Never Too Late (23 page)

“Sincerity? Honesty? Love? What do you know of any of that?”

“I know that one cannot possibly simulate
this
.” He pulled her to him for a hard, frantic kiss. He focused all of his energy into this one kiss, hoping to communicate all his longing, all his regret, all his love from his body to hers. He desperately hoped her body would recognize the truth her brain wouldn’t. She leaned into him, her arms around his neck pulling him closer. She opened to his kiss, and their tongues thrust and parried. His hands roamed her body with abandon, and he relished the sighs and moans coming from her throat.

But then, he felt her unmistakable rejection. She didn’t pull away from him, didn’t push against his chest to force him away. She didn’t make a single sound of protest. She simply stopped. First her hands stopped moving, stopped clinging. Then, inch by inch, her body shut down. The tension he’d felt in her back and shoulders as she’d strained to embrace him tighter and tighter—all of that energy slowly dissipated until the fine muscles were again masked by soft flesh. Finally, her mouth, that unbearably sweet and mobile mouth, went slack too. It wasn’t like holding a statue, which would be rigid and unyielding and defiant. It was rather like holding a dead quail, limp and lifeless and empty. He released her slowly, reluctantly. Even her face was devoid of life. At that moment, he’d have much preferred her eyes flashing fire bolts at him and her face contorted by fury. What he saw in her eyes instead was something horribly close to despair.

She backed away from him yet again, looking like a frightened doe. When she looked toward the large windows, he suspected she was trying to gauge whether she could safely drop to the ground if she went through one of them. When he reached his hand out to touch her face, he caught the faintest twitch of a grimace and stopped. She looked sad and worn. And he had done this to her.

“Every word, every touch, every—” Her voice broke. “It’s all corrupted. Every memory is tainted with betrayal—mine as much as yours. It’s all ruined, and I can’t bear it. I believe it would be best for me to leave now,” she said quietly, barely above a whisper.

“But, Nora—”

“I’m afraid I must insist, Lord Devin.” Then he heard it. The barely controlled quavering in her voice. She was broken, and she didn’t want him to see how severely.

“Listen to me—” he tried again.

She brought her eyes to meet his.

“Please,” she said. “I beg of you. Just leave me be.” He couldn’t ignore how much it cost her. The Nora he had come to know never begged, not even in jest. And he had done this to her.

He bowed to her and said, “I am deeply sorry.” He kissed her hand and released it. When she reached the door, she looked back, and his heart stopped.

“You deserve more than this,” he said.

She nodded one last time and walked out, shutting the library doors firmly behind her.

When she was back in the Devin carriage on her way home, her body gave way and she sank to the floor. She sobbed uncontrollably. From the very beginning, she told herself not to trust him. She’d known that his pretty words were empty tools of seduction. She’d known that every smile and flirtation and piercing comment was likely well rehearsed and as substantial as sugar floss. But then he’d really talked to her. And then he’d kissed her as if that were his whole reason for being on this earth. And then he’d declared that he loved her. And her instincts went awry. How could she trust herself now? Her judgment, so unfailing in business, utterly failed.

Even as she pulled up to Evans Books, she could not purge her thoughts of him. She relived his now-bittersweet kisses, relived what she’d let him do to her, what she’d so enthusiastically done with him. The vivid images in her mind made her want to—! She felt her gorge rising and made it out of the carriage just in time to cast her accounts into the gutter. The bile-filled effluvium was a bitter symbol of the sullied affection she’d been so stupid to indulge in the first place. When the spasms in her gut finally ceased, she stood, tears slipping down her cheeks.

“Honoria! Is that you? We weren’t expecting you for at least a fortnight!”
Oh, no. Marissa.
She swiped her face with her sleeve in the hope that she could right herself before facing her friend. No such luck. The ever-ebullient Marissa wasn’t one to stand on ceremony. No, Marissa came right around for a hug and peck on the cheek but froze at the sight of her face.

“Are you ill, Honoria? Let’s get you inside, dear.”

“I’m fine, dear. I will be fine.” She clung to Marissa, now quite embarrassed by the show of weakness. “I couldn’t stay away, but then the sight of the shop brought back such terrible memories of how I left it.”

Her friend squeezed her hand and pulled her toward the shop.

