her own jealousy and simply held him while he let it all out. He might have had other lovers, but Blythe was willing to bet he had never opened himself up to another woman as he’d opened himself to her.

“He is very fortunate to have such a considerate wife.”

As she poured the tea, Blythe rolled her eyes at the blatant flattery in Carny’s voice. “I have to disagree. I believe I am fortunate to have him.”

He took the cup she offered. “Not many women would be so accepting of a man who has lived the life Devlin has.”

Now she frowned. Lifting her cup to her lips, she met his gaze unflinchingly. “What do you mean?”

Carny, immaculate as always in a green coat and buckskin breeches, sipped his tea. “War changes a man, as you are well aware. Devlin has seen—and done—things that have a way of leaving a man scarred on the inside as well as out. It is not easy to love such a man. Nor is it easy for him to love in return.”

He spoke as though he was such a man himself, and Blythe wanted to laugh. Carny was a good man, a brave man who never shrank from doing his duty, but he could never compare to her Devlin. He had entered the army as an officer and watched most of the action pass from the back of a horse. What did he know of the lower ranks? Truly, what did he know of Devlin or what he had seen? Her husband’s biggest regret in life was having to kill a man in order to save Carny’s life. The best Carny could do was regret jilting her, and that was only on days when his marriage wasn’t quite what he thought it ought to be.

“Loving Devlin is one of the easiest things I have ever done.”

Carny seemed as surprised at her words as she was. It was very bold of her to make such a declaration, but he had left her little choice.

He cleared his throat. “Then he is a lucky man indeed. I hope he appreciates it.”

Blythe’s smile was easy. Of that she had no doubt. “I am sure he does.”

He studied her carefully, his azure gaze taking in every aspect of her countenance. She forced herself to sit still under his scrutiny.

“Marriage has changed you,” he announced finally.

This should be interesting. She took another drink. Hot, sweet tea kept her from immediately asking, “Oh? In what respect?”

He watched as she lowered her cup to the saucer in her other hand. If he was looking for a tremor or some sign that he had discomposed her, he would be sadly out of luck.

“You seem more mature,” he replied. “More content. Less rebellious.”

Ahh, meaning that she was being nicer to him. Of course she was. It was easy to be nice to a person when his hold on you was gone. Carny was nothing more than an old family friend now. Despite his sometimes bizarre attitude where Devlin was concerned—he was often like an old stallion annoyed because the new male brought into the barn had the attention of all the mares—Blythe knew that Carny was her friend as well. He wanted only the best for her. And everything else aside, she knew he wanted only the best for Devlin as well.

“I suppose I am,” she replied. “I feel more content than I have in years.”

Carny nodded. He seemed genuinely happy for her, but there was an envy to his expression as well. Perhaps he did realize his hold over her was gone, after all. Perhaps that was part of his problem.

“Then I hope Ryland continues doing whatever he did to deserve you in the first place.”

Sour grapes were not flattering on any man. Carny was not the exception.

“I will ask you to hope the same for me as well,” she said good-naturedly. “I do not know what I would do without Devlin in my life.”

Carny watched her carefully, as though he didn’t quite believe her—or didn’t want to believe her, the suspicious part of her thought.

“I am glad to see you finally happy, Blythe. I am sorry I wasn’t the man to do it for you.”

Blythe believed him. He truly was sorry. That he waited till now to let her know just how sorry he was wasn’t what bothered her. It was the fact that he looked as though he’d take it all back if he could.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that while he hadn’t been the man to make her happy two years ago, he’d desperately like to be that man
now.

I
t was ridiculous.

Pretty soon she was going to have to place a sign in the window advertising advice for unhappy married people. Since when had she become an expert on marriage? She was still new to the institution herself. She had no idea how it was supposed to work.

One thing she did know was that as she sat there, listening to yet more oration on the trauma of a discordant union, Devlin was upstairs soaking in a hot bath, completely naked, and she wasn’t there to enjoy the sight. Nor would she be able to join him in the tub, or coax him out of it, or let him show her all the amazing things he could do with his amazing hands, mouth, and body in a tub of soapy water.

