Engaged in Sin (48 page)

His blazing eyes narrowed. “You deserve so much more than that.”

“Perhaps, but that is how people will behave.” She told him of her encounter with the two gentlemen in the park. Finally, though she hated to do it, she revealed that one of the men had been a client. She expected him to leave her once he knew that. Instead, he took a step toward her.

“No one will bother you in Hyde Park. I defended your honor there a few days ago, and no gentleman would risk making me angry again, I promise.”

“What—what did you do?”

“I knocked the Earl of Duncairn on his arse. Unfortunately he got in a good blow of his own.” Devon touched his nose.

“So that explains the bruises and the swelling. You told me it was an accident.”

“It was. It was an accident that I allowed one of his fists to land on my face.” He grinned, then winced. “You saved me, angel, in so many ways. Now let me save you.”

“Devon, it is impossible to change Society’s views.”

“I survived battle with the French. I’d like to believe I can survive battle with a lot of narrow-minded matrons and hypocritical peers.”

“You can win victories like the fight in the park, but you can never win the true victory—which is to change their opinions.”

His lower lip protruded, giving him a sulky boyish look. “So it is your plan to go off to the country, rent a cottage, and … and what, love? Take a lover from the country gentry?”

She was doing a terrible thing now, keeping the truth about his child a secret. But she might be wrong about
the pregnancy, she might lose the baby—there was no point in speaking of it when it might not happen at all. “I will have some money, Devon. I should like to start schools so young girls do not have to end up as prostitutes. That should keep me tremendously busy. And I could also hire a companion.” She saw his eyes roll and she squared her shoulders. “I think it is a very good plan. I like the country. I enjoy simple pleasures. Few people are fortunate enough to have everything they’ve always dreamed of. In being independent, I will.”

“And you are saying you don’t want to be my mistress anymore.”

“I—” Being enceinte made it impossible for her to ever be part of Society. Even her great-grandmother and a duchess could not make the
ton
accept an obviously pregnant courtesan. And she could not hide her pregnancy for very long. Only a few more weeks. “It would be for the best,” she said. She was going to have her heart broken eventually. If she truly had courage, she could face it now. “I know you must bring an end to our arrangement anyway when you are ready to propose. To the lady you choose to be your bride, I mean.”

“You will be free to take a lover, angel.”

“I will never take another protector. I will never love anyone else—” She broke off. What had she done? She’d said aloud that she loved him.

Would he be embarrassed? What should she do? How did a woman tell a man she loved him and then assure him she understood that their sexual encounters had been only business?

“I am planning to make a proposal of marriage,” he said softly. “One that will bring an end to our relationship as tempting mistress and besotted protector.”

“Besotted? You can’t be. I think you’ve mainly been irritated with me.” Despite the hurt tugging at her foolish
heart, she managed a wobbly smile. “I am glad you have found a bride.”

He gazed at her as though seeing her for the very first time. “Sometimes, I’ve been told, it takes a while to realize when someone is unlike anyone else you’ve ever known.”

She supposed she was quite different from other mistresses he’d had. More stubborn, less obedient, more annoying …

He traced her lips, igniting tremors worthy of an earthquake. “I’ll never forget the time you took me walking in the rain, Anne. At first I thought you were mad—”

“I’m not surprised,” she whispered. “I feared you would think me crazy.” Heavens, she didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t want to let him go.

“You opened my world for me, Anne. By showing me the sense of space that sound could give me, you changed me from hopeless to hopeful. You’ve done that for me in so many ways. Little by little, you helped me to open my heart again.”

He was telling her he had fallen in love with someone. This was to be goodbye, just as she’d said it should be, and in his kindness he was making it as sweet as he could.

“You helped me come to grips with my guilt over Captain Tanner’s death. You helped me sleep through a night without nightmares. Somehow, in some miraculous ways unique to you, you helped me find peace. I am going to miss having you for my mistress, Anne Beddington.”

She swallowed hard. This was the true test of strength. She must give a gracious goodbye. No tears. She was going to wish him happiness. She loved him so much, all she could hope for him was joy.

“My family has always believed in marrying for love,”
he said. “To my mother and father, love was the most important thing. Caro was encouraged to marry the earl she loved, rather than the duke she didn’t. When I realized I’d fallen in love with you, Anne, I thought I would have to make the choice between marriage and love.”

He slanted his mouth over hers. She was only barely aware of his kiss. Her whole world had become five unbelievable words.
Fallen in love with you
.

He drew back. “I’d planned for something spectacular, love, at my house. A trio of violinists was supposed to play for us, and I intended to walk you to a bower festooned with roses to surprise you. But I’ll have to do this now. Here.” He fumbled in the pocket of his greatcoat. “Blast, I can’t get the thing out.”

She couldn’t even give a nervous giggle. That would have required a breath.

He yanked out a velvet-covered box. He opened it, plucked something out, and threw the box aside. When he opened his hand, she saw a dark-red stone sitting in the center of his palm—a huge heart-shaped ruby with dozens of facets to capture the sun.

“I wanted something striking and red, for you will always be Cerise to me. Bold, seductive, brave Cerise.” He dropped to one knee in front of her. Taking her left hand, he held the ring poised before her finger. His dark hair fell across his eyes as he gazed up, surprisingly uncertain.

“Marry me, Anne,” he said.

Devon felt lost in the silence. As the quiet stretched, cold swept through him, slowly freezing its way through his veins, as though he’d been dunked in ice water. “Anne?” Why was it taking her so long to say yes?

“You found—” Her lovely voice quavered. He’d focused on her tones so carefully when he was blind, he
knew she was shocked. “You found my great-grandmother, you plotted my return to Society, because you want to marry me?”

