Surrender The Night (37 page)

“You’ve no hold on her, as you told me yourself,” Carrington said without looking at hm. “I’m glad to see you took such beautiful advantage of my gift, pretty lady.”             

Devon’s advance stopped. “What are you talking about?”

Insolentiy, Carrington fingered Katrina’s bodice ruffle. “Where do you think she got such fine material?”

Even in the dying glow of the flames Katrina saw Devon pale. “What does he mean, Kat?”

“Not what his filthy tone implies. I bought the material from him, Devon.” She wrenched away from Carrington.

“Oh yesss?” Carrington drawled. “I’ve yet to see a shilling.” He looked Katrina up and down. “But I can think of a better way for you to pay me—”

Growling, Devon leaped on him. Katrina bit her knuckles as the two men rolled over and over in the grass, trading punches as they went. Even sober, Carrington wouldn’t have been a match for Devon. Drunk, he was hopelessly outmanned.

The Cornish watched as the two lords tussled in the dirt like farmhands. Some of the men who’d sniffed in disdain at Devon’s passage looked grud
gingly impressed at Devon’s prowess.

Devon straddled Carrington and drew back his fist. His punishing uppercut caught Carrington’s chin, echoing in the night air. Carrington went limp. Heaving more with rage than exertion, Devon rose. He held his hand out to Katrina.

“Come,” he said imperiously.

Only the pop and hiss of the bonfire disturbed the tense silence as all watched for Katrina’s response. If she accepted his hand and let him lead her away, every soul present save the youngest children knew how they would end the night’s revelry.

Katrina glanced nervously around. She’d intended to go to him, yes, but not so publicly. She looked back at Devon.

Devon’s imperious chin lowered a notch. “Come, Katrina mina,” he whispered for her ears alone.

The longing in his voice struck a chord within her, for she, too, vibrated with that need. She rose and was reaching for his hand when she caught movement behind him.

“Look out, Devon!” she screamed.

He whirled, and the cudgel bounced off his shoulder instead of his head. He caught the stick and jerked it from Jack’s hands. He flung it into the dark and began, “I’ve no quarrel with you, man—’ ’ He broke off with an oof as Jack caught him about the waist and threw him to the ground.

“But we’ve all a score to settle with ye, me fine little lordling,” Jack growled. He drew back his boot to kick Devon in the ribs, but Devon caught his foot and pushed. Jack grunted as he fell backward. He looked dazed for a moment, and that was all the time Devon needed. He straddled Jack and drew back his fist.

Davie charged out of the dark and pounced on Devon. Devon flexed his shoulders and tried to throw him off, but then Jack, shaking his head to clear it, sat up and added his strength to Davie’s. Paulie joined the melee, helping pin Devon’s struggling arms to the ground. Jack began raining blows on Devon’s face.

Katrina gave an anguished moan and ran after the cudgel Devon had thrown away. She was dragging it back when a pistol shot exploded into the air. She blinked at the bright flash of powder, then sagged to her knees in relief when Jack turned in shock.

John threw aside the pistol he’d snatched from Paulie’s belt. “I’d expect such from ’ee. Jack, but ’ee, Davie, and ’ee.  Paulie”—he looked sternly at each man in turn—‘ ‘should have more respect of your naames as Cornishmen than to gang up on a man so.”

Agreeing grunts came from several quarters. As Jack turned back to Devon Paulie reluctantly let Devon’s arm go. He picked up his pistol and stumbled off. With one arm free Devon was able to pry Davie’s slack grip away and push Jack off. He rose and levelly met Jack’s mean glare. Jack also lumbered to his feet.

Violence lingered in the air as strongly as the powder’s acrid stench. Realizing she was partly the source of the discord, Katrina smothered her instinct to go to Devon. John could handle this far better than she.

“Go on now, Davie. ’Ee’ve had too much to drenk and well be sorry come mo
rnen’.”

Davie looked about the staring crowd, then reluctantly turned away. But the look he sent at Devon over his shoulder promised a different end to their next meeting.

Carrington, who had recovered consciousness but was cradling his head in his hands, lifted his head as Davie passed. Davie’s eyes met his briefly, but then he hurried off.

Jack stood firm as a sturdy oak, then he rolled up his sleeves. “I don’t need their help. I’ll be right glad to stomp ye into the ground me ownself.”

“Hush, Jack,” John said with a weary shake of his head. “Can’t ’ee see the lassie’s spoken for? Et’s her choice after all.”

Katrina followed John’s gesturing hand and went to Devon. She wet her kerchief in the water Rachel had brought and tenderly bathed the bruise on his jaw. He caught her hand and held it tightly to his cheek. Their eyes met.