They were newly married, for heaven’s sake! Other people seemed to understand what that meant, but not so Lord and Lady Carnover. Carny had been by again the day before, and while Blythe had managed to tell herself that she’d been wrong in her misgivings about Carny’s feelings toward her, that didn’t mean she wanted to hear about his troubles every day.

“This has to stop.”

Teresa blinked. “What does?”

Sitting in the drawing room, drinking her third cup of tea of the morning, Blythe tried to keep her tone kind and patient. “You know I adore you, but Carny is my friend as well, and the two of you really should be discussing your problems with each other, not with me.”

Obviously her tone hadn’t been as kind or as patient as she thought because Teresa promptly burst into tears.

“Oh blast.” Rising from her chair, Blythe moved to the sofa where the other woman sat sobbing and awkwardly placed an arm about her slender shoulders. She wasn’t good at this sort of thing. She wasn’t good with women and their emotions in general.

Dealing with Devlin’s tears the day before had come much more easily, although with a lot more pain on her part. It nearly killed her to see him suffer so, even if it had come with the happy realization that his parents had loved him after all.

She patted Teresa’s shoulder, making shushing noises as she did so. “I am sorry, Teresa. I did not mean to upset you.”

Pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve, Teresa shook her head before wiping at her eyes and nose. “I am not upset with you.”

She wasn’t? “Then why are you crying?”

The other woman’s shoulders straightened as she visibly tried to put herself to rights. “I am with child.”

“That is wonderful!” Carny must be ecstatic. So why did Teresa look so glum? Then somehow, Blythe understood—at least a little bit.

“You have not told Carny yet, have you?”

Teresa shook her head, a new batch of tears threatening. “I cannot bring myself to tell him.”

“Whyever not?” Then a horrible thought occurred. “He is the father, is he not?”

That dried Teresa’s tears quickly enough. “Of course he
is!” Her affronted expression spoke louder than her indignant tone.

Blythe was back to being confused again, and just a little exasperated that Teresa didn’t come right out and confide in her.

“Teresa, I have no idea why this has you so upset when you have wanted it for so long.”

“I am upset because my husband no longer seems to care!” She sniffed. “I do not think he loves me anymore.”

Now that was just ridiculous. All Carny ever seemed to talk about was Teresa. Of course, he seemed to dwell mainly on the problems they were having…

“I am sure you are mistaken. Of course Carny loves you.”

Teresa dabbed at the wetness in the corners of her dark eyes. It took a truly beautiful woman to retain her looks when trying not to cry. Blythe could hate her for that if she allowed herself. “I think he has fallen in love with another woman.”

“Good Lord, what gives you such a foolish notion?” Fickle Carny might have been once, but he was not the type to deceive a woman in such a way. If he was in love with another woman, he would be honest about it.

“He hardly spends any time at home anymore, and when he does he seems distracted and preoccupied. And yesterday I overheard him talking to a friend about past regrets. I believe he regrets marrying me.”

Or he regrets not marrying me.
The thought raced through Blythe’s mind before she could stop it. How could she even entertain such an awful, conceited notion? It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be true.

And yet, on some level, she knew it was. It wasn’t because Carny realized he had feelings for her, it was because her marriage looked good and his seemed so bad. It was because she was what could have been, and in his head he made that something better than what he had.

Blasted idiot.

“Teresa,” she said, taking her friend’s hand. “Carny loves you, of that I have no doubt. If he seems distracted it is only because he believes you have fallen out of love with him.” It was wrong of her to betray Carny’s confidence, but she wasn’t about to let him and Teresa ruin their marriage just because they were too foolish to talk about their problems.

Teresa raised her damp gaze to Blythe’s. “Did he tell you that?”

Blythe nodded. “He did.” She squeezed the smaller woman’s dainty fingers. “Tell him about the child. Tell him you love him, and I promise everything will be fine.”

