wanderingsoul
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Historical Romance-No Title (read only if you love me!)
Really... unless you love me or are a very kind person, do NOT read this! I wrote it when I was 15 and very much into historical romances. *rolls eyes* Takes place in the late 18th century--in case you didn't get that from the reference to the hair styles and clothing.
Ok... I was 15, for god's sake!
It was fun to read again, though. Gave me a glimpse into me at that age. Forgot some things that I remembered while reading that.
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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10/13/2003, 3:10 am
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wanderingsoul
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Chapter 1
"What a damned insipid affair this is!" Lord Devron exclaimed, looking about him in disgust.
The gentleman beside him, Sir Richard Bainbury, smiled wryly. "Did you think it would be else?" he remarked with a faint raising of his brows.
"No," Devron replied shortly. "Damn that woman!" he muttered. He was referring, of course, to Lady Harrington, the hostess of the insipid affair in question. "She knows damn well that I had other plans for this evening!"
Bainbury regarded his friend with an amused eye. "I rather fancy she does. And, if I do not miss my guess, that is precisely why she commanded your presence here! I doubt your aunt Harrington approves of your liaison with the fair Isabella."
Devron laughed shortly. "I rather think not. She would have me respectably wed to some dull female of birth and breeding and settled down with two or three brats in the nursery. So she informed me this morning."
"I rather thought that was how things stood." Bainbury studied Devron consideringly. The fellow was, as many broken-hearted females could attest, almost diabolically attractive. His flashing black eyes, however, were now veiled by acute boredom; and his sensuous mouth, which could smile a smile to melt the coldest heart, was now curved in a discontented sneer.
It was the dearest wish of Lady Harrington--and the entire masculine population of London, whose misfortune it was to have Devron as a rival-–to see him safely leg-shackled.
Sir Richard smiled to himself. It was a wish they were not likely to have granted, though. At one-and-thirty, Lord Justin Devron, England's most notorious rake, was a confirmed bachelor. As Devron had said on more than one occasion, he had never met a woman whom he could tolerate more than a fortnight; and, if past experiences were to judge, he was not likely to do so.
Devron felt Bainbury's eyes upon him and turned to him with a quizzical lift of his brows. "Has no one ever told you, ****, that it is the height of bad manners to stare?" he questioned haughtily.
"Go to the devil, Dev!" Bainbury laughed. "I was just thinking that Lady Harrington is in for a sad disappointment."
"Very likely," Devron agreed sardonically. "But she will persist in trying, nonetheless." His eyes began to twinkle. "Though if she were to but use her head, she would quit the game. It isn't likely that she could ever—even with her undeniable influence—persuade some doting mama to sacrifice her daughter at my altar."
"You underestimate yourself, dear Dev." But in a way, thought Sir Richard, what Devron had said was true. Despite his devastating charms and his sizable fortune, Devron's reputation was, at best, unsavory enough to make mothers of hopeful young debutantes have nightmares.
To be sure, there were some who, in quest of his immense fortune, continued to throw their daughters in his way; but most of those who were not put off by Devron's reputation had long since given up hope of his ever coming up to scratch. It was an acknowledged, if somewhat regrettable, fact that Devron's taste in females ran to something quite different from young ladies of quality.
Suddenly, Devron raised his quizzing glass, and gestured for Bainbury to look across the room. "Who is that dainty little morsel, ****?" he queried, a faint note of interest sounding in his voice. "I cannot recall having seen her before."
Sir Richard followed Devron's gaze. "I take it you mean the auburn haired creature standing with Bascombe?"
"Yes, that is the one. A rather tempting little thing, don't you think?" His eyes gleamed. Her voluptuous little figure was certainly the most interesting thing he had seen on the Mart this season. It was a wonder he hadn't noticed her before.
"I believe she is Letitia Stanton," Sir Richard replied, squinting his eyes slightly to see her better. "Yes, that is who she is."
Devron turned to Bainbury with raised brows. "Lucien's brat?" he inquired, faintly surprised.
