Engaged in Sin (36 page)

“Are you sorry you went to war?”

At that, he had to shake his head. Which seemed insane. Why wouldn’t he have preferred to stay in England, to never know what it was like to watch thousands of men die in mere hours, never lose his sight, never make choices that led to men’s deaths and left women widowed and children fatherless? “It was my duty, as much as it was the duty of any man who was there, to fight for my country. I’ve got so much grief and so many regrets about war, I can’t even begin to untangle them. But I had to go.”

His mother stood, cradling the baby’s head to her shoulder. Her eyes were red-rimmed. “I am so glad to have you back s-safe.” Two tears leapt from her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

He’d never seen his mother cry. Duchesses were always strong, his mother used to say. If a duchess let herself cry, a whole family could unravel.

Devon wrapped his arms around her, careful not to disturb his slumbering nephew. For the first time in Devon’s life, his mother pressed her forehead to his chest and cried. His hands stroked her back awkwardly, but he soothed her and promised he was going to be safe now.

Except that was a lie—because, to save Anne, he was
going to have to hunt down a killer and risk another scandal.

His mother lifted her head. A smile lifted her lips. “Now
I
am sorry. You have come home, and you should be greeted with smiles, not weeping. You’ve been through so much.”

“So have you. I left and then you lost Father.” He wasn’t certain if he should speak of it now but it had been more than a year. “If it’s not too difficult for you to talk about,” he said softly, “I’d like to know how he died.”

She lifted her chin. “I don’t really know, Devon. William was found in his study, by one of the footmen. At first, the poor servant thought your father was sleeping in his chair. Finally he summoned the courage to shake William, but your father did not awaken. It appears his heart gave out. I like to think he simply closed his eyes for a nap and did not wake up.”

She wore a sad smile, but she appeared to be strong. Stronger now than when she’d cried over him.

“How did you cope with it?” he asked. “You loved him so much. When Rosalind died, I thought I would go out of my mind. I couldn’t see how I would ever stop grieving.” He looked around the nursery. Five small beds were arranged in neat lines along the walls. He remembered playing with his father up here. His father had seemed so huge but had sat down in a child’s chair and helped him build castles from blocks. Impossible to think the man who had shaped so much of his life—with kindness, lectures, and battles involving shouting and stomping on his part—could now be gone.

“It hurts. I suspect it always will, Devon. That’s why it is so important to seek out love, to celebrate happiness, to find joy.” She smiled down at the baby.

“Blissful thing,” he said quietly. “Tearful only when he isn’t fed right away.” The lad’s mouth worked, as
though the little one had heard him and was now dreaming of his milk.

“The birth of Caroline’s baby has been such a wonderfully happy event,” his mother said. “It has brightened all our lives and done much to push aside sorrow and worry.”

Sorrow and worry he had caused.

“I want our family to know more happiness.” She sounded decisive. “There are many blessed events to come. Charlotte will have her baby before Christmas—perhaps she might even have twins again. I am determined to see Win and Elizabeth married next season. And as for you—”

He held up his hands, but she went on. “You deserve the happiness of marriage, Devon, and the joy of having a family. This will be my campaign—to find you a bride, to watch you fall in love. I want to see you happy.”

He hadn’t been happy for a long time, until Anne had come into his life. Would he have been as happy to see Caroline, to see his brand-new nephew, if Anne had not worked so hard to help him cope, if she hadn’t lightened his heart? He owed her so much. And the only way he could repay her was to make her safe.

His mother’s voice cut through his thoughts. “… very eligible ladies,” she was saying. “After we celebrated peace in June, once it was known that you would be coming home, there were several young ladies who decided not to accept offers of marriage.”

“Even though I was blind?” he asked wryly.

She hesitated. “That was not known at first. And now, of course, it is not an issue.”