“I remember it well. You’ll be amazed at the progress we have made. Devin’s workers are an efficient bunch, and I must say we ladies have acquitted ourselves rather nicely. Even Mr. Clarke got to employ his woodworking skills and now has grand plans for carving new accents for the shelves.”

Honoria allowed herself to be guided into the building. When she saw the showroom, she slowly released the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. It was indeed an astounding improvement. The floorboards were clean of debris, although covered in sawdust and shoeprints. The counter had been moved to a more logical spot in the room and completely rebuilt. She could tell they’d tried to restore as much of the original shelving as possible. Best yet, the room smelled of fresh pine.

She tried to blink away the stinging in her eyelids, tried to rein in the fresh tears. The workers tipped their heads in greeting but continued their diligence. The Needlework ladies swarmed around her to welcome her back. “We’ve missed you!” “You’d be so proud!” “You can always count on us!”

As usual, Marissa took charge.

“There will be plenty of time for chatter. Honoria’s just had a long journey. She’ll be wanting tea and quiet, I’m sure. In any case, it’s about time for us to shut down the operation for today.” She raised her voice a bit. “That goes for everyone. Let’s pack up and get home to rest. We’ll start fresh tomorrow morning.”

Like Marissa, the sisters Helena and Elizabeth lingered after everyone else departed.

“I’ll go make some tea,” Helena said, just before she disappeared into the back. That was a bit of a surprise. Where was Minnie?

The other two ladies led Honoria up the stairs to her sitting room. She noticed they’d quickened their steps past her office downstairs. She had so many questions, but at the moment she dreaded the answers too much to ask. So instead she sank into a plush chair that she didn’t recognize but found immediately comforting.

“Everyone has been so kind,” she said as her eyes welled yet again. “I can’t thank you all enough for doing so much for me.”

Marissa perched on the arm of the chair and put a hand on her shoulder.

“We would do anything for you, Honoria. You know that.”

Yet she didn’t, or at least she hadn’t. How could she have misjudged such good friends? She’d thought herself fundamentally alone in this world, and yet so many people now lavished her with care. So many people had put countless hours into repairs, not just downstairs in the shop but up here as well. Stripped of unnecessary decor—she would wait until later to ask what had been destroyed—the room seemed larger. The walls had been repainted in a soothing mint shade. It was humbling, all this effort just for her, while she’d been cavorting irresponsibly at a country house.

Before she could speak, Marissa added, “And don’t you start on about how you should have been here, how we shouldn’t have, how you’ve neglected your responsibilities, and all that nonsense. You always expect too much of yourself, and you never accept help! It was past time that you allow people to start taking care of you for a spell.”

Helena entered with a loaded tray. “Here, here! Well said, Marissa! It’s been quite fun, too, to have such a physical project. And those workmen are so amusing. One youngster keeps flirting with Elizabeth, teasing her about how well she wields a paintbrush, how masterful her stroke is.”

To her astonishment, the matronly Mrs. Elizabeth Addison, five years a widow and the mother of seven, actually blushed, all the way from the edge where her blond coiffure met her forehead down to the lace at her collar.

“Oh, these whippersnappers are so outrageous,” Elizabeth responded, “but they seem good at heart. I’m thinking of bringing my Vanessa to help us next week.”

“Oh, no, sister. Vanessa would set these boys spinning!” Helena voiced what they all thought as everyone laughed. Even as a child, Elizabeth’s youngest daughter had had a preternatural gift for wrapping men around her little finger. Now, at fifteen, she was learning the art of subtlety. “Let’s save her powers for some future crisis,” the girl’s aunt added with a wink. “We have this well in hand and wouldn’t want to cause any undue distractions.”

It felt calming just to sit with these women, these friends. How had she been so blind to the camaraderie that surrounded her?

When Marissa asked how she wanted her tea, however, she straightened up and said, “Now, now, I’m fully capable of fixing my own tea. Comfort is one thing. Coddling is quite another. In fact, I am the hostess here. Sugar but no milk for you, correct?”

Marissa nodded, smiling, and graciously took the proffered cup and saucer. Her mouth quirked, a sure sign she was about to stir up the conversation.