Bainbury nodded. "But if you have any intentions in that direction, Dev, I warn you: her guardian is the Dowager Lady Halcombe, Stanton's sister."
"That dragon?" He returned his gaze to Letty. "I rather pity her! Lady Halcombe is a paragon of virtue, just steeped in respectability." He eyed her consideringly for a moment. He gazed quickly around the room. He spotted the Dowager on the far side of the room, deep in conversation with an old gorgon whom he recognized as Lady Grantham, another paragon of virtue.
"It seems she has managed to escape her guardian for the time being," he remarked with satisfaction. He turned to bestow one of his dazzling smiles upon Sir Richard.
"This evening may not turn out to be as tedious as I had first imagined. I think I'll introduce myself—as an old friend of her father's."
Sir Richard frowned. "She's only a child, Dev. Try to remember that, will you?"
Devron raised his brows. "Do you expect me to rape the girl in my aunt's ballroom?" he inquired in an amused voice.
Sir Richard grinned in spite of himself. "Hardly! You would take her into the garden first!"
"Just so," Devron agreed, his eyes gleaming with devilish amusement.
"But seriously, Dev," Sir Richard continued, "her aunt has doubtless warned her about you. If I know Lady Halcombe, she will probably have described you as a fiend just waiting to pounce on little girls. You will like as not terrify the chit."
Devron threw back his head and laughed. "How very droll you are, dear ****!" he exclaimed. "But I very much doubt that any child of Lucien Stanton would be terrified by me." With that, he strolled across the room.
Letty noticed his approach from where she stood with Lord Bascombe. The infamous "Devil" Devron. He had, she knew, been a crony of her father's, though several years his junior. How fascinating were the tales of his infamous behavior that were constantly being whispered about the town! How shocked her "dear" aunt would be if she had the slightest inkling that some of those tales had reached Letty's young ears!
But they had. And Letty, who had spent nearly sixteen of her seventeen years in the company of her father, considered by many to be the most dissolute, degenerate man who had ever crawled the face of the earth, was greatly intrigued by what she had heard.
Lord Bascombe had also noticed Devron's approach, but with something less than satisfaction. The man was a rake, a ruthless killer who thought no more of running a man through than he did of flicking a piece of dust from his jacket! It might be wondered why Lord Bascombe, normally the most tolerant of men, felt so strongly against Lord Devron. There were many reasons, of course, but the principal one was that not two years ago, Devron had fatally wounded Lord Bascombe's older brother in a duel.
Thus, it can be imagined that his lordship regarded the approach of "Devil" Devron with a jaundiced eye. There was another consideration as well: he hardly wished the girl he intended to ask to be his wife to become acquainted with a man who was currently keeping under his protection another man's wife.
He would have liked nothing better than to turn away and cut the scoundrel dead. But such an action could not fail to create a deplorable scene, and there was nothing Lord Bascombe hated more than embarrassing scenes.
Consequently, as Lord Devron reached them, Lord Bascombe returned his bow—if a trifle stiffly.
"Your servant, Bascombe," Devron drawled. He was entirely aware of Bascombe's feelings toward him, and was thoroughly amused by his wooden demeanor.
"There is no need to introduce me to Miss Stanton, Bascombe." Not that the fellow had any intention of doing so.
He turned to Letty. "I knew your father well, and I rather fancy I made your acquaintance a few years ago at your father's estate. Am I not correct, Miss Stanton?"
Of course, he had never met her before this evening. He flashed one of his devastating smiles at her.
Letty returned his smile with her own particularly sweet smile. "Yes, you are quite correct, Lord Devron," she replied, her eyes twinkling merrily, "but I am surprised that you re-member it. It must have been at least three or four years ago."
So, she was willing to play the game, was she? Lord Devron's smile deepened. "Having met you once, Miss Stanton, I could hardly forget you."
The orchestra was beginning the music for the next dance—a minuet. Devron found it an unbearably tedious dance, but one must make sacrifices… "On the basis of old acquaintance, I claim the right to this dance, Miss Stanton."