The hopeful expression on Teresa’s pretty face pinched Blythe’s heart. The knowledge that she might somehow be involved in her friend’s unhappiness, even by no fault of her own, laid a heavy guilt upon her shoulders. She didn’t want the responsibility for their happiness. It was all she could do to pursue her own.

“You are right,” Teresa agreed with a sniff. “I should tell him. Thank you, Blythe.”

By the time Teresa finally left a little while later, Blythe felt as though she’d been wrung out and left to dry in a wrinkled heap. Lord, she’d be happy when she and Devlin could finally return to Rosewood. Why were renovations taking so long anyway? It wasn’t as though
that
much work needed to be done.

Lifting her skirts, she climbed the stairs to the next floor, grateful to have just herself and Devlin—and the servants, of course—in the house. She wanted to talk to him more about what they had discovered yesterday. She needed to know that he believed it still, that it had made a difference.

She found him in their bedroom, fresh from the bath, naked from the waist up as he sorted through the wardrobe for a shirt. He’d gone over to Creed House to fence with Brahm earlier that morning, returning with his clothes
drenched in sweat. Blythe only had to wrinkle her nose and he rang for hot water.

Closing the door behind her, she paused by the foot of the bed, leaning her temple against the poster as she curled one hand around the carved wood. Smiling, she admired the long, supple line of his spine, the dusky gold of his skin, even the dusting of freckles across the top of his shoulders. Dampness turned his hair to ebony silk, and the scent of cloves and sandalwood hung in the air between them. Every time she looked at him, she was struck by the sheer untamed beauty of him.

No, he wasn’t beautiful in the classic sense. No sculptor would ever cast him in marble. His face would never grace a chapel ceiling, and it was just as well, for no one, not even Michelangelo himself, could capture the strength and grace that was Devlin.

He turned from the wardrobe, a questioning expression on his angular face. There were times when he seemed so weary and tired, so sad and alone, and then there were times like this—when the shadow of his past didn’t darken his gaze, when the lines around his mouth were faint and his lips curved ever so gently upward. She didn’t think it possible, but those were the moments when she loved him most, those moments when he wore his hope like armor.

“Like what you see?” he asked, turning to fully face her.

His hand rested high on the wardrobe door, the other on the jut of a narrow hip. His flesh pulled taut across his ribs, elongating the pale scar that arced into the crisp hair on his chest. He had to know that she loved to look at him, that she couldn’t look without wanting to touch.

“I love it,” she replied honestly. “I love you.”

He looked as though she had punched him. Obviously he had yet to get used to hearing someone say those words. If it took the rest of her life, she was going to make sure he eventually believed he deserved to hear them.

Good God, if the man was any easier to love it would be
ridiculous. He’d snuck up on her and stolen her heart with that lopsided smile before she had a chance to defend herself. He had pursued her with reckless abandon after sharing just one late-night kiss—a kiss that had sealed their fate just as surely as that night she agreed to marry him.

“You do not know what to say when I tell you that, do you?”

He shrugged. “Usually I want to tell you not to.”

Pushing away from the bed, she moved toward him.

“We’ve had this discussion before. I thought we agreed there would be no more talk of it.”

Chuckling self-consciously, he nodded. “I seem to remember being given that order.”

Her arms went around his waist. “Then do you not think the time has come for you to start obeying it?”

“All right.” His simple acquiescence warmed her, as did the smile curving his lips as he slipped his arms around her shoulders. “How was your visit with Teresa?”

Sighing, Blythe leaned her forehead against his shoulder. “I cannot decide whether it was good or not.”

“Did you have a quarrel?” She could almost hear the frown in his voice.

“No.” She lifted her head. “She is pregnant.”

Devlin’s brows rose. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

“You would think so.” Blythe shook her head. “She hasn’t told Carny yet because she thinks he’s having an affair.”

She saw the frown this time. “With you?”

“No. Thank God she didn’t make that assumption, but she did remark upon how much time he’s spending away from the house lately. I find it somewhat discomfiting thinking he hasn’t told her that he comes to visit me as often as he does.”