“So, Honoria, when he visited to check on his crew’s progress last week, your young Lord Devin said you’d be staying out in the country until the end of the month. What happened to cut your trip so short?” All three women seemed to crowd in upon her. Her young Lord Devin.

“Nothing happened, ladies.” She avoided looking anyone in the eye. “I simply couldn’t stay away. As lovely as Sharling Worth is, idleness doesn’t suit me. Neither does running away from my problems.” Well, most of the statement was true, anyhow.

Ever tenacious, Marissa continued with a grin. “I’m rather surprised Lord Devin let you leave. He seems quite . . . protective of you.”

“Oh, yes,” Helena interjected. “Why, just last week he had lots of questions about you—”

“What sort of questions?” Honoria interrupted. Of course, not satisfied with the damage he’d wrought thus far, he had to interrogate her closest associates. What had he let slip in reply? “What did he want to know? What did you tell him?”

Helena looked from Marissa to Elizabeth. For a long moment, none of the women spoke. She simply waited.

“Dear, it’s nothing to get worked up about.” Marissa spoke as if to a child, even going so far as to pat her hand. “For one thing, he asked about the pamphlets. I think he means to help you replace the press.”

Elizabeth chimed in, “We talked a bit about the Needlework for the Needy activities. It seems his mother, Lady Devin, may wish to drum up support among her circle. How fancy would our little club be then!”

“Don’t get your hopes up, ladies,” she replied. “We should not be a nuisance to the Devins. In fact, I’m not comfortable accepting so much of their charity. They’ve done too much already.”

“What happened at Sharling Worth, Honoria?” As always, Marissa went right to the heart of the matter.

She shook her head, unable to speak.

“You need to rest,” Marissa decided. “But this discussion is deferred, not ended. You’ve been through a great deal of upheaval. And, obviously, Lord Devin is intimately involved.”
Oh, Marissa, truer words and all that. Intimately
involved didn’t begin to describe it. Still, she couldn’t possibly admit to them how completely and humiliatingly she’d been fooled by him.

“This is my shop, Marissa, my home. Do not speak to me as if I’m a petulant child in need of a nap. I will decide how best to manage my business.”

The sisters gaped at her before hurriedly gathering up the empty cups.

“We should be going,” Elizabeth said quickly. “The children will be wondering what’s kept me so late today. Come, Helena, we can share a hack.” Elizabeth gave her a quick embrace and added, “Get some sleep, Honoria. We’ll see you first thing tomorrow.” Helena likewise gave her a quick peck on the cheek before sweeping out after her sister. The look Helena shot to Marissa just before she disappeared was not particularly subtle.

“Just one last thing, dear, and I’ll leave you in peace for the night,” Marissa finally said. “This business has gotten dangerous. There are more factors at play now than in a royal court intrigue. Do not allow yourself to be distracted from what—or who—is important.”

For the first time, she noticed how worn Marissa looked. Her friend was always such a whirlwind of energy and opinions. Yet even her resources were getting stretched to their limit.

“What is important? That is the question of the moment, isn’t it, Marissa? As you said, nothing will be decided tonight. Rest assured, there will be a reckoning, and soon.”

“Take care of yourself, my friend. I have left a small welcoming gift in your closet. Keep it safe and close. I pray you never need it.”

“Thank you.” She kissed Marissa’s cheek and saw her out. She had no answers, and she was barely holding together what little she actually had. But she saw now that she didn’t have to do it alone.

Chapter Eighteen

W
hen he was fifteen, Lord Devin thought he was a man because he’d bedded his first woman, a lush and energetic tavern wench recruited by school chums. When he was eighteen, he thought he was a man because his father died and he took on the role of Lord Devin, head of the family. When he was twenty-four, he thought he was a man because he’d become the kind of gentleman that other members in the House of Lords looked to before casting their votes. Now, at twenty-six, he knew he was a man because he finally understood what it means to love, without conditions or limits. He loved Honoria with everything in him, from the very marrow in his bones, and that meant he wanted her to be happy, and safe, even if her happiness didn’t include him. Even if it meant acknowledging the threat he was to her and that she would be safer without him. He wanted her love, but he wouldn’t begrudge her whatever choices she needed to make for her own sanity. He would kill any man who tried to hurt her—and at least incapacitate any woman who tried to do so—but he would not bring her any more misery himself. He would make things right for her.