He turned to Bascombe, an expression of sardonic amusement in his eyes. "That is, if you do not mind, Bascombe?" He found Bascombe an intolerable bore, but it was excessively entertaining to observe his discomfiture. He knew full well that Bascombe would like nothing more than to whisk the fair Miss Stanton far away from his contaminating grasp.
Indeed, Lord Bascombe would have liked to do just that! But he could hardly do so without creating a scene. He bowed rigidly to Devron, who smiled slightly.
"Most generous, Bascombe," he replied with an ironic gleam in his eye.
"Your memory must be far superior to mine, Lord Devron, for I cannot recall having met you before." Letty declared with a dimple as Devron led her onto the floor.
"You haven't," Devron admitted, a little devil of amusement gleaming in his eyes. "But you didn't expose my lie, why?"
He was faintly curious about the chit. She had a great look of her father, who had been a close friend of his.
"Because I dearly wished to escape from Lord Bascombe," she confided gaily. "He is about to propose, you see."
Devron raised his brows. "Indeed?" he queried. He studied her lovely face which was innocently looking up at him. It was a pity, he thought. Such innocence in such an exquisite body. "And you do not wish him to do so?"
She laughed, a soft, deep-voiced laugh. It was a refreshing change from the high-pitched giggles he was used to hearing from young debutantes. "No, I do not!" she declared emphatically. She tilted her head to one side, her eyes studying his face speculatively. "I don't know if Lord Bascombe is a friend of yours, my lord, but I am afraid I would have consented to dance with the devil himself if in doing so I could get away from Lord Bascombe!"
Lord Devron laughed, a laugh of pure amusement. "Very flattering, Little Vixen! Or do you not know I am frequently called Devil?" Lord, what an amusing wench it was!
Letty blushed slightly, but dimpled up at him, "How could I help but know, my lord! Your name is on half the lips in London!"
The steps of the dance parted them at this point and pre-vented Lord Devron from replying to Letty's sally. It did, however, afford his lordship an excellent opportunity to study her at leisure.
She was quite a beauty. She wore her lovely auburn hair simply dressed and unpowdered, in the style favored by some of the young debutantes this season. Her figure was surprisingly voluptuous for a child her age, and made her more resemble a Cyprian than a Lady of Quality. Oh yes, she had a perfectly delightful figure—one which Devron would just love to examine much more closely.
But oddly enough, it was not her figure which Devron found to be her greatest charm, but her eyes. She had deep green eyes which glittered with sheer vivacity. They had in them a light which gave one the impression that she was secretly amused at something. It struck him that they were the same eyes that had glittered in the face of Lucien Stanton. The girl was obviously Lucien’s child.
She would, if first impressions told anything, provide him with an amusing flirtation—providing she could keep out of the old Dragon's line of vision. He was growing tired of his very expensive Isabella in any case. Her sensuous passions, nearly equal to his own, had kept him tolerably amused for more than a full month—quite a record with him. She had been well worth the jewels and gowns he had bestowed upon her, but his passion for her was waning. He would very likely see her to-morrow and give her her conge’.
As Devron studied Letty, Letty studied Devron. With the possible exception of her dashing father, Devron was the handsomest man she had ever seen. He was dressed, as was his wont, entirely in black. His jacket of rich velvet was black; his velvet small-clothes, which fit without a wrinkle, were black. His hair, worn unpowdered in defiance of the current fashion and tied at the back of his neck by a black riband, was black. Even his flashing eyes, set in a countenance which was as attractive as it was swarthy and which bore unmistakable signs of dissipation, were black. The only relief from the black-ness of his appearance was his startlingly white cravat—in the folds of which gleamed a single emerald—and a large, silver signet ring which he wore upon the third finger of his right hand.
His appearance alone could easily have earned him the nickname of "Devil," but it was no secret, even to Letty, that the name had been bestowed upon him, not in reference to his appearance, but to his character. It was common knowledge that Devron was a rake of the worst kind. Some, referring to his numerous duels in which he had killed three men and wounded countless others, even called him a cold-blooded murderer. This, however, they did not say to his face: Devron's temper was quick and often violent, and both his swordplay and his aim were deadly.
