Chapter 19

 

“Wherein … a reunion.”

Dev sighed, trying to grasp hold of the dream, to stay within the comfort of its embrace, no matter that it wasn’t real. Reality was too hard, too painful. He’d had a belly full of reality and he wasn’t ready to face another day of it.

Next week he would smarten himself up and return to Dartmoor, face the inevitable confrontation with Charity, and do everything and anything to get her to give him a chance. If she hadn’t calmed down by then she never would, and there was no point in fooling himself that it was otherwise.

For now, however, he would wallow in his own misery and drink himself insensible. As plans went, it was simple but comprehensive.

Dev reached for the glass on the bedside table and swallowed a mouthful of brandy with a grimace. That was breakfast sorted, then. He turned on his side again, allowing sleep to tug at his mind, hoping the dream would return to him. He conjured Charity’s face, traced the outline of her lips with his fingertips, sighing as the longing for her made the hollow bell of his heart ring out with sorrow. Her voice was low, intimate as she asked him for a kiss and he moved closer, about to press his mouth to hers… and then jolted as she shouted at him.

What?

Reality and dreams collided, and he forced his eyes open, blinking in shock.

“Lord Devlin! David! Or whatever the bloody hell you’re calling yourself these days!”

A furious voice rang through his house. Strident and utterly enraged… it was the most wonderful sound he’d ever heard in his life.

Dev sprung from the bed and then wished he hadn’t as his head throbbed and the room spun. Still unsure he was awake, he scrabbled for his silk banyan, pulling it on and tying it shut as he ran for the door. A feminine shriek echoed through the lofty hall as he threw the door open and Charity barrelled into him.

The two of them stared at each other, Charity breathing hard, her bonnet askew, dark curls escaping as she clutched at his arms for support.

“My lord, forgive me,” called Meekins, the town butler as he puffed to the top of the stairs. “I could not stop this dreadful creature from forcing her way into the house.”

Dev’s mouth curved into a hopeless smile, his heart lifting for the first time since he’d said goodbye to Mrs Baxter and the children.

“I know,” he said, his voice soft, never taking his eyes from hers. “She has a habit of barging into places she has no business in going.”

His smile grew as Charity narrowed her eyes at him and tried to step out of his embrace.

“Oh no you don’t,” he said, holding her tighter. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Should I call for a runner, my lord, or a magistrate perhaps?” the butler demanded as Dev tried to convince himself it was real, she wasn’t a dream. She was flesh and blood, warm in his arms, and none too pleased about it, from the flicker of irritation in her eyes.

“No, thank you, that won’t be necessary. Leave us, please, Meekins.”

“But… my lord…?”

Dev scowled, tearing his gaze away from Charity to glare at the wretched fellow.

“Go. Away!”

The tone was familiar to anyone who had worked for him for any length of time, no matter his recent good intentions. It suggested his words be obeyed at once, and without question, or the consequences would not be pretty.

Meekins had been with him for many years and hurried back down the stairs.

“You’re here,” Dev said, unable to keep the wonder from his voice. “I thought I dreamed you.”

Charity looked up at him, her expression hard to read. She was stiff in his arms, as though she would bolt at any moment, yet there was a shy look in her eyes which was unfamiliar. A tinge of colour touched her cheeks and made him hope it wasn’t the desire to rage at him that had brought her here.

She moved away from him and this time he let her go, though with reluctance. He watched as she adjusted her bonnet and returned a more familiar rather wry look.

“Hardly the stuff of dreams,” she muttered, gesturing to the muddy hem of her skirts, a victim of the foul weather outside.

“I hate to contradict you, love, but you’ve never been more wrong.”

The flush deepened and his smile grew.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, hopelessly lost, desperate for her forgiveness. “I missed you every second of every day.”

“Don’t. David, I….”

She scowled and threw up her hands, and fear licked at his heart. He hadn’t won this, not yet.

