The Devilish Duke, page 29
“You wish to take me to your country estate in Derbyshire?”
“Yes.”
Even though the thought of seeing what was undoubtedly a lovely estate in a very beautiful part of the country was tempting, she knew it was impossible for her to go with him as an unmarried woman. “You cannot do such a thing. Need I remind you we are not wed yet? Aunt Mabel would be beside herself.” Her propensity toward theatrics aside, the events of the last several days could not have been good for her nerves.
Devlin seemed to weigh his words carefully before answering. “It is tradition for the current Duke to take his new bride there.”
“New bride?” she ground out, her voice sounding like gravel, even to her own ears. She sensed he was about to start dictating again, rather than asking.
“Yes,” he said as he put on his shirt and began buttoning it up. “I intend for us to marry today, as soon as we arrive at Huntington Court. I have the special marriage license with me, and I have already sent a note to the parish priest.”
…
The man slowly walked back to his allocated room in Lord Crowley’s residence, his fists clenched by his sides.
He passed several other ladies and gentlemen in the hall, making sure he had a pleasant countenance on his face, but inside, he was seething with rage after overhearing the Duke’s manservant speaking with the Butler. Lady Sophie and the Devil were not meant to be traveling to Huntington Court today! It was going to ruin all of his plans if she were sequestered there safely under the Devil’s protection. It would make her unattainable, and that would not do. He would have to speed up his plans. He stalked into his room, walked over to the bell pull, and yanked it hard, then he went to the writing desk and sat down. He picked up a quill and some parchment, then dipped the quill into the pot of ink and began to write.
A voice inside his head cautioned him to be careful and not act in haste. But another part of him knew it was time to put all of his preparations into action. It was time the Devil got his due.
He folded the paper in half and then wrote on two other pieces. Once he was done, he placed all three into envelopes.
His manservant spoke from the door. “You requested me, my lord?”
The man leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Yes, Crandall, I did. You must make haste and deliver these letters. The first, though, must be given to one of the Crowley’s servants to deliver. I do not want any link back to myself. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Good. Then you must ride like the very devil is on your tail and deliver these remaining two letters in London.”
Crandall nodded his head in earnest as he took the missives from his employer. “Of course, my lord.”
The man gripped Crandall’s shoulder briefly. “It is time to carry out my plan, and you must follow the instructions I have previously given to you. Do you understand, Crandall? There are to be no mistakes.”
Crandall swallowed audibly. “I will not fail you, my lord.”
“See that you do not,” the man said. “It is time to finally have my revenge.”
…
Devlin glanced over at the small thunderstorm that was Sophie, brewing on the other side of the room. Her fists were clenched, her posture braced, and an extremely mutinous expression graced her beautiful features. Clearly, the woman did not appreciate his efficiency in organizing their departure.
“You high-handed, arrogant swine!” she said, the volume of her voice increasing with each syllable. “You cannot simply dictate to me that we are getting married today!”
She picked up the cushion laying on the sofa and threw it at his head. He dodged it easily. A part of him was somewhat surprised by her reaction. She’d never before responded to his edicts by brawling her way to a resolution. “For goodness sakes,” he exclaimed. “Stop acting like a child. You could be in danger here, and I will do what I must to protect you.”
Just as quickly as the storm came, it abated somewhat. She eyed the ceiling momentarily, as if hoping to find her lost patience writ upon it, and drew in a deep breath. “Why do you care so much? You don’t love me.” She strode over to the window, rubbing at her shoulders as she walked. “You’ve made that perfectly clear. But I—” She twirled a hand in the air, obviously at a loss for words, then abruptly brought it up to massage her forehead, looking suddenly forlorn in a way he’d never witnessed. “I think perhaps my heart, of its own accord, has wandered into dangerous territory, and has begun to care for you…greatly.”
Her words hit him like a hail of bullets. Devlin took a step toward her but then stopped. He was at war with himself. A part of him wanted to engulf her in his arms, but the sensible, rational part of him knew that he couldn’t allow himself to do so.
Because contrary to what he’d hoped, sleeping with her had not alleviated this fierce craving that had been consuming him. Instead, it had only intensified it. God damn it! He wasn’t meant to care about her. He turned the conversation to safer ground. “You know I don’t believe in love. I thought you didn’t either. I seem to remember you telling me you would never be foolish enough to fall in love with a rake.”
“I think I might have been foolish, then.” Sophie exhaled softly and turned to stare out the window.
He felt his entire body constrict as a sense of abject panic stole through him at her words. She couldn’t mean what he thought she meant. His ears began to ring, and his palms became clammy. “Damn it! I can’t give you what you need…”
A look of weary acceptance settled on her face as she glanced back at him. “You have always been honest with me regarding your feelings on the matters of the heart and your purpose in marrying me. It was particularly foolhardy of me to hope that I could grow to mean something more to you.”
Devlin couldn’t ever remember seeing her look defeated before. “Sophie, it’s not you—”
“Please don’t,” she interrupted, holding up her hand. “You have never pretended to be more than what you are. It’s my fault for allowing myself to dream of something more.”
