The Winter Wish (7 page)

Of
their own accord Devlin’s eyes flicked to the room he had just left and the
woman he had left in it. “Reynolds, have you ever apologized to a woman?”

The
butler rubbed his moustache. “Apologized to a woman, Lord Heathcliff?”

“Yes.
I do not believe I ever have, and I need to know the best way to go about it.”

“My
wife is always most pleased when I bring her a present. She seems to be
particularly fond of jewelry.”

Devlin’s
eyebrows lifted in surprise. “You have a wife, Reynolds?”

“For
thirty two years and counting,” the butler replied.

“Did
I know this?”

“Apparently
not, Lord Heathcliff.”

“Hmmm…”
Devlin shifted the towels to one arm. “Jewelry, you say?”

Reynolds
nodded. “Jewelry.”

“Do
I have any jewelry to give?”

“Not
that I know of, Lord Heathcliff.”

Well
that was certainly a problem. Devlin knew he had great strides to cover in
making up for the way he had treated Sarah. His behavior had been abominable.
He could not remember ever losing his composure like that before, not even with
Moira. Sarah did things to him… She made him feel things he had never felt; to
want things he had never wanted. He had no idea how such a quiet, unassuming
girl could have such an effect on him after only two encounters; he knew only
that she did, and he was helpless against the blossoming of new, uncharted
feelings he felt deep inside his chest whenever he thought of her.

“Go
down to the jeweler on Elms Street. Bring back the most expensive necklace they
have. One with emeralds.” Emeralds would bring out the soft flickers of green
in her eyes that Devlin doubted she even knew existed. He had never met a woman
who was so blissfully unaware of her own natural beauty. “Oh, and Reynolds,” he
added as the butler began to walk back down the steps.

“Yes?”

“What
did I tell you about calling me Lord Heathcliff? Things are going to start
changing around here, Reynolds. Next week I want you to bring your wife for
dinner. Do you have children?”

For
the first time Devlin could remember, the butler looked surprised. “I… Yes,
Lord Heath—Sir,” he amended, shifting uncomfortably from side to side, as if
the idea of calling Devlin anything but his formal title was physically
daunting.

“Excellent.
How many?”

“How
many…?”

“Children,
Reynolds.” Devlin rolled his eyes. “Good God man, no wonder you have to buy
your wife jewelry. How many children do you have?”

“Three.”

“Three
children,” Devlin mused. He would like children. At least three, he decided on
the spot. Three bright eyed, laughing girls with their mother’s blond hair and
their father’s love for horses. “Bring them as well. I want to meet them.”

From
down the hall came the sound of something crashing and a muffled shout. Devlin
spun around. “A necklace, Reynolds!” he called over his shoulder as he raced
back to the master bedroom. “With emeralds. Lots of emeralds!”

The
butler lingered on the stairs for a moment, watching the Viscount until he
vanished from sight. Stroking his mustache, Reynolds grinned broadly. It was
high time Devlin found love, even though he went about it in the most
unconventional of ways.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“I
want to go home.” Holding the water pitcher above her head in what she hoped
was a threatening gesture, Sarah glared daggers at Devlin. “This is most
inappropriate. You… You have kidnapped me!”

Devlin
took a step closer. Sarah raised the pitcher higher. Her arms trembled from the
weight, and he instantly retreated. “Put that down. You are going to hurt
yourself.”

With
a gasp, Sarah released her grip on the pitcher as her elbows gave way. The
pitcher sailed through the air towards Devlin, but he ignored it to grab Sarah
as she crumpled to the floor. Following suit with the plate she had thrown to
get someone’s attention, the pitcher shattered against the wall.

“I
am sorry,” Sarah moaned as Devlin helped her to her feet and eased her back
into the bed. She let him arrange her limbs and tuck her under the covers as if
she were a doll, too dizzy to complain. “I will replace the pitcher and the
plate.” Closing her eyes, she turned her face into the pillow. She did not want
Devlin to see her like this: weak and cranky as a child.

Sarah
had not realized her head injury was so severe until she attempted to get out
of the bed and was barely able to make it halfway across the room. Her entire
skull was pounding from the inside out, the pain of it enough to cause her eyes
to tear and her stomach to turn.

She
could not remember anything between slipping on the ice and Devlin carrying her
up the stairs. How he had been the one to find her was a complete mystery, as
was
why
he had insisted on bringing her back to his home. It was ironic,
really.

For
two weeks she had spent every waking moment wondering where he was, and then
suddenly – as if by magic – he had appeared when she needed him most. Except
(quite selfishly) she wished their third meeting had not been under such
unflattering circumstances. Soaked through the skin with an enormous lump on
her head was hardly the way to make a good impression, nor, she admitted
silently, was throwing a plate across the room. Perhaps that had been a bit
extreme, but Sarah had panicked when the realized the implications that would
arise from Devlin bringing her back to his house.

Surely
someone had seen them, and surely that someone would tell another someone until
it spread like wildfire through the
Ton
.

Of
course that had been the original plan: to be caught in a situation that would
force Devlin’s hand in marriage. But now… Now she did not want to
force
him
into anything. If he loved her she wanted him to love her, and if he did not…
well, then he did not. At least either choice would be of his own volition and
not something falsely created by nefarious means, which made her current
situation quite problematic.

She
was too weak to leave on her own, but if she called for her parents to come get
her there would surely be questions asked and answers demanded. That left only
one person in the entire world whom Sarah trusted enough to rescue her from her
current predicament; unfortunately that was also the only person in the entire
world who would be happy she was in it.

