Engaged in Sin (45 page)

“I’m not a—”

“You are,” he said intensely. “I’m afraid even a duke could not get you across the threshold.” He glanced to Sir John. “I will lure Norbrook outside, so have your men hiding on the street and ready. I’m going to destroy him for what he’s done to Anne.”

As Devon pushed open the door, Sir John warned, “March, you cannot take the law into your hands. If you kill Norbrook in the middle of St. James’s Street, I will be forced to arrest you.”

Ten minutes of nerve-racked waiting later, Anne saw the enormous door of the club burst open. Devon stalked out. He was hauling Viscount Norbrook by the scruff of his neck. Elegant gentlemen were everywhere—strolling down the sidewalk, alighting from carriages. Each and every one came to a halt and stared as Devon slammed his fist into her cousin’s nose. Norbrook screamed in pain, blood spurted, the shoulders of Devon’s burned coat tore with a
rrrrip
, and her cousin fell on his back in the street.

Anne jumped out of the carriage. Devon was not going to be arrested over her. She lifted her skirts to run for him, dimly aware of raucous male laughter surrounding her. She didn’t care—she couldn’t. “Dev—” She stopped, then quickly corrected, “Your Grace, no, you can’t!”

Ignoring her entreaty, Devon jumped into the street, grasped Sebastian by his shoulder, and pulled him to his feet. She cried out as Sebastian punched Devon’s jaw. As Devon reeled back, Sebastian drew out a blade from his sleeve.

She ran at her cousin. “Don’t you dare hurt him, you monster!”

Sebastian whipped to face her, and she knew, in that instant, he hadn’t noticed her before. He gaped at her, all color slipping away. “Anne … it’s not possible. You can’t be. You’re—” He seemed to regain control of his wits. “You are safe. Thank heaven. I’ve been searching for you, trying to find you—”

“Oh, stubble it!” she cried, heedless of the blade he held. “You tried to kill me. You killed Mrs. Meadows and you shot Mick Taylor. I’ve told Sir John of Bow Street everything.”

Sebastian launched at her, his blade raised, but before she could move, Devon tackled him, slamming him to the sidewalk. He wrenched Sebastian’s arm behind his back, and the knife fell free. Then he hauled her cousin to his feet. “We can do this here, or we can go to Bow Street and you can answer the magistrate’s questions in private. But make any attempt to escape and I’ll kill you. I’ve spent the last three years in battle, and I learned how to kill men in ways you couldn’t even begin to imagine.”

Sebastian, who had smirked in front of Anne only hours before, shook in Devon’s grip. “These accusations are madness,” he hissed. His eyes widened in desperation as the Runners stepped out—five ruthless-looking
men in scarlet waistcoats. Sir John moved forward and Norbrook appealed to him. “How can you listen to this insanity, Sir John? This woman is a prostitute—”

Devon’s fist knocked her cousin to his bottom in the street. He landed in a pile of ripe-smelling mud. Crossing his arms menacingly over his chest, Devon glared down at Sebastian, his violet eyes like ice. “You made a lot of mistakes, Norbrook. Should I list them all? Sir John is listening, so I think I will, and you will keep your mouth shut.”

He was mocking Sebastian. Anne had never seen her cousin turn such a deep red with rage. He tried to scramble out of the mud, tried to salvage his pride. But Devon pushed him back with a boot to his chest. “First, you admitted to your cousin, just before you left her to burn to death in a warehouse, that you had been to the brothel before the madam’s murder. After you left London, I spoke with your banker. He is normally the soul of discretion, but once I warned him I would remove my money from his institution, the poor fellow had no choice but to tell me the truth. You withdrew several large sums of money from your accounts.”

“Gaming debts,” her cousin whispered. Their conversation was so quiet, onlookers couldn’t hear, even though they strained forward. The Runners kept them back.

“You don’t play. I had Mrs. Meadows’s accounts investigated. She deposited the same amounts of money in her bank within days of your withdrawals.”

Sebastian flashed a fearful glance toward Sir John. “I will admit I used her services.”

“I think when Bow Street questions Mrs. Meadows’s girls, they will find you were never a client. You were searching for your cousin. You discovered that Mrs. Meadows was holding her captive and would not let her go without a generous payment. What happened on the
night of her murder? Your cousin escaped. Did you go to the brothel with your last installment, intending to finally take her with you? Then, after you paid, you discovered the madam had lied—your cousin was no longer there. There was a witness to your meeting with Mrs. Meadows, a girl who saw you hit her with the—”

“Stop. Enough. I don’t want everyone to hear this. I am willing to go to Bow Street.”

