Carson returned, carrying a cool, damp cloth on a small silver tray. Devin took the cloth and held it against the cut on his lip, remembering as he did so the way the woman tonight had wiped away his blood with her handkerchief. He could smell again the faint scent of roses that had clung to the lace-trimmed cotton. He wondered if she, too, smelled of roses.
"A note arrived for you tonight, sir," Carson said and went over to the small table in the foyer, where another small salver held a square white piece of paper, folded over and sealed. "Ravenscar" was all that was written on the front, in the bold, loopy handwriting that he recognized instantly as Leona's.
A familiar sense of anticipation snaked through him as he took the note from the tray Carson offered him. He split the seal and unfolded the note.
Darling,
Tonight after midnight. I have a surprise for you.
It was a message typical of Leona—brief, unsigned and faintly mysterious—and it immediately wiped out all thoughts of the woman he had met earlier this evening.
"What time is it, Carson?"
"Why, a bit after eleven, I believe."
"Good. We have enough time. I need to clean up before my visitor arrives."
Both of them knew who that visitor was, but neither would, of course, say it aloud. His relationship with Leona existed behind a veil of secrecy, however flimsy that veil might be. Though every gossip in London society knew about them and whispered about their long-standing affair behind their backs, it was still only gossip and not proven fact as long as they maintained their secrecy. Lord Vesey did not care what his wife did—they went their own ways quite happily— as long as he was not subjected to public ridicule.
So, as it had been for many years, Devin saw Leona only now and then in public—perhaps making one of her party at the theater or opera, or attending a ball to which she was also invited—never by a word or gesture indicating that she was anything other than a friend. He did not go to her house except when he went with her brother Stuart. They met late at night when she left her house or whatever party she was attending and, thoroughly hidden in a hooded cloak, took a hack to his house, slipping around the side and entering through the garden door. At those times, he waited for her by the fire in his bedroom as he would tonight, a glass of brandy on the small table before him, his pulse thrumming with expectation.
There were evenings when she did not come. One never knew with Leona—it was one of the things that kept any relationship with her from becoming mundane. Sometimes she could not get away. And sometimes she simply liked to keep matters unsettled. Over the years, Devin had reached the point where her absences no longer drove him nearly mad, but he had never been able to quite get rid of the prickle of jealousy, the thought that she had not come because of some other man—her husband, who, despite their avowed disinterest in each other, still had first call on her, or perhaps a new swain, some fresh-faced lad who hoped to attract the attention of the most desirable lady in London. Earlier in his career, Devin had settled matters with one or two of them. His blood no longer ran so hot or so fast, but still, the thought of her being with another man, even just to talk, carried a sting.
The secrecy and mystery, that sting of jealousy, the uncertainty of their rendezvous, all had served to keep alive the excitement of their affair through the years that they had known each other.
He took the stairs two at a time, his valet trailing after him, and went to his room. It did not take him long to clean up, and even though Carson was meticulous to the point of irritation about his ascot being tied just so, he was also nimble-fingered about it, and so, several minutes before midnight, he was once again impeccably dressed and groomed. He sent Carson off to bed and settled down before his fire to wait, pouring himself a small snifter of brandy.
He had a good deal of time to wait. It was almost one o'clock before there was the soft scrape of a shoe outside in the hall and the door to his room opened. Devin rose to his feet as a woman slipped inside. She closed the door behind her and turned to him, reaching up slowly to push the hood back from her face. As many times as it had happened this way, his pulse still beat a little faster. Leona looked at him, a faint smile hovering about her lips.
She was aptly named, Devin had always thought, with her tawny golden hair, rounded, sherry-gold eyes, and lioness spirit. Leona was a wild creature, barely tamed by the rules and strictures of English society. She paid them lip service and nothing more, in private going her own way.
Devin had met her when he was eighteen and first came to London from his father's estate. The world had opened up to him then, the sophistication of the city replacing the stultifying life he had known at Darkwater. Instead of his father's prayers and moralizing, there had been gambling and boon companions and late nights spent in clubs and taverns. Instead of daily lessons, there had been hours of time to do with as he wanted. And instead of boring country misses, there had been... Leona.
He first saw her at a ball at Lady Atwater's. She had been wearing a dress made of gold tissue that clung to her every curve, and her skin had gleamed in the candlelight, her eyes reflecting the glitter of her dress. He had wanted her with a rush of lust he had never before experienced. She had played him like the green lad that he was. Looking back on it, Devin could see that, but, these years removed, the fact that she had done so only amused him. He had stumbled all over himself, trying to get her into his bed, but she had teased and eluded him for over a year, rejecting him until he was on the verge of giving up, then subtly sparking his desire into flame again with a look, an accidental brush of her bosom against his arm, a quick kiss in the garden.
His pursuit of the married Lady Vesey had been a scandal, of course—one of the many scandalous things he had done in Town that brought down his disapproving father's wrath, driving an ever-widening wedge between the two of them. But he had not cared for scandal. Most of the things he enjoyed in life, he found, were a scandal. As Leona had pointed out to him, he and she were not like other people.
"Hello, Dev," Leona said in her distinctive, throaty voice.
“Leona." Devin strolled over to her, his eyes roaming over her face and down her throat to her chest, where the full globes of her breasts swelled up over the neckline of her dress. Leona, like some of the other "wild" set of ladies, often dampened her thin dresses, so that they clung to her voluptuous body more tightly. Tonight he could see the dark circles of her nipples through the thin material of her virginally white muslin dress, and his loins tightened in response. Trust Leona to dress like a maiden making her debut, yet somehow manage to look like a wanton.
He bent and brushed his lips against hers. "You are looking lovely tonight."