In that moment the rumors were substantiated. Some of the women shook their heads in condemnation. No banns had been read, yet there was possession offered and accepted in that simple exchange between lord and girl. Others of a more moderate bent sighed, longing, perhaps, for their own golden days when love had seemed strong enough to bridge all.

Many of the men present looked at Devon with new eyes. He’d done well tonight. They could relate to a lord who was willing to take on three at onc
e, if necessary, to protect his lady. More than one man sighed as he looked at Katrina. Who could blame him?

Some distance away Ellie shed a few happy tears into Billy’s shoulder. He smiled and saluted the pair who seemed oblivious to the stares. “It’s past time,” he said to himself. Then he hugged Ellie close.

With a frustrated snarl Jack turned away. “Ye’ve not seen the last of me, ye sorry excuse for a man. Ye’ll not always have this little slip to protect ye. And ye, girlie, ain’t seen the last o’ me, either.” He stomped off.

Katrina didn’t even hear his threat. Her eyes, luminous with tears, locked with Devon’s. “Are you all right?”

His shoulders lifted with his deep sigh. “I’ve never felt better in my life. Come, my’love.” He took her hand, but paused to look down at John. “Thank you, sir. I’ll have a care for her, don’t worry.”

“And so ’ee better, young man,” John answered. He waved them away. “Go on weth ’ee. Ee maakes me feel like bones molderen’ en my graave.” But as he watched them walk away his face reflected that, aches and pains or not, he felt young and gay. He took his wife’s hand.

Katrina rested her head against Devon’s shoulder as he led her to his tethered curricle.

Many stared after them, whispering. But Will, standing off to himself gazing in contemplation at the stars, didn’t even
turn his head. He maintained his lonely vigil as the others drifted off. The glowing embers of the bonfire died slowly. Soon, even his slim, solitary figure could not be distinguished against the night.

Chapter Twelve

On
that ride
to Devon’s manor, life hummed joyously all about Katrina. The hoarse croak of mating frogs provided bass accompaniment to a cooing dove soprano. Tenor was supplied by chirruping, gamboling squirrels, and alto sounded from a bellowing, rutting bull.

Yet the mating sounds were but background to the primitive syncopation of two human hearts. With her head against Devon’s shoulder, his arm about her, Katrina knew life’s true bounty. Why had she struggled so long against this fate? Here, in this man’s arms, she belonged. Though it was neither sanctified by
God nor man, somehow Katrina knew this night was meant to be. And no matter what the future brought, she’d have this memory.

That certainty obviated the shyness Katrina might have felt. Thus, when Devon leaped down and threw his reins to a sleepy, waiting stable boy, it was his hands that shook as he reached up for her; his eyes that searched hers uncertainly. Some imp of mischief made Katrina shield her own eagerness with long, fluttering lashes.

At a less emotive time Devon might have wondered why her hands were rock steady on his shoulders as he lifted her down. Scrutinize her as he did in the bright moonlight, he couldn’t read her thoughts. Though his virility throbbed in painful protest, the conscience Katrina had activated was more insistent.

Holding her close, her toes dangling above the ground, he growled into her ear, ‘ ‘If you’ve changed your mind, now’s the time to say so.”

At that Katrina’s lashes lifted. She allowed him a brief, heady glimpse of her thoughts. The moon smiled in unison as she teased, “You have changed, my darling demon. The man I knew two years ago would never have allowed me a choice.” She pushed at his shoulders and he reluctantly set her down.

‘ ‘The woman I knew two years ago would have damned me for even asking.” He watched her suspiciously as she skipped up the front steps to his carved mahogany door. “And if you think it’s escaped me that you didn’t answer me, you’re much mistaken.” He bit back even more heated words as the manservant he’d inherited with the house opened the door.

His surprise at seeing Katrina was quickly masked. “Your lordship. I’ve set a cold collation out for you in your rooms.”

“
Thank you, Simpson. That will be all.” Simpson retreated to his quarters at the back of the house.

Katrina barely glanced at the spacious, marble-tiled hall illuminated by a small but exquisite chandelier. Instead she looked up the red-carpeted stairs. She went to the foot of them to run a caressing hand over the smooth oak banister.

Devon muttered around the pulse beating in his throat, “Katrina, answer my question. This time I must have your verbal and willing consent. I’ll not make the same mistakes that tore us apart in the past.”

If Katrina heard, she didn’t answer. She began to ascend the stairs, her hand trailing sensuously over the banister. When she was almost at the top, her response finally drifted back to him. “Come along, Devon. All that dancing made me hungry.” Devon gritted his teeth. Damn the girl, didn’t she know what she was doing to him? Good intentions could triumph over violent desire only so long. If she carried this teasing game into the bedchamber, he couldn’t answer for his reaction.

