The Heir and the Spare (28 page)

He heard the bitterness in his voice as he recounted the way Phillip had almost ruined everything. He was sure now that she didn’t want his twin, Devon explained, but he wasn’t sure if she had wanted this marriage. And why, Devon asked, did he always feel unwanted?

His father didn’t answer, of course.

Feeling beyond absurd to be talking to a comatose person, Devon fell silent and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, until Emilia returned with a book.

It was unclear whether or not his father was comforted or amused, but Devon certainly was. Emilia sat on a chair by the bed, reading and changing voices for the different characters. He imagined her reading to their children. At her prompting, he took over reading the male roles, enjoying that it necessitated sitting quite close to her. Sometime during the second act, they heard the unmistakable sound of a horse galloping on the gravel drive. They looked at each other, finding nervousness reflected back at them. By unspoken, mutual agreement, they continued to read.

It was only a matter of moments before Phillip came strolling into the room. His usually immaculate appearance was utterly disheveled, as if he had ridden hell-for-leather from London. He leaned casually against a post at the foot of the bed, casting a passing glance at his father, and focusing his narrowed eyes upon Devon and Emilia.

“I see you’re trying to bore him to death by reading to him,” Phillip said snidely, before looking Emilia up and down in a way that made her feel very glad she had worn a modest day dress. Still, feeling his eyes on her made her rather uncomfortable. She sat still, her body tense, watching the two brothers shoot arrows of hatred at each other. Nervously she stroked her fingers along the inside cover of the book that rested in her lap. The feel of the soft paper soothed her. Up and down, her slim fingers moved, as if sensing something. Yes, she thought, trying to maintain a calm expression, there is something odd here. Where the paper of the book was glued to the hardcover binding, it was raised as it shouldn’t be. Something was underneath. She picked at the edge with a fingernail, and when it easily gave way, she knew there was something.

Confronted with something terribly exciting, she took a deep breath and slammed the book shut. Whatever it was, she would not open it in front of Phillip, who was now peering down at the duke.

“Hello, Father,” he called out loudly. “Your heir is here. You can retire now.”

“Clearly, you’d like a moment alone with him to say good-bye,” Devon said dryly, standing up. Emilia stood as well, and Devon wrapped his arm around her protectively. She held on to him with one hand, the book with the other.

They adjourned to the library. Once the door was shut, Emilia, seated on the settee, declared, “I cannot wait a second longer.”

“We’ve only been here a moment and already you want me to ravish you?” he murmured, sitting beside her. She had changed from her wedding dress to a very pretty violet-colored gown that he really wanted to take off of her. Now. Here.

“No. I mean, in a minute,” she answered, distracted. Devon watched, perplexed, as she started pulling at the edge of the page glued to the hard cover of the book.

“What are you doing?”

His question was answered when she pulled back the page and a letter fell into her lap. Discarding the book to her side, she picked up the sheet. “I knew it!” she said triumphantly.

“What is it?” he asked.

“A letter.”

“How did you know it was there? And who is it for? And who wrote it?” He reached for it, but she moved away, holding on to it and trying to read whom it was addressed to.

“Oh. It’s for you,” she said. “Should we open it?” she whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” he whispered back.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, punctuated with a giggle. She was just about to hand him the letter when they heard the library door open and Phillip entered. She quickly stuffed it into the bodice of her dress.

“Now I definitely want that letter,” Devon murmured, as Phillip stalked through the room and fell back into a chair opposite the couch on which he and Emilia were cuddling. Of course his damned twin had to interrupt now.

“So when are you leaving?” Phillip asked, leaning back in the chair and reaching in his jacket. He removed a flask and proceeded to open it and take a long quaff.

“After the funeral, whenever that may be.”

“Fine. I won’t let you stay any longer on my estate. Or on any of my estates, for that matter.”

“I’m just devastated,” Devon said sarcastically.

Emilia could feel the letter burning in her bodice. It wasn’t really, of course, but the anticipation and mystery of a secret, hidden note flamed her curiosity. The twins looked as if they wished she would leave so that they could beat each other. She had never seen Devon appear so menacing before, and that, combined with the mounting tension in the room and the mystery of the note, was most unnerving. She noticed she was drumming her fingers on the book resting beside her.

“Emilia, you seem distressed,” Phillip said. “Regretting that you married the wrong twin, no doubt.”

“Not really, no,” she replied, scowling at him as he took another sip from his flask. Why couldn’t he just leave?

“Perhaps I ought to see what I can do to change that,” Phillip said with a lascivious look that prompted Devon to place his arm around her and hold her tightly.

“You will stay away from her,” Devon said in a lethal tone.

“Never learned to respect your elders, did you?” Phillip sneered.

“I grant my respect to those who deserve it for merits other than age; merits that you are sadly lacking.”

“Suit yourself. But everyone respects a duke, which I shall be any day now. Perhaps any minute,” Phillip said, with the audacity to smile at the thought.

“But aren’t you at all sad to be losing your father?” Emilia blurted out.

“He never loved me,” they both said at the same time. They promptly glared at each other.