“My friends call me Dev,” he offered, wondering how she should address him.

She wrinkled her nose at that and he found himself unsurprised. Any reference to Devlin would not sit well with her.

“Come,” he said, holding out his hand. “We can’t talk about this in the hallway.”

Charity folded her arms, looking a little scandalised. “I’m not going into your bedroom!”

He laughed and then adjusted his face as he realised this wasn’t the right tack to take. “No,” he said, hurrying on and leading her to the sitting room instead. “Of course not.”

Dev saw her eyes widen as she walked into the grand and opulent room. His father had enjoyed showing off his wealth. Thank God she’d never set foot inside Devlin Hall. He could almost see her shrink into herself a little, faced with the lavishness of what his life had always been: the gilding and fine furniture, paintings and carpets. the like of which she’d never have seen in her life before.

“Luke,” he said, as he closed the door behind them, wanting to take her attention from her surrounding, from things he didn’t care about enough to let her give up on him.

Charity turned and stared at him, perplexed.

“My name,” he added, wretched that she was only learning this now. “Luke Linton.”

Her eyebrows rose, her mouth forming a little ‘o’ of surprise.

“Luke,” she repeated, as Dev rubbed the back of his neck.

The corners of her mouth kicked up a little, and he felt it was an unwilling smile, but she couldn’t help herself.

He shrugged awkwardly. “No one ever uses my name, I’ve always been Dev or at school I was Linton.”

“I rather like it,” she said, her tone softer now.

She turned away from him and moved to the window. Dev watched her, unsure of what to do or say now. He had the distinct feeling he was holding his breath, his chest growing tight. If he made a wrong move, said the wrong thing, she would run from him.

“Why have you come?” he asked, not yet daring to believe his hopes and prayers had been answered and she’d come to tell him she missed him, she loved him, and she could not stay away. There was too much tension in her for that. He could see the way she held herself, contained, wanting to keep him at arm’s length. That needed to stop.

She turned back to look at him. “You’ve sold Devlin Hall.”

Dev nodded, fighting the desire to cross the distance and just take her in his arms. It was like trying to get closer to an injured bird; if he moved too fast she would take flight and injure herself further to escape, although his intentions were never to hurt her again. She no longer trusted him, and he could not blame her for that.

“Why?” she demanded, clutching her arms about herself as if she was cold.

“You know why.”

Charity shook her head, tears sparkling in her eyes as she turned away from him to hide her agitation. “Don’t say that. You can’t have!”

Her voice was harder now, angry on the surface yet he was no longer fooled, he could hear the despair she was hiding.

 “That was your legacy, your history, the inheritance you would leave to those who come after you! How could you be so foolish? Do you care for nothing at all?”

“Yes,” he replied, moving closer to her now despite fears she would flee from him. “I care. I care a great deal, more than you will ever know, but not for Devlin Hall. That place means nothing but misery and loneliness, and I’ve had my fill of those.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, holding his gaze as he drew nearer.

Her expression showed she was puzzled by his words, but he wouldn’t tell her of his wretched past yet. He needed to hold her, to show her the truth of how much he cared, not dwell in the mire of days long gone.

“I love you,” he said, slipping his arms around her, even as she shook her head though she didn’t move away from him. “I do,” he said, holding her tighter, needing to find the words that would make her believe him. “You can deny it all you like but it won’t change anything. I love you, with my whole heart, with everything I am, so help you, for you know how dreadful a confession that is.”

“Stop it,” she said, crying now, clutching at the silken gown that covered him as if she would push him away and hold tight at the same time. “Dav— oh, Luke! Can’t you see how impossible it is? I don’t even know who you are!”

“Yes, you do,” he said, cupping her face with one hand, forcing her to look up at him. “You told me once you knew exactly who I was. You said I wasn’t as black-hearted as you’d believed, or even as I’d believed myself.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb, savouring the warmth and softness and needing so much more. “You were almost right. I was every bit as despicable as you believed me to be, but I’ve discovered that I can be more than that. You taught me that. I want to be more than that, for you. Please, love, I’ve changed. Won’t you believe me?”