Feeling like a puppet on a string, Devon stalked after Katrina.

Katrina peeked in doors until she found the tray of food, then entered a luxurious chamber bedecked in blue and gold. She glided about, fingering this vase, touching that inlaid escritoire, seeming not to notice her effect on him. For sanity’s sake Devon left the door half-open behind them and stood barely within the room.

What was the girl about? Invading his sanctum, touching his things in a way that made him ache. The candlelight formed a nimbus about her. In the blue silk, her skin and hair luminous, she did in truth
look
angelic. She
acted
quite the opposite.

She let her shawl drape past one shoulder, then trail behind her on the floor. Pausing at the small table beside the bed, she picked up a scone from the array of delights his man had left. She took a tiny nibble, chewed slowly, then set the scone back down, licking her lips, to wander about the room again.

“You’re welcome,” he snapped.

“Oh, excuse me.” She picked up the tray and brought it over to him. “Do you see anything you like?” When his only answer was a stifled groan and a hungry glance at her fluttering ruffle, she leaned over to set the tray down on a nearby table, apparently unconcerned at the way her breasts pushed insis
tently at her tight bodice. She selected a sweetmeat. She took one bite, then popped the rest of the candied pear in his mouth.

Enigmatic blue eyes held his as they chewed. She finished first. “I’ve worked up
such
an appetite. What about you?” As if to emphasize her point, she delicately licked her sticky fingers one by one.

He gulped too quickly and coughed, his throat now aching as much as the rest of him. She reached out to beat his back, but he shied away from her like a fractious stallion.

“Touch me at your peril,” he finally choked out, shooting her a watery glare. It was wasted as she shrugged and turned away—toward the bed.

His breath stopped. She sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed, smoothing the blue satin coverlet with one hand, then both. She tried an experimental bounce, then sighed luxuri
ously.

“It’s been such an age since I felt a real mattress,” she said, flopping on her back.

Her skirts tumbled wantonly about her, revealing too much slim ankle and shapely calf for Devon’s comfort. Indeed, Devon was long past comfort—or reason, or shame. Two long years of dearth made him feel nigh dead from sexual deprivation. Here, in his own room, in his bed by her own will, lay plenty. Breath rushed back into his lungs as, snarling, he slammed and locked the door and lunged.

Yet when she propped her head on one hand and smiled at him, she stayed his mad rush as effectively as a bullet. He halted beside the bed, teetering on his feet.

The words were torn out of him. “Oh God, Katrina, either yea or nay, but put me out of my misery.” He closed his eyes briefly, then looked at her again.

The teasing glimmer died. Her eyes darkened as she looked up at him. Her lips trembled, then she smiled again. This time the smile was different. This time Devon’s resentment melted away, for with this simple movement of her lips she touched his soul.

So this is what it meant to look upon the face of Love, Devon thought vaguely. Yes, she was beautiful, but that glowing serenity came from her spirit, not her person. She seemed Woman incarnate; not Eve, the tempter, nor even Venus, the lover. He searched her eyes, looking for the elusive memory. It came to him with a force that humbled him.

Here lay Penelope, steadfast, loving Penelope, true to him despite her many ardent suitors, and the isolation his absence had thrust upon her. He, errant Ulysses, was being welcomed back with open arms, despite his arrogance and unfaithfulness. Devon looked down at his hands, then rubbed them against his breeches. He’d soiled them with other women, while this . . . love of his life had been true to him even when she thought she’d never see him again. Devon closed his eyes in pain and, for the first time in many years, begged his Lord’s forgiveness. He didn’t deserve this woman, but if he didn’t win her, nothing in life would matter to him anymore. Least of all his name, for he’d have no one to share it with.

Compelled, he opened his eyes again. Head on one side, he tried to picture what their children would look like. If a tiny flicker of doubt still troubled him, he’d not admit it to her. He’d sire a parade of idiots if that’s the only way he could take this woman to wife for life. Yet his own fears shamed him.

When she held her arms out to him, it was too much. He swallowed harshly as he saw himself clearly for the first time in his life. He was a coward. He’d used ancestral pride as an excuse not to make commitments because he was afraid of being hurt. And his own shortsightedness had cost him dear, would cost him this . . . pearl beyond price if he didn’t overcome his own past, the way she’d obviously overcome hers. He stayed where he was, unable to retreat from his sole hope of happiness, but unable to grasp it, either, with his former selfishness.

