The Winter Wish (5 page)

“Hello,”
he said simply.

“Hello,”
she echoed.

“I
had hoped you would be here,” Devlin admitted, throwing Sarah completely off
guard. She gaped speechlessly at him, unable to think of a single coherent
thing to say. He had come to Almack’s with the express purpose of finding her?
No, surely not. “Since you never told me your name,” he continued, his blue
eyes glinting with amusement, “I had no way to find you.”

“Sarah!”
Her tongue darted out to swipe unconsciously at her lower lip and Devlin’s gaze
lowered, drawn to her lips as a moth to the flame. Hungry desire swept across
his face, and her knees wobbled. “My name is Sarah,” she finished weakly.
 

His
mouth curved. “Is that what I should call you?” he asked in a husky voice that
had her swallowing back a moan. “Sarah? That does seem very… appropriate. Are
you, Sarah?”

“Am
I… Am I what?”

“Appropriate,”
he whispered. He stepped closer to her, close enough to touch, and touch he
did. One arm wound around her waist, his fingertips settling lightly on her hip
while the other hand braced on the pillar behind her head, effectively closing
her in.

To
any curious onlooker his body was angled so that it seemed there were yards of
space between them, but Sarah felt every one of his breaths as if it were her
own, and a thousand horses could not drag her eyes from the mole she had just
discovered high on his right cheek. It should have been a mar against perfection,
but if anything it only served to increase his rugged handsomeness to a level
her body was having quite a difficult time adjusting to.  

The
man, she decided then and there, was the devil himself.

“You
may call me L-Lady Dawson.”

“Is
that a question?”

“No,”
she said, even though it
had
sounded very much like one. “That is my
name. Lady Sarah Emily Dawson.”

Devlin
repeated it in full, lingering on the
Sarah
until she felt her cheeks
suffuse with color and she shifted anxiously from side to side. No more than a
few minutes in his company and she was already forgetting herself. A lady did
not allow a gentleman to call her by her first name. Why, even her own mother
was always referred to as Lady Dawson, even by her husband. Now she knew why.

First
names were much too intimate. They should be spoken in a private place, like a
bedroom… In the bed… Beneath the sheets… Oh dear. Now was
not
the time
for her colorful imagination to rear its head. In fact, it was probably the
worst time imaginable for her to think of what it would be like to have Devlin
stretched out across her naked body, his hands and mouth doing all kinds of naughty
things to her damp skin while he moaned her name…

“You
may call me Devlin if you wish,” the Viscount said with a wicked smile, as if
he could read her thoughts and was vastly entertained by them. “In fact, I
insist on it.”

Fairly
certain her face was the approximate shade of a tomato in mid-August, Sarah
pressed both hands to her warm cheeks in an effort to cool them and shook her
head vigorously from side to side. “Oh no,” she breathed. “I simply… That would
be… No,” she said firmly as she struggled to rein in her emotions. She could
not afford to lose her head, especially considering she had already lost her
heart. “That would simply not do, Lord Heathcliff. Why, we hardly know each
other at all and you would do well to remember your manner—”    
 

“Would
you care to dance?” he interrupted, holding out his hand. “Once you dance with
someone I find you know them much more… intimately than you did before. Surely
then we would be a first name basis.”

 Sarah
stared longingly at his offered hand and almost took it, but her own good
manners, instilled to the bone after years of tutoring, stopped her. “My next
dance is spoken for,” she said regretfully.

A
smile flirted with the corners of Devlin’s mouth as he slowly lowered his arm.
“By whom?”

“Lord…”
What was his name? Oh, yes. Now she remembered. “Lord Gibson.”

The
Viscount’s eyes flashed, stormy blue and suddenly full of temper. “Lord Gibson,
the Marquess of Faraday?”

Confused
by the sudden change in Devlin’s tone and the rigid set of his jaw, Sarah
nodded hesitantly. “Do you… Do you know him?”