“I will be a good husband to you, Sophie.” He could at least promise her that.
“But you can’t love?”
He heard the question in her voice, saw the hope and fear flickering in her eyes. He knew they’d reached a turning point in their relationship, but he couldn’t give her what she wanted. It simply wasn’t in him. And he had to retain control of the situation. “No.”
Her lips curled into a smile, though the sentiment did not reach her eyes. “I don’t want you to be a ‘good husband,’ Devlin. Be the Devil Duke and cavort as you wish. It is what you know and all I think you will ever allow yourself to be.”
“What the bloody hell do you mean by that?” Devlin exclaimed, holding himself rigid. This hurt. But he didn’t know how to stop it. She’d known, she’d always known, what he was promising.
“I mean that it will be far easier to know what to expect of you, rather than living in hope that you will change.” She walked over and tugged on the bell pull. “As long as you are discreet in your liaisons, and bother me little, then I think our marriage will work.”
He swallowed away the lump that had formed in his throat, knowing she was right. They’d been playing with fire. But still, he had to ask. “And what of our deal regarding my progeny?”
“Oh, I shall give you an heir and even a spare,” she said. “But after that, we will go about our lives separately. That is the only way I see our marriage working.”
“Suits me just fine,” he ground out. After all, what did he care if they would live their lives separately? She was giving him all he wanted. All he needed. It meant he could go about exactly as he had before. It was a perfect arrangement. So why was his stomach churning at the very thought?
“My lady?” Abigail’s voice spoke from the door. “You called for me?” The girl’s eyes flew between Sophie and Devlin, shock warring with avid curiosity in their depths.
“Yes,” Sophie said. “I wish to leave immediately. Please go and advise the coachman to prepare for our journey, and then come back and you can start to assist in packing my belongings.”
“Yes, my lady.” Abigail curtsied and left the room.
“Finally, you have seen some bloody sense!” Devlin declared, glad she wasn’t going to disobey him about leaving immediately.
“Oh, I have no intention of traveling with you to Huntington Court,” Sophie informed him. “I intend to go back to London today.”
“We are getting married today, even if I have to drag you to the altar,” he stated, his voice brooking no arguments.
“My, you do know how to sweep a girl off her feet,” she said, sarcasm infusing each word. She paused and took a deep breath. “I will not be carted off to Huntington Court to marry you simply because you say so. I have agreed to marry you, and I will do so, but not with such haste.”
“Darn it, Sophie!” He ran his hand abruptly through his hair. “Do you not see why the haste is needed? I have compromised you beyond all repair, and I will do so even more when I move you to my country estate for your safety. I will not have your reputation ruined because of my loss of control.”
“No one knows you have compromised me.”
“I know.” His eyes searched out hers, but she wouldn’t engage, staring instead at a point just beyond his shoulder. “And I have no wish for you to suffer the same damning gossip I have been subjected to for years. I wish to do the right thing for once.”
“How noble of you,” she said.
She looked so distant, he couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or serious. He did not like this new persona of hers. Even worse, he hated that he’d essentially caused it to appear. But he couldn’t relent, as much as a part of him wanted to. He had to stay strong. “Tell me, at least, why you cannot marry me today?”
Her eyes clouded over slightly. “I must tell the others at Grey Street about the tragic turn of events with Jane. I’ve dallied long enough, and Maggie has been worried to the point of illness. This cannot wait until after we return from Huntington Court. It is the least I can do for her memory and for those who cared for her.” She looked up at him. “That is why I simply cannot be dragged off to marry you. Not to mention that Mabel would never forgive me if she was not present at my marriage ceremony.”
Devlin thrust his hands into his pockets. “Will you marry me in London this evening then?”
Sophie straightened her shoulders, a resolute expression on her face that reminded him of someone facing a firing squad. “That will be acceptable.”
Even still, a sudden feeling of relief poured through him. “Very well then, we will go back to London first. But make no mistake, Sophie, once you’ve taken care of your business in town and we marry this evening, we will be traveling to Huntington Court tomorrow. The sooner I can have you safely inside the grounds of Huntington, at least until this whole situation is resolved, the better.”
“That is satisfactory,” she agreed calmly. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
He felt a pang of loss at the formality and distance in her tone. He missed her calling him Devlin. He missed the warmth she’d seemed to exude just for him.
“Excuse me, Your Grace?” a muffled voice intoned from behind the interconnected door of their rooms.
“It’s my valet,” Devlin said in answer to Sophie’s unvoiced question. He strode over to the door and pulled it open a fraction, carefully using his body to shield the room from view.
His valet stood there clutching an envelope. Devlin took it from him before quickly opening it and scanning the contents. “The Devil take it!” he swore. “Get my horse saddled immediately and the carriage made ready.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the man said before Devlin closed the door and slammed his palm against the wood paneling. Sophie rushed over to him, concern softening her features once more. “What is wrong?”
“One of my factories in Dartford, housing the majority of components for my telegraph enterprise, has apparently caught fire and burned to the ground.”
“Oh no!” she gasped. “I am so sorry.”