When he didn’t accept her embrace, Katrina sat up. A small, pained frown shadowed that lovely smile. “Devon ... do you not want me?”

The moan that escaped him was so low, so deep with pain, that Katrina gasped. “Not want you? I’ll die without you, but surely I’d rather perdition claimed me than take you against your will again.” He put one knee on the mattress and tenderly brushed away the truant locks of hair on her cheek.

He gritted his teeth and jerked his hand away. “Tell me to go, and I’ll never trouble you again. Tell me to stay, and I’ll do all within my power to be worthy of you.”

His words rang with a surety that acted on Katrina like an aphrodisiac. The last fetters of the past sprang free, releasing her to follow her instincts. She loved this man; she wanted to give her heart and, aye, her body to him. If he truly understood now, as his eyes seemed to proclaim, nothing held them apart any longer.

She sprang to her knees and flung her arms about his waist. “Stay, my love.” She felt his hands tremble as he stroked her hair. Her voice shook with the same emotion when she quavered, ‘ T—I was wrong two years ago. Love is enough to mend even the cruelest wound. Many’s the time I tried to cut you from my heart, but I couldn’t. I know now I never shall. And right or wrong, I won’t try any longer.
...”
Her voice drifted away as she felt wetness on her temple. “Devon?”

He drew back so she could see his tears. “And you were right. I was poor in all my luxury. Only now do I know what true wealth is. I, for one, will never be miserly again.” Wed me, be my love in the world’s eyes, too, he started to say, but she drew him down on the bed and kissed him.

With the first touch of her lips the sublime became practical. Only one way remained to them to cement their emotional bond, and recklessly, joyously, they took it.

They lay full length upon the bed, their mouths twining as urgently as their limbs. Hands wandered, legs rubbed together, but they were balked by clothing. Devon reached for the tiny buttons on the back of Katrina’s gown, but his shaking fingers were clumsy. He didn’t want to spoil her creation, so he stifled his yearning to tear every shred away.

While he labored, his face beginning to perspire with frustration, Katrina managed to push his coat off his shoulders and open his waistcoat. She made swift work of his shirt, then slipped all, three garments off his shoulders. A vast golden meadow was revealed, all lushly thatched hollows and open spaces. Katrina sighed her pleasure and prepared to gambol.

She ran her hands over him admiringly, then nuzzled his neck with nose and tongue. Devon gasped, his hands clenching behind her. “I can’t undo you, wench, if you don’t cooperate.”

Katrina merely smiled wickedly against his nipple, then stabbed it with her tongue. “I’m honored, demon mine. If I’ve managed to sew a gown that a rake of your stamp can’t remove, then I must market it as a chastity belt.” She drew back and dimpled at him, then moved aside to work on his breeches.

His chest heaved, but he managed to gasp out, “Then you’d best look to your design, for you’ve a flaw.” Gentle fingers tunneled through her crumpled skirts and found her.

It was Katrina’s turn to groan, Devon’s turn to sigh with pleasure. She was already wet and ready for him. He lifted his head to try to see, and she took advantage of the movement to twitch her hips aside.

Growling like a hungry kitten, she pulled so hard on his last button that it popped. She gasped when his flesh sprang free, agile and eage
r. He kicked the breeches aside, leaving himself bare before her. She’d forgotten. . . . She fingered him tentatively, then flushed when he muttered something incoherent and arched his hips toward her. She obeyed by giving him the longer, more thorough touch he wanted.              ^

A last time he pulled at her bodice, but he gave up when she lay beside him, one hand possessively holding him prisoner, and took his mouth with hers. By the way she languorously played chase with his tongue, Devon sensed her delight at this reversal of their old role. Now it was he who lay naked and vulnerable, she who was clothed and in control. The piquancy of the situation whetted his own starved appetites until he thought he’d explode . . . but he didn’t. He owed her this. And more.

Katrina trailed the very tip of her tongue teasingly from one comer of his mouth to the other, and started when his manhood leaped in her hand. She lifted her head and smiled down at him, her eyes soft with sensuality and the deeper emotion that inspired it. Then she turned her head to watch what her hands were doing to him.

Katrina fingered the swelling she’d aroused, sighing her pleasure at the touch of him. So round, so hard, so velvety smooth. How had she ever been afraid of such a magnificent work of art? Thought gave birth to an action that seemed so appropriate that she obeyed her instincts without hesitation. While he was staring at her with dilated eyes she lowered her mouth to give homage to his beauty. Her h
air bathed his tense thighs like a warm golden pool. The twin touches of soft mouth and silky hair made him stiffen against the bed.

His fingers clenched in her hair. “Oh God, stop!”