Cold-Hearted Rake

Cassandra looked dumbfounded. “Helen, chattering for hours? That doesn’t seem possible.”

“I wouldn’t have thought she had that much to say,” Pandora agreed.

“Perhaps it’s just that she’s never able to slide a word in edgewise,” West remarked blandly.

A few seconds later, he was pelted with a shower of sugar lumps.

“Girls,” Kathleen exclaimed indignantly. “Stop that at once! West, don’t you dare encourage them by laughing!” She sent a threatening glance at Devon, who was desperately trying to suppress his amusement. “Or you,” she said severely.

“I won’t,” he promised, wincing and reflecting ruefully that whoever said laughter was the best medicine had never broken a rib.

Kathleen thought it was a wonder that the family had managed to adopt a reasonably dignified façade by the time the tenants and townspeople began to arrive.

As they welcomed the procession of guests, Devon was self-assured and gracious, without the slightest hint of arrogance. He exerted himself to be charming, receiving praise and admiring comments with self-deprecating wit. Well-scrubbed children were shepherded forward, the little boys bowing, the girls curtsying, and Devon bowed in response, showing no sign of the pain he had to be feeling.

However, after an hour and a half, Kathleen noticed subtle grooves of strain appearing on his face. It was time for him to stop, she thought. West and the girls could manage the last few arrivals without him.

Before she could draw Devon away, however, a couple approached with a rosy-cheeked infant, a girl with blond curls tied up in a ribbon.

“Will you hold her, milord?” the young mother asked hopefully. “For luck?” Obviously she knew nothing about the injuries that Devon had sustained during the train accident.

“Oh, please let me hold her,” Kathleen exclaimed before he could reply. She reached out for the cherub, feeling a bit awkward since she knew little about young children. But the baby relaxed contentedly in her arms and stared up at her with eyes as round as buttons. Kathleen smiled down at the infant, marveling at the delicacy of her skin and the perfect rosebud shape of her mouth.

Turning to Devon, she lifted the baby and suggested, “A kiss for luck?”

He complied without hesitation, bending to press his lips to the infant’s head.

As he stood, however, his gaze traveled from the baby to Kathleen’s face, and for one brief moment his eyes were the flat, frozen blue of glacier ice. The expression was deftly concealed, but not before she had seen it. Instinctively she understood that the sight of her with the baby had opened a door on emotions he didn’t want to confront.

Forcing a smile to her lips, Kathleen gave the baby back to her proud mother, exclaiming, “What a beautiful little girl. An angel!”

Fortunately there was a lull in the line of arriving guests, and Kathleen took swift advantage. Slipping her arm through Devon’s, she said quietly, “Let’s go.”

He escorted her away without a word, letting out a sigh of relief as they walked through the entrance hall.

Kathleen had intended to find a quiet place for them to sit undisturbed, but Devon surprised her by pulling her behind the Christmas tree. He drew her into the space beneath the stairs where heavy-laden evergreen branches obscured them from view.

“What are you doing?” she asked in bemusement.

Lights from hundreds of tiny candles danced in his eyes. “I have a gift for you.”

Disconcerted, she said, “Oh, but… the family will exchange presents tomorrow morning.”

“Unfortunately the presents I brought from London were lost in the accident.” Reaching into his coat pocket, he said, “This is the one thing I managed to keep. I’d rather give it to you privately, since I have nothing for the others.”

Hesitantly she took the object from his open palm.

It was a small, exquisite black cameo rimmed with pearls. A woman on a horse.

“The woman is Athena,” Devon said. “According to myth, she invented the bridle and was the first ever to tame a horse.”

Kathleen looked down at the gift in wonder. First the shawl… now this. Personal, beautiful, thoughtful things. No one had ever understood her taste so acutely.

Damn him.

“It’s lovely,” she said unsteadily. “Thank you.”

Through a glaze of incipient tears, she saw him grin.

Unclasping the little pin, she tried to fasten it to the center of her collar. “Is it straight?”

“Not quite.” The backs of his fingers brushed her throat as he adjusted the cameo and pinned it. “I have yet to actually see you ride,” he said. “West claims that you’re more accomplished than anyone he’s ever seen.”

“An exaggeration.”

“I doubt that.” His fingers left her collar. “Happy Christmas,” he murmured, and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

As the pressure of his lips lifted, Kathleen stepped back, trying to create a necessary distance between them. Her heel brushed against some solid, living thing, and a sharply indignant squeal startled her.

“Oh!” Kathleen leaped forward instinctively, colliding with Devon’s front. His arms closed around her automatically, even as a pained grunt escaped him. “Oh – I’m sorry… What in heaven’s name —” She twisted to see behind her and broke off at the sight of Hamlet, who had come to root beneath the Christmas tree for stray sweets that had fallen from paper cones as they’d been removed from the branches. The pig snuffled among the folds of the tree skirt and the scattered presents wrapped in colored paper. Finding a tidbit to consume, he oinked in satisfaction.