It amazed him sometimes how well she had kept her looks. He did not know the hours and expense that were put into creams and cosmetics and hennas. Nor had he realized that in the past two or three years, he had almost never seen Leona in full daylight, their times together kept to evenings lit by softening candlelight.
He cupped his hand beneath her breast and trailed his thumb across her nipple, so that it hardened and pointed. "Did you wear this to a party?"
"Yes. Nearly caused a riot at Lady Blanchette's soiree—or at least one would think so, from the freezing way she talked to me. But the men all seemed to enjoy it."
"I am sure they did." He chuckled, and his hands dropped to her waist, pulling her to him for a kiss. He winced slightly as their lips touched, and Leona drew back.
She looked up into his face, her eyes going to his lip. "What happened? Does it hurt?"
He shrugged. "Some men jumped me, but I got away. It bled a little, but it's all right."
Leona's eyes darkened seductively, and she went up on tiptoe until her lips were only a breath away from his. "I never minded a little taste of blood," she murmured, and her tongue nicked out to run across his lips.
He pulled her hard against him and buried his mouth in hers. After a long, thorough kiss, he released her. Leona leaned back, looking seductively up into his face. "Mmm. I have a surprise for you tonight," she purred.
His loins tightened. "Do you?" Leona's surprises were always sensual delights, worth the teasing she usually insisted upon before revealing them. "A pleasant one, I hope."
"Most pleasant" She smiled, walking her fingers down his chest. She hooked her hand in the waistband of his trousers, then pushed him away from her. "But first, I think, a bit of brandy would be in order."
"Of course." He had learned to enjoy Leona's cat-and-mouse games, enjoying the mounting pleasure and anticipation, even the frustration, knowing that it would lead to intense pleasure. He turned away easily and poured her a glass of brandy.
She took the snifter from him and gestured to him to sit down in the chair. He did so, and she took a seat on his lap, turning sideways. She sipped at her drink, then set it aside. She began to play idly with me buttons of his shirt, undoing them slowly one by one and slipping her hands in between the edges of his shirt.
"I heard about your American heiress," she said after a moment, tweaking one of his nipples.
"What? I don't have an heiress, American or otherwise."
"I heard differently. It was all the talk at Lady Blanchette's. The daughter of a clothier, I believe."
"He deals in furs." Devin smiled. "Jealous, my love?"
"Me? Jealous of a fur trader's daughter?" Leona asked scornfully. "Hardly. Interested, more like. Does she really want to marry you?''
"According to my mother, the father is panting for it. Wants to get his hands on an earl's estate." Devin picked up Leona's discarded drink from the small table beside the chair and drank from it. "They are, apparently, swithming in money. They could save Darkwater."
"Oh, Darkwater." Leona dismissed the estate with a wave of her hand. "They could save
us."
"Save
us?"
Devin looked at her, a trifle taken aback by her words.
"Yes. From financial ruin." Leona stretched, arching her back so that her breasts thrust even more boldly against the sheer material of her dress. Then she slipped her hand inside Devin's shirt and let her hand roam freely over his chest as she talked. "Vesey says he refuses to pay any more of my gambling debts. He says Croesus himself could not keep up with my spending habits." Her fingers settled on his nipple, caressing and squeezing it, circling it teasingly. ' 'I reminded him that I scarcely married him for his charming manner. He was to supply the funds, and I would provide the veil for his, uh, true sexual proclivities. But he said that no amount of behavior on his part could possibly be worth the amount of money I waste."
Leona's full mouth settled into a luscious pout. "Do you think this dress is a waste?" She stroked her fingertips across the neckline of her dress.
"Not on you," he replied, his eyes following the movement of her fingers. His hand slid up her body to cup her breast and caress it, his eyes glittering with desire as he watched her nipple tighten in response to his touch.
"But, then, nothing over fourteen attracts Vesey's notice," Leona added with a shrug. "I mean, really...I find a schoolboy exciting now and then—there is something quite stimulating about that wide-eyed eagerness. But as a steady diet?" She shook her head. "But I am straying from the subject." She stretched up to brush her lips against his. "We were talking about your American heiress."
"I told you, she's not my American heiress," Devin responded. "I have no desire to marry her."
"Of course you don't. Don't be silly. Who would want to marry some boring little chit from the back of beyond? But...needs must."
'"Needs must?'" Devin repeated in some astonishment. His hand went up to cup her chin, tilting her face so that she had to look into his eyes. "Are you saying you
think
I should marry this girl?"
“Of course,'' Leona replied reasonably. “What else are you going to do? What else are
we
going to do? Much as I love the taste of you, my pet, we cannot live on it. We need money to survive. You haven't a cent. You told me what your uncle said the last time you asked about the estate. It
loses
money and has for years. Your funds have long since been depleted. What are you going to do—take up clerking?"
"I know how little money I have," Devin growled. "Everyone has been kind enough to remind me of it. Certainly marriage would solve that problem. But then I would have a
wife."
"A minor inconvenience, surely." Leona waved her hand airily, dismissing the problem. "Many men have wives, and one would scarcely know it. Send the boring little colonial off to Darkwater and let her live there. No doubt she will be quite happy living there— she's spent her whole life in a backwater, after all. She wants to be
Lady
Ravenscar, and she will have that. She will have her little 'domain,' and the poor naive creature will probably think she is living the life of the
Ton.
Heavens, Dev, I doubt she would be able to live anywhere except immured at Darkwater. She probably can't keep up a minute's conversation on any topic but housekeeping or some such thing, and she would be lost trying to determine what to do with an oyster fork. Can you imagine taking the chit out into Society? Let your mother take her to Darkwater and oversee her education."