Chapter 11

 

“Wherein proposals are made and our hero suffers a shock.”

Dev avoided her for the next few days, working around the farm. Seeing as he had a willing pair of hands and a strong back, Mr Baxter pounced on him and set him to cleaning out the barn, the cow-shed, the goats and, the final indignity, the pigsties.

Strangely however, Dev found he didn’t mind. Admittedly, the stench was breathtaking, but the work was satisfying. He rather enjoyed shaking out the new straw over the cleaned floor, the scent of last summer’s sun floating around him like the dust motes that caught the light. Heated thoughts of Charity in that same straw with her skirts around her waist plagued him at regular intervals, and nothing he could do would make them leave him be, so he worked harder. If they wondered what had got into him, no one asked, happy enough to accept his help, and so he worked like a man possessed.

He was, he realised, exactly that: possessed by the need for Charity Kendall, by the image of her behind his eyes, spread out beneath him, all willing warmth and invitation. At the mercy of his libido, he worked until he sweated, until his body was too exhausted to act on its desires. By the end of the day he ached from his labours. He’d given up the journey from bed to barn and, lying in the straw with the kittens to make feeding them easier, he slept like the dead.

It didn’t help.

Thoughts of her invaded his dreams and, when the kittens woke him, mewling to be fed, he found himself hard, and aching in a way that had nothing to do with mucking out barns. Cursing and irritable, he rose with the dawn and washed in cold water; anything to rid himself of the ever present and desperate desire that crawled beneath his skin, wearing him down and pushing at his good intentions.

Dev wiped his face on his shirt sleeve, sneering at his own arrogance. Good intentions indeed. His good intentions were not to ruin a young woman whose life had already been brought to disaster at his hand. Just because he’d not allowed himself to steal her innocence along with her home, didn’t make him any less of a fiend and he knew it.

The days passed, marked by the simmering tension between them. They didn’t speak any more, avoiding each other whenever possible. Yet there were still heated looks exchanged across the yard, across the dining table at night, eyes filled with anger and frustration and… need. That she still wanted him despite her anger was obvious. He felt her gaze on him when he worked, the knowledge burning him from the inside, temptation licking at his skin, his willpower devoured in the flames until it was nothing but ash. Yet as his desire burned hotter his guilt increased, and as the inevitable sale grew closer, he only despised himself more.

He trudged back to the house to get breakfast. He’d been turning over a neglected part of the garden since daybreak, readying the soil to sow cabbages, though he didn’t know why. They all knew they would not be here to harvest them in the spring, but some stubborn sense of hope still clung to Charity. She didn’t want the garden to be devoid of produce if by some miracle the miserable viscount died of dissipation before the sale could complete. That she was talking about him made a peculiar despondency settle in his bones. He was tired, he realised. Tired of lies, of pretending to be a good man, and tired of the truth of who he really was.

He glanced down at his hands, finding the palms blistered, calluses beginning on his fingers after their recent introduction to what real work felt like. They gave him a sense of satisfaction, which seemed odd as they were sore as hell, yet for once he felt he’d done something worthwhile. For the first time in his life he’d done something to build rather than destroy, no matter that planting cabbage wasn’t exactly something to stand the test of time. At least he wasn’t pissing his fortune up the wall. That was something.

As he got closer to the house, his nose detected bacon frying, making his stomach twist and clamour. By the time he turned the corner he was salivating. He wasn’t sure what made him stop—some sixth sense, perhaps—but he darted out of sight just in time.

His steward, Phillip Ogden. was on the doorstep, talking to Charity.

Dev peered around the corner, pressing himself against the wall and straining to hear what they were talking about.

“So there really is nothing to be done?” Charity said, and Dev could hear the last of her hopes as they died in the dull tone of her voice.

“Come, Miss Kendall,” Ogden said, taking her arm and guiding her to a bench in front of the house. “Come and sit down, you’ve had a shock.”

Dev ducked back out of sight as they drew nearer to him. He heard Charity’s skirts rustling as she sat.

“I can’t tell you how very sorry I am,” Ogden continued, his voice low and confiding. “I tried once more to remonstrate with the viscount in my last correspondence, to make him reconsider the callous nature of his actions, but I’m afraid he is a violent man, and a powerful one. I confess I fear his reprisals. In any case, his reply was formed in the coarsest, most vulgar terms, with which I won’t sully your ears.”

The lying bastard!

Dev gritted his teeth. God damn the man. He’d always known Mr Ogden was a slippery character in terms of his attempts to work around him, but Dev had believed the man was working in his best interests out of loyalty to the title. Apparently not.

“Oh, Mr Ogden, no. I begged you not to intervene on our behalf,” Charity replied, her voice trembling now with the effort not to cry. “Truly, you have been more than kind and I should have been horrified if you’d been in any way harmed or lost your job on our account.”

“I must be honest, Miss Kendall,” the lying toad said, sincerity dripping from his voice. “I did it for selfish reasons.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Charity replied, innocent that she was.

Dev’s heart thudded in his chest. No. No, surely not.