He shook his head. “I’ve changed, Mother. I don’t know if I can marry a delicate young lady. I have nightmares and fight and shout in my sleep. I’m not as bad as I was, but I would terrify a gently bred girl. Besides, I thought you wanted us all to marry for love, not duty.”

“Of course I do. I firmly believe in love! I believe you shall find it without any difficulty. And I know exactly the place to begin. The Duchess of Richmond is holding a ball—”

A ball. Three years ago he had looked across a crowded ballroom and seen Rosalind, and after that it was as if the rest of the room had vanished into darkness. All sound had turned into a roar, and he’d stalked across the dance floor toward her, not even noticing who had collided with him and who had stepped hastily out of his way. “I’m not going to fall in love across a ballroom floor again,” he murmured.

His mother lifted a brow and he tried to explain. “Father described falling in love as the moment when a man is standing there, minding his own business, and suddenly she—the woman who is going to be the most important person in his life—smiles at him and changes his world forever. It’s not going to happen again.”

“Of course not. I might believe in love, but not at first sight.”

Devon felt himself rock back on his heels. “What about Father?”

“I didn’t fall in love with your father the first time I saw him. In fact, he did not impress me at all. But he was persistent, and I soon came to appreciate how he was different from any other gentleman I’d met. He fascinated me and, little by little, I fell in love.”

Little by little
. “If it wasn’t a consuming passion, how did you recognize it for love?”

A small smile curved her lips, as though memories of her love with his father had instantly summoned happiness. “In many ways. Ones that creep up on you until one day you realize you smile each time you see your beloved, until you cannot imagine waking up without him, until you cannot imagine a life without him.”

“I don’t know if I would be ready to fall in love again.
It hurt like the blazes the first time.” But even as he said it, Devon knew it was a stupid thing to say to his mother. She had lost the grand love of her life, yet she’d survived the pain, the grief. What was it about women that made them so strong?

“That does not mean it also will the second time.”

“Maybe. But I’m not going to a ball. I have a list of people to find now that I’m in London. Now that I can see.”

“People to find?” His mother echoed. “What do you mean?”

He told her. Of the missing wife and child of Captain Tanner, the man he had not been able to save. “I hired an investigator to find them. I haven’t had a report for two weeks. I need to know what is happening. Also, I need to search for my mistress.”

“Mistress?”
With a cautious eye on her grandson, his mother swept across the room to a cradle. She laid down the baby and tucked a blanket around him.

Then she surprised him, fiddling with the lace-trimmed neckline of her gown like an awkward girl. Finally she took a deep breath, as though gathering courage. “Caroline told me about the rather unorthodox circumstances of my grandson’s birth. She told me your mistress helped her before and during the labor. She also admitted she asked your courtesan for advice on how to entice her husband.…” His mother blushed crimson.

Devon took a step back. Caro had told their mother about that? God, had she given details of what Anne said? No, he didn’t want to know. He did not want to have that discussion.

He had the suspicion his mother felt the same way. She walked to the window that looked out over the rear garden. “Caro spoke very warmly of your ladybird, Devon. She claimed the woman is her
friend
and that this was the woman who wrote a letter to me. Your mistress
wrote to me because you would not do it! I have to admit I was scandalized.”

He planned to apologize, but different words came out of his mouth. “Don’t be. My mistress was once a lady—a viscount’s daughter. She is the most remarkable, courageous woman I have ever met. Now I need to leave and find her. She has been wrongfully accused of murder.”

Being able to read again—it was glorious. In the library, Devon drew out a large, leather-bound book:
Debrett’s Peerage
. He flipped the pages to find the entry on Anne Beddington’s family. Damn, it was good to be able to do this with his own eyes. But he had to admit: If Anne read the
Peerage
in her lovely voice, she could make even these dry facts sound erotic.

He ran his finger down until he saw it. The title of Viscount Norbrook had been created in the early 1700s, and he traced the list until he got to Anne’s father.
Fourth Viscount Norbrook, b. 1768, d. 1808, m. Millicent Mariah de Mournay, 1789. Children—Anne Mariah, b. 1793
.