She held his gaze and nodded, a tear rolling down her cheek as she smiled at him.

“Yes,” she said, as his heart seemed to skip in his chest. “I believe you.”

He made a startled sound, his breath catching as she laughed in return and he muffled the surprise of it by pressing his mouth to hers, unable to hold back a moment longer. There was a moment of tension as she started in shock and he prayed she would not push him away. She didn’t, softening in his arms, pliant as she reached one hand up to touch the back of his neck, tentative at first as the other hand still clutched at the silk of his dressing gown.

Desire, need, the desperate misery of the past weeks, all conspired to strip his control away from him as he slanted his mouth over hers and deepened the kiss. He’d wanted to do this right, to court her, to ask her to marry him and have her consent. The kiss swept away all his plans and hopes in the simple joy of the moment, of having her here, in his arms, after so many nights alone and fearing he would never hold her again.

He would make her his so she could never deny that she belonged to him. The words that were always so hard to find, the explanations that never seemed to illustrate what he had in his heart were so easy to misinterpret, to forget or misremember, but this… this there could be no mistaking. She would never forget how he loved her, the tenderness with which he showed her his love for her, and then when she knew, when she really understood, she would forgive what had gone before. They could begin again.

***

Charity knew she was trembling, but she couldn’t make herself stop. Being here, in his arms, it was all too much and yet nowhere near enough. Longing filled her heart, no matter how she tried to stop it, no matter that she knew this had to be goodbye. There was no place in his life for her. If she hadn’t known it before, the simple act of walking into this room had illustrated the impossibility of any future together. He might as well have been a prince and she a pauper for all the difference it would make. The gulf between them yawned wide, threatening to swallow them both whole, and yet she could not walk away from him, not yet.

She had offered herself to him twice now and he’d refused her, proving he was not the heartless wretch she’d believed him to be. Not heartless at all, but loving and giving, wanting so much to give her everything. He would offer her marriage if she gave him the chance, a life with him in his world, and her heart ached with the longing for it to be possible. But he was being foolish, ignoring reality and hoping to bend the world to his will. Perhaps that was what came of being a viscount and always getting your own way. In this, however, he would have a rude awakening. He would find himself shunned, ostracised and cut off from his own kind, and Charity would not be the cause of that. Yet neither could she deny her feelings, deny that she loved him and wanted him with all her heart, or that she wanted him to know the truth of it.

Before this day she’d wanted to give herself to him because she’d known it was her only chance. It would only happen once, because she’d known he would leave and she would return to her world. She would raise John and Jane and care for Kit until he had a wife to do so for him, and then… and then she would continue to work on the farm, finding contentment living in the place she loved and belonged, until there were nieces and nephews to love too. That had always been her fate and she’d known it since her parents died. If once she had resented that fact, those days were gone. Until he’d come into her life, at least.

Now she wanted to rage against fate but there was no point. Fate was not a man you could shout at, a tangible presence you could fight, hoping to wear it away. Fate was an enemy that would grind you down and would put up a fight you could never win.

So, she would do as she had intended all those weeks ago. She would give herself to him, completely, irrevocably, so he would know he held her heart and always would, but instead of him leaving and returning to his world as she’d believed he would, it would be her who left and ran back to the land she belonged in.

She gave herself up to his kiss, finding he tasted of brandy as she committed each detail, every touch, to memory. His body blazed through the silk that covered him, even the fabric screaming wealth and status as her work-roughened fingers revelled in its luxury. They were as disparate as oil and water, and no matter how they shook the world to fit their desires they could never join for more than a fleeting moment.

That moment was here and now, and Charity would not let it slip from her grasp again. So, when he broke the kiss, his gaze intent and an unspoken question in his eyes, she smiled and nodded, and followed where he led.