He could almost see the supercilious smile on the man’s face as he said the words that Dev knew would follow.

“I had hoped that… if I could save your family’s home, perhaps you might look kindly upon me.”

Dev experience a surge of fury that chased the breath from his lungs. The desire to reveal his presence and shake Ogden until his teeth rattled was so fierce he had to clench his fists and pressed his head back against the granite wall so hard it would leave bruises. The pain steadied him. He couldn’t interfere, could not let Ogden see him. If he did, Charity would know everything and Dev would never get the chance to explain, to apologise… though what the bloody hell he’d say he couldn’t fathom. There was no explanation past the fact he was an unutterable bastard, no apology he could make she would care to listen to. Yet he had to try.

Their conversation had moved on and Dev closed his eyes, knowing only too well what would come next.

A rustling sound and Charity’s sharp intake of breath suggested that Ogden had gotten to his knees.

“Miss Kendall, you must be aware of my deep regard for you, for the years in which I have held your lovely countenance in my heart. I admit, I never dared to hope, not until now, what with the disparity in our ages, but… might you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

Dev’s heart stuttered, the permanent ache that sat beneath his ribs now less of an ache and more akin to a knife wound. The shock of it startled him, the depths of the wound more profound than he could have known.

Say no. Say no. For the love of God, say no.

He couldn’t breathe. His lungs had locked down tight, and there was an ache in his throat that wouldn’t let him swallow.

Charity, please, love, say no.

“Mr Ogden.” Charity’s voice was faint, her shock audible. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

Yes, you do, Dev begged her, his silent prayer repeated over and over as he realised just how much it would hurt to see her marry his steward. He’d never believed himself capable of caring for someone else, had always thought he was too twisted, too cruel to give a damn about anyone but himself. Yet the Kendalls had shown him what it meant to be family, and the longing to remain a part of it hit him square in the chest.

“I have told no one this,” Ogden carried on, with what sounded like a smug tone to Dev’s ear, “but I have secured new employment. I cannot continue to work for such a wicked, dissipated rakehell as the viscount. He is a vile bully, a libertine who seeks nothing but oblivion in vice, squandering his fortune and sullying his father’s good name. His treatment of you was the last straw, and so I have been making discreet inquiries.”

“Oh?” There was trepidation in Charity’s voice now and Dev swallowed hard, wishing he could dispute the words of his steward on this too, accuse him of being a liar once more.

To his shame, however, he recognised the description only too well. He had wealth and status, yet he had nothing that Charity would value.

“Lord Brady has offered me a position with him in Yorkshire. It is not such a prestigious name to be sure, but the position comes with a handsome house, quite large enough to accommodate your siblings, and I would offer Mr and Mrs Baxter a position there much as they have here, if that would meet with your approval?”

Dev heard a muffled sob and Ogden’s exclamation of sympathy.

“I fear I have overwhelmed you,” he said, sounding too damn pleased for his own good.

Dev gritted his teeth. Charity wasn’t overwhelmed. She was never overwhelmed. She took every damn thing in her stride. Her tears were because she didn’t want to marry a man she didn’t care for, but Dev knew—just as Ogden did—that she had no choice.

He felt sick, in physical pain, as if his guts had been caught in a giant hand and twisted.

Charity and Phillip Ogden.

Married.

Regret was a weight that dragged at his heart, regret for everything Charity would have to give up, for all the family would lose. All of it his doing. He wanted to make it right. If he was honest, he wanted far more than that though. He wanted Charity to be his, to love him and turn to him when the world grew harsh. He wanted to protect her from anything that might hurt her. Especially Phillip bloody Ogden. Thoughts of the bastard laying his hands upon her spun in his mind, visions of that lying prig taking her innocence, the prize she had offered to him, and he’d rejected. A prickly sweat broke out over his skin. He didn’t know what to do. Numb and cold, he could do nothing more than stand and listen, waiting with his heart in his mouth for her inevitable acceptance.

“I am truly honoured by your proposal, Mr Ogden,” Charity replied, and the words were careful, her voice trembling now. Dev inhaled, preparing himself for the pain he knew would come. “And… and I am most grateful but… I cannot give you an answer today. I-I need a little time to think things over.”

“But surely….” Ogden began, a thread of laughter in his voice, as if he could not believe she hadn’t snapped at his offer. “Surely, in the circumstances….”

The man was stunned. Dev couldn’t believe it either. Ogden’s offer would save them, and all Charity would need to do was sacrifice her own happiness. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t done that already. Dev knew she’d do it again in a heartbeat. So why did she hesitate?

Surely not because of him?

His heart gave an uneven thud in his chest, the ache beneath his ribs pulsing, expanding, pushing at the confines of his chest. The sensation was terrifying. Dev had never cared for another human being in his life before. Why the hell should he? No one had ever cared for him. His mother had been an opium addict and spent more time speaking to hallucinations than she did to her own son, and as for his father….

Dev swallowed, forcing the painful memories away as he’d learned to do over the years. He shoved them way down into a deep, dark pit where they could not hurt him anymore. Yet, as terrifying as they were, he could not do that with his feelings for Charity. Those feelings were too bright, shining with honesty and truth, and they refused to be consigned to the dark where he kept everything else that might make him think about his life, that might make him actually feel something.