It might be reasonably thought that a young girl of seventeen would be alarmed by such a man. Not Letty! She found him all the more interesting for his unsavory reputation. Her mother had died when she was but two, leaving her father to be the major influence on Letty during her childhood. He had made no attempt to shield his daughter from the facts of life. "She will find out soon enough how the world is," he would say. "She will do a hell of a lot better if she is prepared for it!"
That was the creed by which he had raised Letty. Even when he had brought his friends to his estate for what could only be described as bacchanalian revels, he had made no effort to hide either his actions or the actions of his friends from her. He had merely cautioned her not to get in the way. Thus, it could not be expected that Letty would be shocked or frightened by Devron.
Presently, the steps which had separated Letty and Devron brought them back together. "You are very like your father, Miss Stanton," Devron remarked as they came together once again.
"Thank you, my lord, there is no greater compliment I could receive," she replied smiling prettily. "Though my Aunt Halcombe would surely swoon if she heard anyone say such a thing."
“I do not doubt that in the least," Devron stated with a wry smile. "As I recall, the Lady Halcombe always did dislike Lucien."
"No more than he disliked her, I assure you!" An angry light had sprung to her eyes. "I do not see that she has any right to condemn my father!"
Devron was amused. Lucien had always been one to inspire complete devotion from females of his acquaintance; it appeared he had inspired similar devotion from his daughter, as well. "No, indeed she has not," Devron replied soberly.
The steps of the dance parted them again, though only briefly this time. Devron frowned. "Come, Miss Stanton," he said, leading her off the dance floor, "we can hardly en-gage in conversation when this infernal dance keeps separating us."
Letty followed him without protest, only glancing quickly about the room to see if the Dowager had observed her. She hadn't. "Where are we going?" she asked presently. The grounds of Harrington House were unfamiliar to her.
Devron turned to her with a lift of his brows. "Afraid, Miss Stanton?" he teased.
Letty frowned. "Don't be ridiculous. Why should I be afraid?"
"I can think of several reasons why you might be," Devron remarked,” an amused gleam in his eyes.
Letty tossed her head. "Oh yes, your 'shocking reputation'!" she retorted. She looked up at him, an answering gleam in her eyes. "But you would not ravish me on your aunt's property, would you, Lord Devron?"
He flicked her cheek carelessly. "I assure you, my dear, that had I a mind to ravish you, I would do so—wherever I happened to be at the time."
Such an admission would have caused more than one young damsel to turn and flee in terror, but Letty merely returned his gaze unwaveringly. "Do you have a mind to ravish me, Lord Devron?" she inquired frankly.
Devron raised his brows. She was certainly something different! She had a delightfully open way about her which appealed to him? He found simpering misses dead bores.
"No, your virtue is in no danger," he replied, a strange light in his eyes. "At least, not at the moment," he added.
Their eyes met for what seemed, to Letty, like an eternity. Letty felt a quickening of her pulse. Her heart beat so fast that it seemed in imminent danger of bursting!
Devron, too, looking down into Letty’s eyes, felt a quickening of his senses. The girl was far too pretty for her own good — and his. He heard Sir Richard's words: "She's only a child, Dev. Try to remember that, will you?" He turned away rather abruptly. The moment, which in reality had lasted only a few seconds, was over.
A perplexed frown creased Letty's brow. Why had he turned away so abruptly? "Is something amiss, Lord Devron?" she inquired tentatively. For some reason she of a sudden felt unwontedly shy.
Devron returned his gaze to her, his control regained. He smiled charmingly, "No, child, there is nothing amiss," he replied softly. "Come, we will sit down over here and talk." He gestured toward a marble bench, hidden from the prying eyes of passers-by by a large sculptured hedge. "Unless you would rather I return you to the ballroom?" he added.
"No, I would rather remain here, if you please!" she replied emphatically. "I assure you that I am in no great haste to return to my aunt"
"Very well then." Devron led her to the bench and when she had seated herself, arranging her full skirts decorously about her, he joined her. "Now, tell me about Miss Stanton," Devron said with a smile. He was genuinely curious about her.
