Midnight Kisses (Midnight Series) (5 page)

Devlin felt the distinct urge to make her understand and appreciate his carnal desires, for as outraged as she was, standing there before him, she was more beautiful and delightful than ever. When he had seen her before, she had been nothing but guarded and in control, but now her true nature was breaking out of her. It was exactly this passion he had sensed ten years earlier during their first, tender kiss. He had been right all along. She was burning, but would she burn for him, too?

He needed to find out.

“So you are not the kind of woman who appreciates passion and desire? Then tell me this: why didn’t you join a convent?”

Danielle shook her head in stunned bewilderment. Her heart was suddenly beating in a very different key, and in retreating she knocked over stacks of books and wiped documents off the table, all to bring more distance between Lord Weston and herself. She was scared. Not of him, but of the feeling he was stirring up inside of her. She was worried she would reply to his outrageous question with the truth. Which was that the thought of ending up in a convent was as unbearable then as it was now—because it would have meant to never again experience a kiss like his. But she would not grant him that kind of satisfaction! He was only playing with her, exactly as before.

“My passions and desires are none of your concern! Go satisfy yours elsewhere!”

“With such beauty right before my eyes, why would I want to be elsewhere?” he whispered, and now his eyes really spelled trouble.

“Because I am married!” Danielle called out, continuing to retreat.

“Your husband is dead,” Devlin corrected her, loosening his neckerchief.

“I’m in mourning!” A bookshelf behind her prevented further escape, and a triumphant smile on Devlin’s face sealed her doom. He came very close and lifted her chin so she would look at him.

“Did you love Langston so much that your passion died with him?” he asked quietly, and his breath touched her face like a caress.

Danielle closed her eyes. She was fighting back the tears that were welling up behind her closed eyelids, because the truth was too painful to admit—to him, of all people. With quivering lips she begged, “Please, Milord, stop tormenting me! Go now, please!”

She held her breath, not wanting to admit defeat and see the ridicule in his eyes before he would force her to another kiss.

But he didn’t do any of those things. Before she even opened her eyes, she could feel him retreat. With a curse on his lips, he stormed out of the room, and shortly after she could hear the heavy front door snap shut behind him.

“Milady, your tea? Did Lord Weston leave already?” Sally’s voice pulled her out of her paralysis, and Danielle vaguely realized what a sorry sight she must be. She smoothed back her hair and swallowed her feelings.

“Lord Weston was unable to stay. He just wanted to offer his condolences one more time. But I could do with a nice cup of tea. Oh, and Sally? Are there any scones left?”

“Certainly, Milady. I will put everything down here on this small table. Are you sure you’re alright, Milady?”

“Of course. It’s just a little painful to look through Lord Langston’s entire life’s work. But I’m thinking about selling the house. Christopher will be attending an all boys’ school upon his return, and the house is really too big for me alone. I want to get back to London. My friend Lady Eliza has written that there is a nice, cozy home for sale not too far from her. I would like to take a look at it. But first I need to figure out what I’m going to do with this old house.”

Sally nodded.

“But London, Milady? Really? After everything that happened
 . . . 
”

“I know, Sally. My husband’s death is casting a long shadow, but it’s already reaching all the way here anyway. Besides, Eliza thinks that gossip is promptly forgotten in a big city where a new scandal quickly attracts attention from all the usual gossipmongers. Here, on the other hand, people will never stop pointing their fingers at me.”

Chapter 4

London, one week later

Weston, what a surprise to see you here! I heard you’re in town, but I couldn’t believe it.”

Devlin lowered his morning paper and looked toward the man with the receding hairline who was heading straight for him and was visibly thrilled. As in most gentlemen’s clubs the morning hours here tended to be quiet, and so Colin Bosworth took a seat beside him without waiting for an invitation.

“Bosworth, the pleasure is all mine. You look terrific. How is the family?”

“Splendid, just splendid. Little Lisa is as beautiful as her mother, and we will soon be busy beating her countless admirers off with a stick. I am seriously considering returning to the country when the time comes. Fortunately, she is staying with her grandparents right now where hopefully she won’t be getting any silly ideas. She’s only thirteen, which means we have a little time left.”

Bosworth brimmed with fatherly pride, and Devlin almost felt a hint of jealousy. But since he had grown up knowing about his family legend—his curse—he had never really searched for true love. Nor for a wife for that matter, for he didn’t feel the need to get attached to someone he couldn’t love in the first place. And with his mind thusly made up, the question of having children had never come up either. Still, he wasn’t worried about a family heir. His brother Dean was in his early twenties and therefore of prime marriageable age. He might as well pass the title on to his children. Or what about the little latecomer of the family: his sister Rose.
If her childlike beauty is anything to go by, she’s going to have an admirer on every single one of her fingers by the time she is old enough
, Devlin thought.

“What brings you to town? Have you reconsidered? Are you at long last looking for a wife?”

“No, Bosworth, it’s not that. I’m looking for a certain Venus!”

Devlin extended his long limbs and reached for his tea, while Bosworth was doubling over with laughter.

“A certain Venus! Marvelous, just marvelous, Weston. Unfortunately, urgent matters are calling, otherwise I would love to stay for a longer chat before you return to your dull country life. Here’s an idea,” Bosworth suggested. “How about you grace us with your presence for dinner on Friday night? A lady, a friend of the family, is currently in town, and it would be quite agreeable to welcome a second gentleman within our midst.”

Devlin shook his head regretfully. “Thank you, Bosworth, that’s very kind indeed, but I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Impose? Weston, I’d be the one owing you a favor if I didn’t have to spend the evening alone with these ladies. They will be catching up on too many years’ worth of news and gossip, and I’m worried I shall perish from sheer boredom.”