“The sale won’t complete for at least another three weeks,” Charity said now, and the firm tone of her voice was one Dev recognised, she would not be swayed.

Good girl, he thought, closing his eyes. Don’t let him bully you. Perhaps there was time … “I will give you your answer in ten days.”

Ten days! So little time to… to do what?

“Ten days?” Ogden objected. “Why so long?”

Because she doesn’t want you, you stupid bastard! Dev wanted to scream the words in the man’s face, and keeping out of sight was killing him. The first opportunity he had, he would dismiss Mr Ogden and break the fellow’s nose. Not necessarily in that order.

Mr Ogden had no choice but to agree to her terms, as Charity would not budge and, to Dev’s unending gratitude, no amount of wheedling on Ogden’s part would change her mind. He listened as they walked away, as Charity bid Ogden a good day and his horse trotted back down the lane, away from the house.

Dev let out a breath, though his chest still felt locked in a vice.

Ten days.

What the bloody hell could he do?

***

Dev watched her over dinner. She’d told no one of her proposal, he was certain. That she was thinking of it was obvious, though. She was quiet and distracted, barely opening her mouth to speak which was so out of character that even Jane remarked on it and asked what the matter was. Charity just smiled and pleaded a headache. She said she was worrying about the trip she must take to her Uncle’s to discuss where they would live. That she was leaving the next morning and would be away four nights was another blow that Dev could have done without. There was so little time left. He didn’t want to miss a moment with her. Though it appeared his vivacious spitfire was gone already, buried under the weight of her fears.

The only time she became animated was when the subject turned to Lord Devlin.

“I heard he’d reduced his father’s fortune by half within two years of his old man’s death,” Kit was saying, shaking his head as he tucked into the succulent chicken and ham pie Mrs Baxter had served them tonight. “I mean… how is that even possible? It must take serious work to spend that much money. The fellow is single minded, I’ll give him that.”

“He’s wicked, that’s what he is,” Charity said, setting down her knife and fork with a clatter. The hairs on the back of Dev’s neck prickled and he forced himself to keep his eyes on his plate, though the food had turned to ash in his mouth. “He’s wicked and cruel and, what’s more, he’s a damned coward!”

“Language, Miss Kendall,” Mrs Baxter scolded as she bustled in with a carafe of wine and set it between him and Kit. “And keep your voice down. Mr Baxter had too much sun today, the old fool. I told him he ought to keep his hat on. He’s in bed and sick as a dog.”

“I’m sorry, Batty, forgive me, but it’s still true,” she said, her words threaded with such anger that Dev couldn’t swallow for the guilt that had lodged in his throat. “If Devlin wants to act with such callousness he could at least have the courage to look us in the eyes and tell us his intentions in person. If a man is ruthless and cruel, he should at least admit it to himself, to do what he does with intent and damn the world. At least I could respect a man who faced me, even if I despised him. But the viscount hides behind letters and his steward and—”

Her voice broke and the silence rang out over the table. Mrs Baxter moved towards her, hugging her as Charity struggled not to cry.

“You’re wrong, love,” Kit said, sighing as he reached out and took her hand. “He’s not a coward, he just doesn’t care. We are nothing to him. He cares no more for us than for the trees or the rocks upon his land. We are here, and if it no longer suits him to have us here because we are in his way, then he’ll cut us down or dig us up. I doubt he would even remember our name if someone asked him.”

Dev felt sick. He stared at his plate and knew he could not eat another mouthful if his life depended on it. Kit had the right of it. He’d not cared. Not until Charity had insulted him so deeply that he’d wanted to retaliate. He hadn’t cared that he’d driven her to it. He hadn’t thought about them at all.

Everyone returned to their meals, giving Charity a chance to compose herself. Dev pushed the food about on his plate, eating nothing as Kit tried his best to turn the conversation to something a little more light-hearted.

He looked around as Jane tugged at his sleeve, her eyes big and round.

“Will we be homeless, Mr David?” she whispered to him, and Dev wondered how much more guilt his heart could contain before it split open under the strain. “It’s just that… Mr Baxter said we won’t be able to take the kittens to the city but… but they’re so little.”

Dev grasped her hand under the table and squeezed. “You won’t be homeless, Jane, and I will look after the kittens if you can’t. Don’t worry.”

The relief in the little girl’s eyes was instant, her trust in him absolute. She was just like her sister, more worried for the fate of her kittens than for herself. Jane smiled at him and sighed, returning her attention to her dinner.

Dev got to his feet, pushing back his chair as everyone turned to look at him.

“Forgive me,” he said, his voice sounding odd and scratchy. “I… I think perhaps I had too much sun today as well. I’m feeling rather unwell. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Oh, you men! I told you both, you must wear a hat, no matter how sweaty it makes you!” Mrs Baxter’s scolding voice followed him out of the door as he hurried away, away from the concern he didn’t deserve, away from the guilt and the lies and the horror of what he was doing to them.