Letty laughed lightly. "There is really nothing to tell. My life is sadly lacking in excitement. I would much rather hear about you, Lord Devron."
"I am sure there is not much about me you haven't heard since, as you say, tales about me are on half the lips in London. And, I might add, anything that you haven't heard is most likely to be unfit for your ears in any event."
Letty dismissed both points with an airy wave of her hand. "I hardly think I would be foolish enough to believe half of what the gossipmongers say."
Devron eyed her sardonically. "I am familiar with most of the things said about me, my dear, and I am very much afraid that far more than half of them are true."
Letty studied him consideringly. "I daresay they are," she conceded after a moment. "There is no question but what you are a rake," she continued in a level tone, "but you are not, I think, quite the beast you are reputed to be."
"What makes you think not, Miss Stanton?" he asked curiously.
"For one thing, I think you are very kind. You rescued me from a most tedious conversation with Lord Bascombe. That was very kind of you. A beast is never kind."
"Perhaps I have ulterior motives," Devron suggested. "Is it not possible that I rescued you from Lord Bascombe for my own devious purposes? If you recall, my method of whisking you away from him was not quite honorable. And now I have led you to quite an extremely secluded spot in the gardens-well out of sight of the ballroom. Is it not possible that my motives for doing so are something quite other than kindness?"
Letty smiled brilliantly at him, "But if that were the case, you would hardly tell me so, would you?"
"Perhaps I am more clever than you think, Miss Stanton," he offered. "I am not without experience in that area, you know."
"Perhaps," Letty admitted, nodding her head. "But you have told me you have no intention of ravishing me, and I do not think you would lie to me. My father was, despite his many faults, an excellent judge of character. If my father trusted you, there is no reason why I should not."
"You have disarmed me completely, child!" Devron laughed. "You are far too trusting. But you are quite right--I do not think I would lie to you." He shook his head ruefully. "You are very forthright in your manner, and at the very least, you deserve to be dealt with in a likewise fashion. I’m afraid I must own that I had every intention of carrying on a flirtation with you and very possibly seducing you in the end."
Letty's eyes widened in faint surprise. Of course he had intended to flirt with her. Why else would he have singled her out? She had not been completely deceived into believing his motives had been kindness alone. But to admit he had intended to seduce her! Either she had stumbled upon a Devron quite different from the one of whom she had heard tales, or he was indeed very clever.
"But now you do not?" Letty inquired curiously.
"No, child, I do not," Devron answered with a touch of regret in his voice. "Oh I will probably flirt with you—I do not have a will of iron, you know. But I do not think I will seduce you."
"What has changed your mind? Or do you not wish to tell me?"
Devron sighed. "Nay, child, I will tell you if you wish to know."
Letty nodded.
"Very well. For one thing, as my good friend warned me this very evening, you are only a child—albeit an extremely desirable one. It has never been my habit, despite what has been said, to seduce young virgins. For another reason, you are the daughter of a man whom I counted my dearest friend. Although Lucien Stanton was not by nature a man of strong moral principles, I doubt very much if he would appreciate my seducing his daughter." He paused to bestow a smile upon her which, though Letty was unaware of the fact, he reserved for only his closest friends. "And for the last reason, my dear Miss Stanton, I find that I like you. I do not, as a rule, find young debutantes to be anything but bores, but you are something quite out of the ordinary. You have a delightfully frank manner of speech which is an extremely refreshing change from what one usually finds in young females. And I have come to suspect, during the course of our brief acquaintance, that beneath all the beauty and charm you possess there lurks a very intelligent mind. I have never been attracted to witless widgeons."
Letty could only stare at him in open astonishment. "I'm afraid, my lord, that you have brought me to point non plus. I am at a loss for a suitable reply."
Devron smiled slightly at her confusion. "Then you need say nothing, my dear," he said gently. "Instead, let us return to the topic originally proposed: you. Since you have expressed a desire to know more about my life, I will strike a bargain with you. If you will tell me something about your life, I will in turn tell you something about mine. Do we have a bargain?"