And kept glaring at each other. Emilia was thankful that looks could not kill, otherwise they would be dead by now.

“Oh, stop. Both of you,” she said. Devon quickly apologized to her and Phillip mumbled something about the two of them being utterly dull and sulked out of the room.

“Now about that letter,” Devon said, once the door was slammed shut. He reached for it in the bodice of her dress. But then he became distracted by her breasts and her mouth and every inch of her. A while later, when the letter was crushed beneath them, they remembered.

“Why do you think it was hidden in the book?” Devon asked, holding it in his hand and running his finger over the official seal of the Duke of Buckingham.

“I suppose he wanted to keep it from Phillip. He would never open a book. Hurry up and read it.”

She watched his face as he read it. At first, his expression revealed nothing. But then she saw his breath catch in his throat, his shoulders sag just a little. Looking closer, she thought she might have detected tears hiding in his eyes, ones that were not permitted to fall, at least not in front of her. When he finished, his voice was rough when he spoke.

“Thank you for finding this.” And then he left the room, taking the letter with him.

“Lord Devon, if I may have a word with you . . .” Marksmith started when he saw Devon leave the library.

“Not now.”

Devon sat down on the chair at his father’s bedside and read the letter again. It was dated two years ago.

“I can forgive you,” Devon said quietly, “though perhaps not myself.”

He sifted through the questions and the emotions this letter stirred up within him. As a young child, he had missed his mother, and he had done so without understandingjust what it was his life was lacking. Thank God it had never occurred to him that he might have killed her. Instead, he had been so occupied by fighting with Phillip for attention, if not affection, from the parent they had.

And how careless and cruel was it for him to have thought that his father had never been capable of love, not even to his wife. But he knew that if, God forbid, he lost Emilia, he would treasure any children they would be lucky enough to have. He wouldn’t ignore them, just because it hurt to see a reminder of what he had lost.

But that didn’t really matter at all now. Devon had gotten what he had wanted: acknowledgment from his father. Phillip would get what he had always wanted: the title.

As a child, he had wished he was the heir. Looking back, he knew that he just wanted the attention that it would bring to him. Phillip had hated the long sessions with their father about estate management and such, but Devon had been so jealous of the time those two got to spend together. Even the nannies and governesses his father had hired never paid much attention to him, as they had either been engrossed in their own affairs with other staff members, or were busy ensuring that Phillip was presentable for a meeting with the duke. Devon had always been overlooked.

But now he had Emilia, who saw him for the man he was, who had chosen him when she could have had another. Speaking of, where was she? He suddenly ached to hold her.

As if on cue, she slipped into the room. He pulled her into his lap once she was close. They stayed like that for an hour or so, until darkness fell.

Upon
waking the follow morning, Emilia smiled sleepily, recalling the memories of the previous night. In spite of an exhausting day, they had stayed up late, making love slowly and tenderly.

It was as if they needed each other to make them feel alive in this big old house, with death lingering. And as if they needed a physical connection to mask the fact that they didn’t have much else between them. At least, she didn’t think they did. She loved him—and she had said as much in that letter she never intended to send. But he hadn’t said anything in response. He hadn’t said he even cared. Not with words anyway. Emilia turned over and wondered if she needed him to say he loved her, or if physical affection was enough.

It was a rainy morning, perfect for staying in bed. Emilia nestled closer to him, hoping to wake him so they could make love again. A strong arm pulled her snug against him, and she felt his silken hardness pressed against her. It seemed he had the same idea.

They lay side by side, and his hand roamed over her breasts and stomach, and lower, while he sweetly kissed the back of her neck and nibbled at her earlobes. She moved to get closer, to get more of that ticklish yet arousing sensation. She turned to face him, or tried to, but he held her firmly, parting her legs with little resistance. He entered her slowly, inch by tantalizing inch, pulling out just a little before delving further. As his fingers deftly stroked her there, stoking that fire within, she urged him to a faster pace with the movement of her hips.

“Slowly, minx, I want to savor you,” he murmured into her ear.

And so they moved together slowly, in silence, save for the sound of labored breath. He fondled her nipple for just a second until it was hard, but he didn’t stop there. As she writhed against him, he moved harder and faster within her. There were soft moans, hers or his, she wasn’t sure. She was ready, oh, so ready, for her release.

Suddenly, without leaving her, he rolled her onto her stomach, covering her with his body. The force of his thrusts, in this new position, sent her over the edge. She cried out loudly into the pillows to muffle the sound.

Devon felt her contract around him, pulsing, demanding his own release, which he surrendered to with a groan.

Lying there, having rolled over, tangled up and quiet, her eyes roamed over his body. His body was long and lean and muscular everywhere. His skin had a faint tan. Upon his shoulder, she noticed the scar.

“Is that from the duel?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said, as his eyes traveled over her body. She thought perhaps she ought to feel ashamed at the way he was looking at her, but frankly, she rather liked it.

“And what is this?” he asked, one fingertip resting on a scar on her knee.

“The result of an unfortunate incident with a piece of furniture when I was thirteen,” she replied as he leaned over to give it a kiss. And that led to another kiss somewhere else. And then they made love again.