Devon snarled at Sebastian. “Tell me why you wanted to kill your cousin. You went through so much to find her. Why would you want her dead?”

Anne shivered, waiting for the answer. She wanted to run away now—she didn’t want to hear what Sebastian would say about her. All these gentlemen were watching her, assessing her. She was wearing a cloak over her sooty clothes and she had the hood up to shroud her face, but all these men must know she was Sebastian’s cousin. Some might know her from Madame’s.

Devon jerked Sebastian to his feet. Her cousin was shaking with rage but impotent. “I did not want to hurt her. I certainly did not set that fire. It was a tragic accident.”

“Like hell.” Devon shoved Sebastian ahead of him, and two of the Runners came forward, obviously to arrest the viscount and take him to Bow Street. How could Sebastian have come to this? How could he have done so much evil? For her?

She was watching her cousin so closely, she saw his hand go to a pocket in his coat. Silver flashed. “Devon,” she cried, “he has a knife—”

It wasn’t a knife. It was a tiny pistol. Devon commanded him to put the weapon down and lunged, but Sebastian put the gun to the side of his head and, in a heartbeat, pulled the trigger. A small explosion rent the air, smoke puffed, then Sebastian fell to the ground with blood running down the side of his head.

Anne wobbled. Devon rushed to her, held her, while Sir John and the Runners went to her cousin. She twisted in Devon’s arms as he hurried her to the carriage. Sebastian’s face was turned toward her, but his eyes were sightless. He was gone, gone to his own hell.

What would happen now?

Anne snuggled to Devon beneath the warm covers of the bed in her town house. His long, muscular body lay beside hers, his arm resting possessively over her chest. Her cousin was dead, and Sir John had accepted Sebastian’s guilt in Madame’s death. Her name was cleared. Devon had made her safe, and now, in his arms, she felt it. She loved him deeply. She would not think about the future, when he would leave her bed and never come back.

“Would you stay?” she whispered. “Tonight, in my bed?”

He kissed her forehead. “I shouldn’t, love. I still have the dreams about battle. I still cry out in the night and might lash out—”

“I’m not afraid of your nightmares, Devon,” Anne said softly. “I’m afraid of mine.”

Her words touched Devon deeply. Why had he not thought of that? He had been planning to leave her to sleep, as he always did. But her fingers were gripping him tightly. She needed him, and he couldn’t run away from her. If he had to stay awake for the entire night to keep her safe, to be there if she woke up afraid, he would do it.

He cradled her. “I won’t leave you, Anne. Don’t fear that. I’ll keep you safe. Always.” He stroked her hair. The bath had washed away all but the lightest hint of smoke.

“Thank you,” she murmured sleepily.

“You have nothing to fear now, Anne. You are free.” He turned and kissed her. He didn’t want to think of the future. Having to marry. He didn’t want to let Anne go. He remembered thinking she was a lady in every sense of the word that mattered.

His family had always insisted he marry for love. Right now, as he cradled Anne close, he couldn’t imagine marrying for anything less.

Nestling his cheek to her hair, Devon closed his eyes.…

Hours later, he blearily opened them again. He remembered cradling Anne, then nothing but warmth and the sense of being completely relaxed. He’d fallen asleep.

He jerked up in the bed. Anne muttered something but settled back into sleep.

He hadn’t had a dream. How was that possible? He’d been plagued by nightmares every night, yet not tonight.

Last night, while he’d bathed Anne and helped her dress for bed, she told him of her plan to help Thomas and Mrs. Tanner. Due to Anne, he had been able to pay his debt to Captain Tanner. Was that why the nightmares hadn’t come? Or was it because he had saved Anne? Had he finally found peace at night because he now knew Anne was safe? Or because he’d decided he was never going to let her go?

He’d fallen in love with Rosalind in a heartbeat. Love had slammed into him like a runaway carriage. So hard, it had figuratively knocked him off his feet. It hadn’t been like that with Anne. True, every few seconds he thought about her and hungered to be with her. And the thought of losing her had been more terrifying than facing cannons, swords, and rifles in battle.

Anne had never knocked him over, but she had done something more powerful: She had become the one thing he believed he needed to keep standing. She hadn’t unbalanced
his world; she had become his world. He’d fallen in love exactly the way his mother had described it.