“And it looks like not only have several people been injured, but the foreman was killed in the blaze.” His hands fisted by his side. “He was a good man.”
“What will you do?”
He looked at her searchingly. “I must ride there immediately and see for myself if anything can be done to assist those injured.”
“Of course you must go.” She wore a militant expression on her face.
“But I cannot leave you on your own,” he said. He had to see her safely to London before traveling on to Dartford.
“Nonsense,” she replied with a hint of her former softness. “If you accompany me back to London, it will nearly double your travel time, and as it is, we are already two hours from London, and Dartford is then another two hours east of the city.”
“I am not leaving you alone.”
“I shall be fine,” she briskly assured him. “Besides, I am hardly alone, I will have Abigail with me, along with the carriage driver and the footman. I shall be perfectly safe on the trip back.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You must take your horse and ride to Dartford immediately.” Her voice was firm and resolved. “By the time you get there and see what is needed to be done, I shall only be arriving back in the city myself. So you will only be two hours behind me at best.”
“You need to go straight back to London, do you understand?” He willed her to understand this point, as it might mean her very life. “No stopping in the village to make enquiries, am I clear?”
“Crystal,” she said.
“I mean it, Sophie,” Devlin said. “I will not have you putting yourself in danger. You must promise me you will go directly to London.”
She looked him straight in the eyes, seemingly making a true effort to radiate sincerity. “I promise.”
For some reason, her words did not appease him in the slightest. But what else could he do? Men had lost their lives. He had to see if he could help in the aftermath. “Very well, I shall travel to Dartford and then return to London this afternoon,” he said. “We can be wed tonight and leave for Huntington Court tomorrow. Is that acceptable?”
“Perfectly.” The placidity of her tone did not strike him as natural. It was not the Sophie he knew. He found himself wishing for a return to passionate argument. To see the fire dancing in her gaze once again.
“Good. I shall leave you to dress.” He hesitated at the door. He didn’t want to leave her. Particularly not when she was so upset with him, to the point of coldness. One thing Sophie was not, was cold-hearted. But that was what he felt radiating toward him, from her stiff posture to her glacial expression and monotonous words. “Sophie, I want you to know that I do care about your welfare… I just can’t give you what you need beyond that.”
Her eyes flared, but then she tempered her countenance back into maddening equilibrium. “All I need from you now, Devlin, is what you promised initially regarding the orphanage and funds. I shall no longer want, or care, about anything more from you.”
For a moment, he could hardly move as a numbness infused his body. But then a deep, burning anger roared through him, which he had to fight to suppress. “Then we are in accord, madam.” He bowed stiffly to her and left the room via the interconnecting door, slamming it shut behind him.
What did he care if she didn’t want him or care about him any longer? Their marriage was a business arrangement only. He was glad she finally understood that. It was better that way. Safer for both of them. But as a deep hollowness settled in his gut, he suddenly felt uncertain. He didn’t like the feeling at all.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Devlin pulled up on the reins of his horse, urging the heaving stallion to a trot as they crested the rise and rode up to the gates of his factory on the outskirts of Dartford.
He felt an icy fist grip his heart as he looked past the steel bars of the entry gate toward his factory. He had prepared himself for the worst, for the cinder and ashes to be swirling in the cold mid-morning breeze. The screams of agony wrenching through the air. The smell of recently burned timber, combined with the destruction of years of his work, laid bare on a blackened floor of soot.
What he had not prepared himself for was what he was currently looking at.
There was no soot, no cinder, no burned and blackened ashes. Instead, his factory was standing tall and proud, just as it always had, with workers bustling about the yard, going about their jobs.
“Can I help you, my lord?” One of the men walking past the gate stopped to attend him.
Devlin glanced down at the stocky man and dismounted swiftly. “Where is Mr. Sinclair?” he asked. The letter had said he’d died in the fire, but since there was no fire, he dared to hope that his factory foreman was also alive and well.
“In his office,” the man replied.
Relief flowed through him, followed closely by a strong sense of foreboding. Devlin threw him the reins of his horse. “Take my horse and see he gets water immediately. I’ll also need another one to replace him with. Is there a spare horse kept here?”
The man’s eyebrows furrowed. “Well, there’s Mr. Sinclair’s. His stallion’s been having a nice old time relaxing in the stables this morning. But sorry, sir, don’t know if he’ll be willing to part with his animal.”
“I’m Huntington,” Devlin informed him. “Mr. Sinclair shan’t have a problem with me borrowing his steed.”
A spark of recognition lit the worker’s eyes as he recognized Devlin’s name. “You’re the owner!” the man exclaimed. “I ain’t ever met a Duke before.”
“See to my steed, then saddle Mr. Sinclair’s horse for me and have him waiting out the front.” Devlin didn’t wait for the man to reply as he pushed open the gate and walked into the courtyard of the premises. He had to find Mr. Sinclair and find out what the devil was going on.
He strode over the cobblestones toward the smaller building attached to the large factory. The door swung open before he could even reach it, and the foreman of the factory rushed out to greet him.
