So Wild a Heart (15 page)

Devin looked, too, at the portrait of his niece. She was about four; it must have been done not long before the accident. Richard was right. The artist had gotten her features correct, but the sparkle that animated the child was not there, nor was the smile that lit up any room she entered. Devin would have painted her outside, washed in sunshine, laughing and playing with one of the cats or dogs. But then, by that time, he had given up painting.

"Have you ever thought of taking it up again?" Richard asked.

"Painting?" Devin looked at him in surprise. "No. I'm past that. It was nothing but a hobby. Something I liked when I was young."

"Really? Care for some port?" Richard turned toward the hallway and raised his voice slightly. "Harper! I presume you're still lurking out there in the hall. Bring us a bottle of port and two glasses."

Richard turned back to Devin and gestured toward the two chairs in front of the fireplace. "I would have thought you would sometimes want to draw a particularly interesting face, or that you would see some scene that struck you so you had to paint it."

Devin shrugged, his thoughts going, strangely, to Miranda Upshaw's face—too strong a jaw and wide a mouth for beauty, but with those arresting gray eyes and such a determined set to her chin that one could not help but notice her.
It would be difficult, if not impossible, to get those eyes right.

"I'm afraid I lost the interest," Devin said dismissively. "No doubt the skill, too, by this time. As Father used to say, scarcely the occupation for a gentleman."

"Ah, I see. In the way drinking and gambling are."

Devin glanced at him sharply. Richard was watching him, a faint smile on his lips, and Devin had to chuckle.

"You know me well. And, no, I don't think my father ever regarded those as fit occupations for a gentleman, either. His idea of a proper life was prayer, morning, noon and night, with a little chastising of sinners and three good meals in between. He was, if you remember, a man who liked his food, which is why he rarely addressed his Maker on his knees. It took two servants to haul him up afterward if he did."

"Yes. I remember the old tyrant. He once told me I was too worldly to marry his daughter, but fortunately my father's illness meant that I would come into the title soon, and that apparently made up for my sins."

"I am sure it did. And your well-stocked coffers even more so."

At that moment Harper came back into the room, carrying me tray of port and glasses. He set the tray down on the small table beside the Duke and started out of the room.

"Oh, and, Harper...close the door behind you, and then you can go to bed. There's no need to stand watch out in the hall. I assure you that I do not plan to put a period to my existence, at least not while Ravenscar is here."

"I am relieved to hear that, Your Grace," Harper replied with little indication of chagrin, and bowed out of the room, closing the door.

Devin looked at Cleybourne, his eyebrows raised. "Are they expecting you to end your life soon?"

Richard grimaced and reached over to pour the port. "They have too much time on their hands, and they use it to come up with absurd fears. Unfortunately, now they have planted that seed in your sister's head. Rachel has paid a call on me three times in the past two weeks, usually with no purpose. I suspect that Baldock-—my butler—decided to confide his fears in her."

Devin was silent for a moment, taking a sip of his drink. Finally he said, his voice carefully indifferent, "And are you planning your imminent demise? Attending a funeral would put rather a crimp in my plans, I must warn you."

Richard smiled faintiy. "No. I shan't put you out like that."

"Good."

They finished off their glasses, and Richard refilled them. He raised his glass toward Devin, "I forgot— congratulations, Dev. We should drink a toast to your impending marriage."

"My im—" Devin stared at him, glass halfway to his mouth. "How the devil did you hear about that? Oh—Rachel, of course."

"Of course. She was here Monday and told me all about the estimable Miss Upshaw."

"Well, there is to be no marriage, so you may save your toast."

"Indeed? Rachel sounded very hopeful."

"She is. So is my mother. But I fear both of them are doomed to disappointment."

"Why? It sounded a good thing for you. I mean, she is an American, no name and all that, but..."

"I know. In my position, one cannot afford to be too choosy. Money overcometh all."

"Actually, I was going to say that Miss Upshaw sounded as though she would make you an excellent wife."

"Hmm. If I cared to be shackled to a shrew."

"My. That scarcely resembles Rachel's description of the woman."

"Rachel doesn't face marrying the wench. Miss Upshaw is hard, manipulative and entirely without feeling."

“Indeed?'' Richard took a sip of his drink, watching Devin with interest over the glass. "It sounds as though she has made a rather bad impression on you."

"She accused me of selling myself to the highest bidder. Well, not accused, exactly, because she seemed to have no problem with my doing it. As if it were a matter of course for a British peer to go on the block. ‘Several Americans are purchasing nobles for their daughters to marry. My fellow countrymen seem to be peculiarly fond of titles,'" he mimicked savagely. "That's when I told her that this British peer was not for sale." He sighed, looking down darkly into his glass. "Of course, it is all the more infuriating because I
am
for sale. One title, man attached, for the price of enough money to live as I am accustomed to."

"And save Darkwater," Richard pointed out. "That is scarcely a small matter. Your estate is in desperate shape, from what I've heard, and not just the house itself. There are a number of people who depend upon you and your family. I am afraid that Americans find it hard to understand the concept of duty to one's family and to the people who have depended on the family for years. There is a feudal quality to it that escapes them."

"I'm not a saint, Richard. You know that." Devin downed the remainder of his drink and got up to pour another one. "If I married her, it would be because I can't fancy myself in debtor's prison."

"I can't say that I would, either. You know, Dev, if you need some funds..."

"I know. You're a generous man. But I have reached
point non plus.
A temporarily plump purse will not suffice." He sighed. "Uncle Rupert assures me that the estate is tapped out. It isn't making money anymore, it's losing it. And it would need massive infusions of cash to make it profitable for future generations. The house is falling down about their ears, and the grounds are choked with weeds and brambles."