Devlin laughed. Where he might have felt envious before, the feeling was gone. If anything, he was feeling a little sorry for his friend.

“Alright then, friend, but I will call in that favor in due time; you can count on it,” Devlin finally gave in, and a visibly relieved, chubby Bosworth took his leave.

Devlin looked at his pocket watch and decided that it was time to follow up on his plans concerning the
Venus
. Since Langston could no longer be of help, he would now try to obtain the required information some other way: he would meet with the infamous Mr. Corbett. Infamous, because nobody knew how this gentleman made his living. He was a creature of the night, a crook, a quack; but if anyone had heard of the
Venus
, then definitely he.

Devlin folded his newspaper and took his coat. It had cost him an entire week and a tidy sum to make contact with Corbett, and now he sincerely hoped the man would actually show up at the appointed meeting place.

The slush of old, melting snow on the streets of London dimmed by comparison to the pretty winter wonderland he had waded through in Essex on his visit to Langston’s widow. Over and over, Devlin’s mind returned to that morning in Langston’s study. He kept recalling that image of her face which had prompted him to return a second time.

The desire to take that woman into his arms had been almost overpowering, and still he had refrained from it because the sight of her stirred something else, something much more powerful: his heart. She had touched his heart with her tear-soaked eyelashes, quivering lips, and silent desperation that enshrouded her like a thick woolen cloak. He hadn’t been able to bear the pain and suffering in her voice. He was deathly afraid he would meet the same fate his ancestors had.

After all, he was Devlin Weston, Earl of Windham, and no Windham man before him had ever been lucky in love. To avoid making a fool of himself, he had long ago decided to avoid any and all women who threatened to touch his innermost sanctum. And up until now, that wasn’t too hard, for he had never met a woman quite like Danielle Langston.

Could he risk it all for her? He hadn’t known the answer to that question, and so he had taken his leave.

Devlin arrived at the bridge over the River Thames, keeping a lookout for the person he had arranged to meet, when a carriage came to a stop beside him. The driver, who was barely visible due to his long, waxed overcoat and a wide-brimmed hat that was hiding his face, snarled: “Are you Weston?”

When Devlin nodded, the door to the carriage interior opened and a pair of shiny, clean boots became visible in a faint sliver of daylight.

“Get in!” the driver demanded, and Devlin obeyed. The door immediately closed behind him, and an ice-cold blackness engulfed him. All the curtains had been pulled, and the person sitting on the opposite seat was dressed completely in black; that was the only thing Devlin had been able to glimpse when he got in.

As soon as the carriage started moving, Devlin broke his silence.

“Are you Corbett?”

“You are correct,” a voice replied that reminded him of rusting metal. Devlin estimated the man’s age to be at least sixty.

“May I inquire as to why you are searching the entire city for me?” Corbett asked, sounding thoroughly annoyed.

“You are a hard man to find, and I needed to cast a wide net,” Devlin admitted, unimpressed. After all, how dangerous could a man be who was hiding in the shadows? Besides, the darkness worked to Devlin’s advantage, for he was quite certain that Corbett wouldn’t notice the gun aimed at him from underneath his overcoat. Just in case.

“What do you want, Mr. Weston?”

“I’m looking for something, and I was told that you were the right person to help.”

“Who do you think I am, Weston? A goddamn lost and found? Stop beating around the bush and tell me what you want, or else our little leisurely ride is over,” the black shadow demanded impatiently.

“A painting. I’m looking for a painting. The
Venus de Lavinium
, to be precise.”

Corbett quietly whistled between his teeth.

“Hear, hear, the
Venus
. What a coincidence. There seems to be a lot of interest in this myth as of late.”

Devlin pricked his ears. He should have known that the report in the art magazine would generate some interest, but the thought of it displeased him.

“So you have heard of her,” he established.

“Of course I have heard of her! But you don’t seriously think that the painting actually exists, do you, Weston?”

“Well, do
you
?” Devlin countered.

“It doesn’t matter what I think. But to put you out of your misery: yes, I have heard of the
Venus
. It is rumored that she was brought to London together with a good number of antique artifacts and paintings from Central Italy. It is further rumored that everything was sold to Audrey’s Museum.”

“Audrey’s Museum?” Devlin had never heard of it.

“It’s an establishment with not the highest of reputations. The owner, Mr. Audrey, is quite boastful about carrying the greatest artifacts of Europe in his collection, but not everyone believes that the artifacts are genuine if you know what I mean.”

“I see. So you think I am falling for a scam in searching for the
Venus
?”

“Search to your heart’s content, Mr. Weston. But let me warn you, harm has come to people who took too much of an interest in the goddess of love.”

Devlin’s grip around his gun tightened.

“Are you threatening me, Corbett?” he asked with the uncomfortable realization that he might not be the only one holding a weapon in this carriage.

“Why would I, Mr. Weston? Nothing could be further from the truth. I just want to be sure that you’re not getting involved in things that might be dangerous to your health.”

With a soft but unmistakable click Devlin cocked his gun.

“I am touched by your concern, Corbett, but with all due respect, I think it is misplaced. I am well able to take care of myself. Thank you for this
 . . . 
pleasant
conversation. I shall exit right here.”

Corbett, who had clearly heard the metallic sound of the gun, knocked against the carriage wall with his walking stick, and the horses immediately slowed.

“As you prefer, Weston. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Wasn’t that the most delightful house you ever saw?” Eliza Bosworth, dressed in a lemon yellow dress, gushed as she whirlwinded her way back into her townhouse. Danielle’s dark form behind her almost looked like Eliza’s shadow. And that was how she felt, too. Danielle was simply unable to keep up with her friend’s overflowing enthusiasm. They handed the butler their coats and, before Danielle could even reply, Eliza grabbed her arm and pulled her with her into the salon.