At Anne’s name, his hand stilled but his heart leapt into action, beating hard. When had his heart slammed into his chest like this, other than when there was danger and risk? The only times he could remember involved Rosalind. The first time Lady Rosalind had shyly caught his eye and smiled at him. The first time he had touched her hand. Their first kiss. He had been sexually experienced since the age of fifteen, but Rosalind’s very smile had made his heart pound harder than any other woman ever had. Now just seeing Anne’s name had his heart thundering.

He stared again at the entry. De Mournay was the family name of the Marquis of Wrothshire. Had Anne’s
mother been related to a marquis? Anne should never have ended up in the slums. The address given for the current viscount, Anne’s blackguard cousin, was Brook Street.

But when Devon arrived at Viscount Norbrook’s house in the ducal carriage and sent a footman to rap on the door, he learned that Anne’s cousin was not at home. The viscount was having a private training session in fencing at Henry Angelo’s school.

Devon commanded his coachman to take him to Angelo’s. He had a membership there. It would feel good to pick up a sword again.

NE LOOK AT
Anne’s cousin, and Devon knew he was staring at a bully. And he sorely wanted to break the bastard’s nose with his fist.

Instead, he stripped to his shirt and waistcoat, grasped a foil, and stalked over to Viscount Norbrook, who was grunting, sweating, and trying to defeat William McTurk, successor to Henry Angelo and now the master. Throughout the large practice room, gentlemen stared, nudged one another. Apparently all of London was now learning that the Duke of March had regained his sight. Even McTurk, in the middle of clashing foils with Norbrook, glanced to him in surprise.

The viscount drove the tip against the elder swordsman’s padded tunic. “First blood,” he crowed triumphantly. Anne’s cousin had blond hair, carefully styled in tousled waves, and the typical “fair-haired boy” good looks that hid a black heart.

“The student has defeated the master,” Norbrook shouted. Frowning, the viscount finally realized his opponent was staring over his shoulder. Anne’s cousin turned, obviously angered to have his victory diluted, then took a fast step back. “Your Grace.” Norbrook
swept a bow. “I am surprised to encounter you here. I heard you had been left blinded in battle—”

“You heard correctly. I was fortunate enough to regain my sight.”

With an exclamation of congratulations, McTurk came forward, his foil tucked beneath his arm. “Your Grace, it is good to see you.”

“Thank you, McTurk. I thought I would have a bout with Norbrook.” He stared down his nose at Anne’s cousin. “I have matters to discuss with you, sir, concerning one of your female relatives.”

Norbrook’s throat moved as he swallowed. “Indeed. I wouldn’t mind engaging swords while we discuss my wayward cousin.” Norbrook dropped his voice to a harsh growl, one only Devon could hear. “I assume you speak of the fallen woman of our family, Anne Beddington? I had come to Town to rescue her, only to discover she had become a prostitute and to learn that you, Your Grace, were enjoying her favors at your hunting box. It appears my cousin is no longer respectable. She has become a disgusting whore.”

Devon snapped the foil up instantly, pressing the tip to Norbrook’s throat. Norbrook was the blackguard here, but
he
felt in the wrong over this and it angered him. “Speak that way about the lady again, and we’ll meet at dawn.”

Norbrook’s eyes blazed with fury as he was forced to retreat from the rapier’s point—fury he was too cowardly to pursue, Devon suspected. “I speak the truth, Your Grace. Surely you know of your mistress’s past. She serviced countless men in that foul Wapping Street brothel.”

“The fault for that lies with you. You forced her out of her home.”

“I did not. Her mother did not want her daughter to enter into a marriage with me. She took her daughter
away. Her mother’s behavior was scandalous—affairs, orgies, lewd house parties. The family turned their backs on them both. I did not. I searched for Anne. Alas, I found her too late.” Blade swishing, Norbrook lunged.