Anne woke, aware of wetness and warmth swirling around her breasts.

Startled, she opened her eyes. Devon was gently suckling her left nipple. Beneath his lazily twirling tongue, her heart pounded. He’d spent the night with her in her bed. “Did you sleep?” she asked quietly, though, given his tousled hair and bright eyes, she suspected he had.

He lifted his head and gave her a brilliant smile. “I did, angel. Because of you, I believe.”

Her heart soared. And arousal soared even higher as the nudge of his cock against her stomach told her exactly what he wanted to do. But he stopped. “I shouldn’t do this after what you’ve been through—”

“You must. That’s why I want it.” She closed her eyes and thought of nothing but the pleasure of his touch, his mouth, his beautiful body against hers.

He brought her to a climax with his fingers, then his mouth, then he drove deeply into her while she was still sobbing with pleasure, and he made her truly explode. She was so dizzy with ecstasy, it felt as if the room were spinning.

Then he simply kissed her, for what seemed like priceless, delicious hours.

Finally, he groaned reluctantly. “I have to leave you for a while. I should go to Bow Street and ensure all is in order with Sir John. I should go home and see my family. No doubt they’ve heard rumors of what has happened.”

Guilt surged. “Of course. They may think you were hurt! They must be—”

“I sent a note of reassurance to my mother. They won’t be worried, but they will be bursting with curiosity.”
He cocked his head. “It’s a beautiful day. You can do anything you wish. You could take a drive in your carriage and shop as much as you want.”

“I would like to take a walk in the sun. I always dreamed of walking through Hyde Park.”

“You’ve never done that?”

“No.” She didn’t want to say more and spoil the moment—didn’t want to remind him that she could not go because she’d been a prisoner in the brothel and, before that, she’d been far too poor to walk among fashionable people in the park.

Devon gave her another long kiss. His eyes, filled with regret, held hers. Was he sorry for her past? He talked lightly with her as he dressed. He made plans—to take her to the theatre where he kept a private box, to the museum, boating on the Thames. It was as if he was organizing a campaign to give her all the pleasures of London, the way he would plan for battle. She laughed, hugged her knees. “Your list has me breathless.”

“It will be my pleasure to treat you as I should have all along.” He smiled. “After all, I promised you quite a bit in our contract. It’s time I delivered.” He gave her a formal bow that made her heart ache. Then he left her.

The bed felt decidedly empty without his broad shoulders and long legs filling it. She swung her feet over the edge and jumped out. She gave the bellpull a tug.

It took an hour to be dressed by her maid. Since she still possessed very few clothes, Anne spent the morning shopping on Bond Street. It was her duty to dress fashionably, to be a credit to Devon. In truth, she rather liked having lovely things of her own. It had been so long since she could dream of pretty gowns.

Shopping meant she did not have to think about Sebastian, how close she had come to dying and to losing Devon. She had an ice at Gunter’s, again something she’d fantasized of doing when she had been poor in the
stews. It was a bittersweet pleasure—she wished she could have treated her mother to one. She took her carriage to Hyde Park. She wanted time to herself, without her maid trailing after her. Although Society would frown on her walking alone, she sent her servants home and she went through the gate into the park.

The sun slanted low, glinting on the rippling surface of the Serpentine. It was as lovely as she’d always dreamed. Devon’s London home, March House, was close by. It was one of the enormous mansions overlooking the park. Of course, she dared not go there. She couldn’t
call
. It might be only several feet from where she stood, but it was a world away.

She shook off the heaviness around her heart. She was
free
. Almost four weeks ago she had traveled to Devon’s house, determined to become his mistress. Determined to escape. To build an independent life. She had done all those things.

She did feel relief and happiness and joy. For the first time, she could look toward the future with hope. But she felt a strange sadness she could not shake.

Behind her, men laughed and hooves thudded in the sand of Rotten Row, the track used by the
ton
for riding. Anne turned. Sunlight limned the two riders and blinded her. The gentlemen stopped and one challenged the other to a race. Then the man’s gaze settled on her. “Moreton, take a look. It’s lovely Annalise. She used to work at Madame Sin’s. Tasty morsel, isn’t she? Read in the news sheets this morning that she was cleared of the madam’s murder. Apparently Viscount Norbrook clubbed the woman’s head in. He took his own life in the middle of St. James’s Street.”