"Ah. Thus speaks the man who is concerned only with the state of his own pocket."

Devin grimaced. "I don't give a damn about Darkwater. But Mother will plague me to death about it"

"Then why not marry the girl? You will have your money, and Lady Ravenscar will cease to plague you. There is no one else you've a mind to wed, is there?"

"No. And you needn't tell me that no one of good family will marry me, anyway. Everyone delights in pointing that out to me."

"Rachel tells me the American girl is attractive and charming.''

"Attractive, she is. Charming? I wouldn't say that. She is blunt, aggravating and completely impossible."

Richard's eyebrows lifted, and he hastily took a sip to cover the smile that came to his lips. "Indeed? Well, obviously she would make your life miserable."

Devin shrugged. "I can pack her away to Darkwater. That is what they all tell me."

"All who?"

"Leona, Stuart, even Uncle Rupert. But..."

"But what? It goes against your conscience to take the woman's money, then immure her in Darkwater alone?"

"A little," Devin admitted. "And I would have to, because I know I could not live with the witch."

"Why is that? What does she do?''

Devin shifted uncomfortably, then burst out, "Dammit, I don't know, Richard! She just makes me feel...she looks at me with contempt. She says things that no one in polite company would say. She is utterly cold."

"Well, you would not have to occupy her bed frequently," Richard stated.

Devin scowled, his loins tightening involuntarily at his brother-in-law's words. "She's not cold in that way. In fact, she's quite—" He shook his head as if to clear it "She confuses me. She plagues me. I keep thinking about her. Tonight I saw her at the opera, and she looked at me in such a way—as though she found me amusing. She has eyes that can look right into you. And she's utterly maddening. I am sure we would fight constantly. We have fought every time I've been around her. She turned me down, you know. I proposed to her, and she just looked at me and said in that flat way, 'No.' Then the next time she told me that she saw the advantages of marrying someone with my name—there was Darkwater to restore and the title, though she doesn't care that much about it, and then, of course, the most important thing, she could bring out her sister into London society. Of course, she also told me, I couldn't hope for anything better than a nameless American, being such a profligate and drunkard and womanizer."

Richard choked on his drink and began to cough. "Did she actually say that?"

“Of course. I told you, she says anything that comes into her head. She would send my mother into a swoon, no doubt." He grinned. "Although it might be worth it just to see that."

"Hmm. You might want to latch on to this girl. Think of the dustup she could cause at Almack's."

Devin chuckled, and they were silent for a moment, drinking, absorbed in their own thoughts.

"You know, Dev," Cleybourne said finally, "marriage might not be such a terrible thing, even to Miss Upshaw."

"Are you hoping it will make a decent man of me? That is what Rachel thinks—though she tries to express it more tactfully, of course."

"No," Richard replied quietly. "I think you are a decent man, no matter how much you try to convince people otherwise. But you might find that life would be more...interesting with a wife like Miss Upshaw."

"Then you think I should marry her, too?"

"I think you should do what is best for you." Richard shrugged. "Of course, in this situation, I don't see that you really have any choice in the matter. She turned you down, after all."

Devin shot him a sideways glance. "I could change that any time I wanted."

Richard let out a short burst of laughter. "Damme, you probably could."

"Enough of such somber things," Devin said, downing the remainder of his glass. "Drink up, and I shall challenge you to a game of Ecarte."

"Ah, you will soon be out of debt, then, as you will doubtless beggar me. Let us remove ourselves to the game room." Cleybourne stood, wrapping his hand around the bottle, and they left the room to settle down to a long night of drinking and card playing.

-

To her surprise, Miranda found that her stepsister was curled up in a chair in Miranda's room, sound asleep, when Miranda returned from the opera that night.

"What are you doing here at this hour?" she asked playfully, touching Veronica's shoulder to bring her awake.

Veronica jumped a little, startled, and looked up at Miranda, blinking. "Oh! I was waiting up for you. I wanted to hear all about the opera." She stretched, rubbing her neck. "I don't get to do anything fun! Mama says I cannot go to the opera until I make my coming out."

“I am sure your mother knows all about such things better than I."

"But I didn't get to go to the ball, either. Do you know that I've never even seen this Ravenscar fellow? And you didn't tell me about the ball. So I decided I would wait up for you and get all the latest information. Only I fell asleep."

"All right," Miranda said with a smile. "You be my maid, and then we won't have to awaken Rosie. And I'll tell you all about the opera."

"And the ball."

"And the ball."

Veronica jumped up to undo the long row of buttons down the back of Miranda's dress. Miranda described the opera house and the music, the glittering array of jewels and dresses on all the women attending. She also did her best to recall the details of the ball—the arrangements of flowers, the dresses, the lights blazing from every possible place, the music that had played. Veronica listened avidly, her eyes lighting up as she imagined all that Miranda described.

"What about the Earl?" she asked when Miranda paused, seemingly done. "Don't stop there. Tell me about the Earl of Ravenscar. Did you see him tonight? Did you dance with him at the ball?"

"Yes, and yes."

"Don't stop there!" Veronica cried.

"What do you want to know? He's a passably handsome man."

"You can do better than that."

"All right. He has eyes as green as glass in the sunlight, and his hair is black as coal. There is a little scar here on his cheekbone, close to his eye. He's tall and broad-shouldered and wickedly handsome, and not at all the sort of person young girls like you should be daydreaming about."

"But are you going to marry him?" Veronica pressed.