“Only
that his father is ill and by years end he should be a Duke.”

“That
is quite sad.”

“Is
it?” Devlin shrugged. “Not for him or his future wife, who will be a Duchess.”
He studied her intently, as if he could see straight through to her very soul,
and Sarah, now flustered beyond all bearing, tittered nervously.

“I…
I suppose that is true,” she said.

Devlin
stepped closer, crowding her back against the ivory pillar. Sarah looked down,
towards his feet, but he cupped her chin and forced her head to lift. “Is that
what you want?” he growled. “To be a wealthy Duchess, lording over a household
full of servants? To have your peers look upon you with envy as you pass? To
love a man for what he can give you instead of loving him for who he is?”

“I
d-do not know,” Sarah gasped. She did not understand what had caused Devlin’s
unprecedented fury, nor how to subdue it. Tension spread like wildfire from her
spine up through her shoulders and neck. She fought the urge to jerk away, but
like a fox that had its leg caught in a trap, she instinctively knew Devlin’s
grip would only tighten if she tried to pull back. “I could save the fifth
dance for you,” she offered.

He
studied her a moment longer, those piercing eyes filled with an anger she was
helpless to comprehend, before he abruptly released her and spun around. “Go,”
he said in a short, clipped tone, as if he were dismissing a maid. “And do not
bother saving anything for me. I am leaving. There is nothing worthy of my
interest here.”

Sarah’s
skin went clammy. Her breath caught in her chest. As she digested the
implication behind his cruel remark her mouth opened and closed, but no words
came out. There was nothing to say. Except…

“You…
You… You…”

“Yes?”
Devlin asked calmly, pivoting on one heel and glancing at her sideways with
bored resignation, as if he had already forgotten she existed and was annoyed was
wasting more of his time.

“You
are horrible!” she burst out in a shrill voice that turned half a dozen heads.
“Absolutely horrible!” Immediately she clapped her hand to her lips and gasped,
her eyes widening in shock as she realized what she had just said. Amazingly,
Devlin did not berate her further. If anything, he looked amused.

“Horrible,
am I?” One dark eyebrow arched. “Would I be as horrible if I were an Earl? What
about a Marquess or a Duke?”

Trembling
from head to toe, Sarah shook her head. “I do not know what you talking about,”
she cried, flinging her arms wide. “You speak in riddles that I do not
understand.”

“But
you do not deny it,” he said silkily.

“Deny
what
?”

Devlin’s
mouth opened. Emotions flickered across his face, emotions that she could not
comprehend. Anger. Need. Hope. Regret. She waited for him to say something, to
say
anything
, but with a careless shrug of his broad shoulders he turned
around and walked away.

CHAPTER SIX

“It
tastes a-a-awful,” Sarah cried, making a face even as she leaned forward to
accept the second glass of brandy Lily was holding out. She drank the amber
liquid in one hard swallow, sputtered, fought the urge to retch, and lifted the
glass again. “Another, please.”

Lily
crossed her father’s study to fetch the entire bottle of fifty year old scotch and
poured them both a liberal shot. Solemn faced, the two women clinked their
glasses together and drank.

“That
really is awful stuff,” Lily gasped as her eyes filled with tears. “But I can
certainly see why men drink it. Perhaps we had best let it settle, though,
before we have any more.”   

 Sarah
nodded in silent agreement. After three glasses she was feeling quite light
headed. Kicking off her dancing slippers she tucked her legs up underneath of
her and turned in the large, comfortable leather chair to face the fire that
was crackling merrily in the hearth. She had only been in Lord Kincaid’s study
once before, when she and Lily had been caught sneaking out her bedroom window
after dark. They had received quite a stern lecture then and she imagined they
would get the same treatment now if anyone came home to discover them half
drunk and hiding away where they should not be.

“Are
you certain your parents will not be back tonight?” she asked for the second –
or was it the third? – time.