No,
for once she could not rely on Lily’s guidance. She would have to sort it
through on her own, and that knowledge alone was enough to have another
dizzying wave of pain sweep over her, so fierce it caused her teeth to clench
and her hands to ball into small fists on top of the quilt. She heard Devlin
murmur something, and then a warm cloth was pressed gently on her forehead.

“This
should help with the headache,” he said quietly.

Opening
her eyes, Sarah turned to face him, focusing on his worried blue eyes as he
leaned over her, his hands braced on either side of her body. “Why are you
being so… so nice to me?”

Devlin’s
broad shoulders lifted and fell in a quick shrug. “Because I was rude to you before.
On both occasions,” he admitted with a wayward smile that did something
sinfully delightful to her insides.  

Holding
the warm cloth in place – it
did
feel quite good – Sarah leaned up on one
elbow. Obliging as a well trained nurse Devlin automatically fluffed a pillow
to put behind her shoulders and she sagged against it gratefully. “You were
rather rude,” she said shyly, lowering her gaze to the flower pattern sewed
into the quilt.

“Which
is why I shall do my best to make up for it now. Is there anything else you
need? A glass of water? Something to eat?”

Embarrassingly
cognizant of her damp dress and tangled hair – her cloak and hat must have been
lost somewhere along the way – Sarah nibbled on her bottom lip as she thought
of the best way to phrase her next question.

“I
can have a maid draw up a bath for you,” Devlin said, his smile turning rather
impish as Sarah blushed. “And find a change of clothing as well. Arrangements
have already been made. You can stay here for as long as you wish.”

Her
eyes flew to his in startled alarm. “Oh, no, I could not impo—”

“You
are not fit to leave this room, let alone walk home. Not to mention, we are in
the midst of a snow storm.”

“A…
A snow storm?”

There
was an undeniable hint of smug satisfaction in Devlin’s tone as he crossed the
room and drew back the curtains.

Sitting
up a little straighter and squinting, Sarah could just make out a flood of
white falling with alarming intensity from the sky. Everything in sight was
covered; the roads not even clearly visible. Traveling home, even if she did
not have a pounding headache, would be nigh on impossible until the weather
cleared.

Her
shoulders drooping in defeat, Sarah sagged back against the pillows. “I suppose
a hot bath would be very nice.”

Leaving
the curtains open, Devlin turned to face her and crossed his arms, a faint
smile capturing the corners of his mouth. “I will have one readied for you
immediately.”

Not
trusting the mischievous glint in his eye, Sarah said, “Of course it will be a
very
private
bath.”

“Of
course,” he agreed readily.

“And
the change of clothing…”

“You
will have your choice of nightgowns and robes.” At Sarah’s raised brow, he
chuckled. “Very
high
necked nightgowns and robes fit for a grandmother.
Not to worry. You shall be covered head to foot. I can assure you, Lady Dawson,
I am not as much of a scoundrel as you seem to think I am.”

Saying
nothing, Sarah merely pursed her lips.

“Well,
perhaps I am a bit of a scoundrel. But nothing the right woman could not fix.”
On that rather enigmatic note, the Viscount left the room. Through the closed
door Sarah heard him requesting hot water to be drawn and the claw foot tub in
the corner of the master bedroom, half concealed by a silk screen, to be
filled.

Telling
herself she would only doze until it was ready, Sarah closed her eyes… and fell
instantly asleep.

When
she woke the room was dark save the flickering light that danced out from a
fire someone had started in the hearth. Staring at the flames helped Sarah
remember where she was, for her family was not so wealthy they had fireplaces
in every room, let alone the master bedroom.

The
throbbing in her skull had subsided to a dull ache, and when she gently touched
the lump on the back of her head she was relieved to discover it had already
begun to go down. That would make going home in the morning all the more easier
– as long as the weather cooperated.

Grasping
the edge of the blankets, Sarah tossed them aside and swung her legs over the
side of the bed. That was when she could not help but notice she was
not
wearing
the dress she had fallen asleep in.

The
pale blue nightgown was made of the softest cotton she had ever felt against
her bare skin. It was quite beautiful, with delicate ivory lace along the
neckline, and very modest as well, just like Devlin had promised – although he
had not said anything about getting her changed in her sleep!

A
piece of parchment on the nightstand caught her eye. The scrawl was unfamiliar,
but she instinctively knew it was Devlin’s handwriting even before she read his
signature at the bottom.

If you are reading this, it means you are

awake. Ring the bell, no matter the hour.

 If you require assistance. I will be

there at once. Yours fondly,

-
         
Devlin

Sarah
reread the short note twice, then once more for good measure, seeking some

hidden nuance
that would tell her the Viscount’s hidden thoughts. If she did not know any
better she would say he was attempting to woo her. The signs were certainly
there: whisking her away to his private residence, putting her in his very own bedroom,
caring for her every whim, speaking to her kindly – no,
flirtatiously
–
at every turn. She strummed her fingers against her chin as she considered the
small silver bell he had left beside the note. There was nothing she
required
,
per say. She was a bit hungry, but could easily wait until breakfast. She had
no reason in the world to ring the bell. Except…

Except
maybe want was reason enough.

She
was not some wide eyed, blushing school girl. Well, perhaps she
was
rather prone to blushing, but she was definitely not a girl. She was a woman
full grown. A woman who had never known the touch of a man. The feel of a man’s
mouth sliding across her neck... The rough texture of a man’s hands as he
grasped her hips... The husky murmur of a man’s voice as he whispered all of
the decadent things he wanted to do to her…