“Yes, angel.”

She scrambled back, away from his hand and the ring. “You cannot seriously be asking me to marry you. There must be dozens of eligible ladies you can court—”

“I’m not interested in any of them. I am seriously asking you.
You
.”

“Devon, no. No, I can’t marry you.”

No?
“You are telling me no?” It made no sense. What mistress did not want to be a wife?

“Yes. I mean, my answer must be no.”

“It can’t be no. I love you.” Hades, he sounded like a petulant boy.

“I—It doesn’t matter what we feel. It is impossible. I can’t marry you. You wouldn’t be happy. And, consequently, neither would I.”

“Indeed. You know how I would feel?”

“Yes, I do, because our marriage would hurt your family. You adore your family, and I will not be responsible for causing them pain. You would eventually resent me for that. Your sister Lady Cavendish was so kind to me. She called me a friend. If we wed, it would cause a huge scandal, and it would break my heart to hurt her. Your mother does not need any more pain. And there are your unmarried sisters. The soot on my reputation would tarnish them.”

It was exactly what his mother had said. “We can try to make it work,” he growled stubbornly. “Once you are part of Society again—”

“My answer has to be no. Always no. Nothing you can say will change my mind.”

“You said you loved me.”

She winced. “You are a wonderful man, but I—I am not in love. I don’t believe I could ever fall in love with
anyone. I want to be independent, Devon. That is what I truly want.”

Was she saying she had been so hurt by her past that she could never open her heart? “Anne, don’t be afraid of falling in love. I was. You helped me see I couldn’t hide in grief and fear forever.”

“Oh, you don’t understand!”

Devon watched her run to the door, her skirts swishing. He should follow, but he couldn’t make his boots move. When he’d made his proposal of marriage, he’d imagined that now, five minutes later, he would be a betrothed man.

Not a confused one.

XPECTING A BABY
forced one to change plans, even about an independent life.

Spring had brought the moors to life, and Anne smiled as she walked along the path to her cottage. This was one change: She could not stride swiftly back home from the nearby village of Princeton. Every few yards she had to stop and puff out a few breaths. She was now the size of a house, with a taut, rounded belly, swollen ankles, and hunger that seemed never to cease.

Still, she was achieving everything she’d wanted. She was content—except for the great pain in her heart. Her heart was not growing any protective scar tissue at all. It simply hurt.

At the post office, she had collected a letter from her great-grandmother, and it was tucked into her pocket. Lady Julia had agreed Anne must live quietly out of sight until she bore her baby, but they wrote regularly. In that, Devon had been right. Anne was so happy to have family. But she cradled her belly as she walked. “I hope, when you are old enough to understand, you can forgive me, little one. I fear you won’t. I don’t know if I could, if I were you. I do promise you will never want for anything.”
It was true. Devon had not understood her refusal, but he had been very generous. Even though she had simply … left him.

When she began her school in the Whitechapel stews, he’d sent her the settlement he’d promised in her contract. He’d also sent a generous donation. With it, she had been able to employ teachers and refurbish a large town house to use as both a school and a home for the girls.

Three months ago she’d come here and rented a small cottage on the moors. Even with high-waisted gowns and voluminous skirts, she feared her pregnancy was too obvious. She could not cause a scandal, which would hurt her school and her students.

And she couldn’t return to active involvement. Not unless she gave up her baby, and she was not going to do that. Her fear was that someday her child would learn a duke had asked for her hand in marriage, that he or she could have been born a legitimate child to wealth and privilege, except that his—or her—mother had said no.

It was for the
best
. Devon’s sister Elizabeth was now engaged to a handsome earl, and the London scandal sheets were abuzz with the latest rumor about the Duke of March. In five days a ball was to be held at March House. It was the
on-dit
that he would announce his engagement at the ball. While there had been weeks of speculation as to the lady’s identity, it apparently remained a mystery. Still, in five days, Devon would belong to someone else.

The path began to descend, slowly winding between boulders and gorse bushes. Sheep darted across the path, searching for grasses to nibble. Anne took slow steps, punctuating each sensible word that she spoke aloud with deep, hard breaths. “It. Is. For. The. Best.”

A black-faced sheep looked up, eyed her doubtfully, and bleated.

There were no trees on the sweeping hills of the moors. She had a clear view of her cottage. Given that she was pregnant and unmarried, she’d wanted to be isolated. In the winter, though, she’d been very, very alone. She’d kept busy during those long nights by sewing in preparation for the baby and by reading. Though reading made her think longingly of Devon—

A carriage was rumbling up the track to her cottage. Sunlight lit an insignia on the door. It stopped near and the door swung open. Anne forgot to draw a breath, even when the outriders assisted an elegant lady to her path. It was Lady Cavendish, and, behind her, two other young women spilled out of the coach.

The servants moved sharply forward again as a white-gloved hand gracefully extended from the shadowy doorway. Another elegant woman was helped down the steps, a rose-trimmed hat hiding her face. Could this be Devon’s other sister? Why on earth were they here?

Lady Cavendish clasped Anne’s hands, then hugged her. She waved toward the two young ladies. “My sisters Elizabeth and Winifred. And this is”—she turned toward the tall lady who stepped gracefully forward—“our mother, the Duchess of March.”

His mother? Anne blinked as the duchess approached and took her hand. Devon’s mother was beautiful, of course, with vivid blue eyes. A rueful smile lifted the duchess’s lovely mouth. Then she asked, “You are expecting my son’s child?”

Anne couldn’t speak. She managed a nod, with her face burning, then tried to execute a curtsy. The duchess stopped her. “You did not tell him?”