“His silence does make his motives seem suspicious.”

Blythe rolled her eyes. “You are determined to make a villain out of him, aren’t you?”

“I am not.”

She would have smiled at his indignation if she hadn’t had
such thoughts about Carny herself. “I think I will tell Piotr to tell him I’m not at home the next time he comes to call. This needs to stop.”

The humor left his eyes. “You do know why Carny’s coming around, don’t you?”

No, no. She didn’t want to have these thoughts. She didn’t want to think that Carny might have feelings for her—not because she wanted him to or because she doubted her own where he was concerned, but because she would have to kill him if he were truly that stupid. When she wanted him he hadn’t wanted her, and if he wanted her now…

Well, she’d at least have to reap a considerable amount of hurt on him.

“He doesn’t think Teresa loves him anymore.” It was the only reason she was prepared to give.

“Of course she does.”

He said it so easily, so determinedly, as though Carny should simply know it as truth. Was that how he thought Blythe should see it as well? Was she simply to assume that he loved her without ever hearing the words?

She couldn’t do that.

“But that’s not why Carny is coming to you.”

She raised her gaze to his, unease tingling at the base of her spine. “Is it not?”

A cynical smile twisted his lips. “He wants you to know his marriage is in trouble. He’s giving you a chance to come to him.”

That was absurd! Her mouth opened to say so, but the words wouldn’t come out. Good Lord, was it true?

“He wants to know if you still love him.” He said the words matter-of-factly, but there was a glimmer of fear in his eyes—real fear. It wasn’t that he distrusted her, that was without question, it was that he didn’t trust his own ability to keep her affections.

Silly man.

Her arms tightened around his ribs. “There is room for only one man in my heart. You.”

“Prove it.”

Both of Blythe’s brows climbed high on her forehead. Her eyes widened at his challenge. “I beg your pardon?”

“Prove it.” He released her and took a step backward.

“Show me you love me. Please.”

It was the “please” that was her undoing. He needed a physical demonstration of her feelings. He needed it so badly, she could see the anxiety in his eyes. For some reason, it meant more to him than he could articulate to have her show him how much she loved him. It was almost as though he thought he didn’t deserve it, or couldn’t quite allow himself to believe that she loved him that much.

“All right,” she murmured. “I will.”

The moment Blythe said the words, something changed in her expression. There was a determination to her features that quickened Devlin’s heart and sent a thrill of arousal spiraling down to his groin. She was going to show him, and it scared him a little.

She took him by the hand and led him to the bed, pushing him down onto the mattress. He stretched out on it, his arms at his sides as he watched her slip out of her blue morning gown. When she joined him on the bed she wore her corset and shift. He caught a glimpse of stocking and garter as she climbed up beside him.

She knelt by his legs, her hands sliding up his thighs to converge on his cock, already straining beneath the fabric of his trousers. Deftly, she undid the falls and tugged on the soft wool. He lifted his hips, allowing her to slide trousers and smallclothes down past his knees and over his feet. She tossed them to the floor—his stockings followed.

Completely naked, he lay still before her, scarcely daring to breathe. Her fingers started at his shins, dancing along his flesh until they once again stilled at his groin. She smiled as
her hand closed around the aching, flushed length of him. She squeezed gently, firmly. Devlin groaned.

He watched as she pumped him, fluid beading on the blunt head. No other woman had ever touched him as though his pleasure was all that mattered. No other woman had aroused him as Blythe did, and when she lowered her head, wrapping her sweet, wide mouth around him, Devlin knew what it was to die. To be worshipped. To be loved.

Her tongue caressed him with long, wet, velvety strokes and swirls. Her mouth swept up and down the shaft—sweet suction on the sensitive tip, then sliding slowly down until he felt himself nudging the back of her throat. Muscles tensed with restraint, Devlin fought the urge to grab her by the head and thrust himself into that delicious mouth until he came with such force she wouldn’t be able to swallow it all.