“Positive,”
Lily said confidently. “The last time they attended a dinner at Lord and Lady
Bane’s home they did not straggle in until the wee hours of the morning,
looking
quite
worse for wear I might add.”

“And
Elsa?” Sarah asked, referring to Lily’s twelve year old sister and renowned
tattle tale.

Lily
rolled her eyes. “It is like you do not know me at all. Elsa is fast asleep,
and I gave her nanny two extra shillings to make sure she stays that way. You
worry too much, Sarah. Just relax, dear, and let the brandy do its work. You
have had quite a trying night.”

If
by ‘trying’ Lily meant Sarah had been openly humiliated by the man she loved
then yes, her night had been
very
trying.

Lowering
her head to the armrest, she tucked her hands into the soft folds of the
nightgown she was borrowing, closed her eyes, and sighed. The fire played
warmly across her face, drying the tears that had continued to fall
intermittently from her lashes since Lily had whisked her away from Almack’s. “I
do not understand what I did wrong,” she murmured, opening her eyes in time to
see Lily cross in front of the hearth and settle into an adjoining chair.

“You
did absolutely nothing wrong,” her friend said loyally. Absently combing her
long dark hair over one shoulder, she continued, “The fault lies entirely with
Lord Heathcliff. Why, the
nerve
of him, giving you the cut like that! He
is a beast, Sarah, and you need to forget about him. We shall find you a nice
quiet man to marry. One who enjoys reading as you do and long walks in the
park. Would that not be lovely?”

It
sounded wretchedly boring to Sarah, but she did not dare voice her opinion out
loud. How could she explain that one of the things that drew her most to Devlin
was the fact that he was so
different
from her? She did not
want
to
be with someone who was exactly the same as she was. She wanted someone who was
adventurous, and spoke their mind, and did not care a whit for what Society
thought of them; all things that Devlin was, and she was not.

“Sarah?”

“Hmmm?”

Lily
sat up in her chair. “You are thinking about him even now!” she accused.

Sarah
flinched. “No,” she lied unconvincingly. “I am not.”

With
a snort of thinly veiled disgust Lily sprang to her feet and began to pace
across the length of the study, her long shadow rippling along the bookshelves
that lined the walls. She muttered under her breath as she walked, and even
though Sarah could not make out complete sentences, she heard the occasional
word. “Ridiculous” seemed quite popular, as did “foolish”, “asinine”, and
“hopeless”. When Lily finally stopped and turned to face her, arms crossed and
face set into a rather formidable expression, Sarah waited for the lecture to
begin and nViscounty fell out of her chair when Lily said:

“There
is only one thing left to do, I suppose. You have to marry him.”

Certain
the brandy was effecting her hearing, Sarah sat bolt upright and hugged her
knees to her chest. “Marry… Marry who, Lily?” she asked cautiously.

The
brunette rolled her eyes. “Lord Heathcliff, of course.”

“And
how… how would I accomplish this?”

“The
same way a woman always catches a man. You put yourself in a compromising
position and force him to offer for your hand.”

“A
c-compromising position?” Sarah squeaked.

“Although,”
Lily continued in a thoughtful tone, as if Sarah had not spoken a word, “if he
does
not
agree to marry you then you will, of course, be shunned from
society and ruined indefinitely. But that is the risk you must be willing to
take!”

Sarah
was beginning to feel quite queasy. “It is?”

Lily
clapped her hands together. “It is.”

“Oh,
well, I do not really think—”

“Do
you love him or not?” Lily said sternly.

“I
think I love him, but I—”

“Do
you want to be with him or not?”

“I
do want to be with him, however—”

Sighing,
Lily perched on the edge of Sarah’s chair and squeezed her hand. “Look at me.
Very good. Now, listen closely. It is no secret that you do have a single
gentleman interested in you and, while
I
personally do not believe
twenty and three is that old, the
Ton
has you gathering cobwebs on a
shelf. You want a family, do you not?”