Letty smiled. "Very well, we have a bargain, my lord! What do you wish to know?"
"Tell me about life with the august Lady Halcombe," he suggested.
"I'm afraid you will find it a dreadful bore. But a bargain is a bargain."
"Indeed it is," he concurred soberly.
Letty shook her head. "As you wish, then. Life with my aunt is tedious beyond belief. I am only permitted to stand up with gentlemen whom she selects. And I assure you, most them are precise copies of Lord Bascombe!"
Devron chuckled. "You poor child!"
"Yes!" Letty laughed. "But you see," she continued in a not too convincing attempt at seriousness, "if I am good--which according to Aunt Halcombe. is hardly ever--I may occasionally receive callers.” She pursed her lips primly. “But only if I am suitably chaperoned."
"And what does she consider suitably chaperoned, if I may ask?"
"Why, herself, of course. You can have no idea how difficult it is to engage in conversation with someone with her particularly disapproving stare bent upon one!" Letty exclaimed.
"But I do know," Devron countered. "My own aunt, Lady Harrington, has a similar stare at times, and I have been the recipient of it more times than I care to recall."
Letty nodded her head. "Then you know quite how it is.” Letty sighed with resignation. "Aunt disapproves of everything I do, no matter what. She doesn't like me, you see. It was said not in tones of pain or indignation, but in a tone which merely expressed the calm acceptance of an unquestionable fact.
Devron frowned. He had no difficulty realizing she spoke the truth. The Dowager would no doubt be appalled by Letty 's frank, easy manner and sheer exuberance which, in his opinion, was the most delightful thing about her.
"She is forever saying that I am no better than my father. It puts her quite in a rage when I thank her for the compliment!"
“I imagine it would” he stated in a slightly shaking voice. He could well imagine the Dowager’s face during such an encounter!
Letty laughed merrily. "Yes! You would laugh to see her! Her face turns an amazing shade of purple. 'Go to your room, miss!’ she commands, 'I will not tolerate your insolence!’" Letty's imitation of the Dowager in a rage was a masterpiece.
"Poor thing" Devron said commiseratingly, his eyes brimming with laughter. "Does she send you to your room often?"
Letty nodded. "Weekly. But at least she does not restrict my diet to bread and water."
"Bread and water?" Devron repeated curiously.
"Yes," Letty said. "Immediately after my father's death, I was sent to the Keep, in the North, to stay with Lady Agatha Stanton, my father's cousin. Having met me once, you see, my aunt felt she could not tolerate having my presence thrust upon her any sooner than was necessary. Lady Agatha is quite fond of quoting scriptures and heaping threats of perdition upon anyone unfortunate enough to displease her."
Letty paused, smiling slightly. "I'm afraid I displeased her constantly. She has rather severe notions of propriety, you see, and I do not fit her definition of a 'proper young lady.’ I spent nearly a year with her, and I am not exaggerating in the least when I say that I spent at least half of that time confined to my room with only bread and water to sustain me. It was Lady Agatha's belief that such punishments would make me suitably penitent and therefore make me conform to her rigid notions of respectability.
"I was seldom suitably penitent, however; and usually my freedom lasted for only a few days, after which I was once again confined to my room. Eventually, my aunt brought me to London to dispose of me on the Marriage Mart."
"Good Lord!" Devron ejaculated, "What can Lucien have been thinking of when he left you in her care?" His voice was at once angry and incredulous. He winced at the very thought of such a vital child imprisoned in her room with only bread and water to sustain her.
A light of anger sprang into Letty's eyes. "You mustn't blame my father!" she protested vehemently. "He had meant for my other aunt, his sister Annabel, to raise me in the event of his death. But she died shortly before he did, and he merely forgot to change his will. My father can hardly be blamed for that! It’s an omission anyone might make.”
"Of course, Miss Stanton, forgive me. I meant nothing against your father. If you recall, he was a great friend of mine." Privately, however, he thought quite differently. He suspected Lucien had not bothered to change his will merely because he never supposed he would die. It was a careless action of a careless man. It was nearly an unforgivable action, however. To have placed such a child as Letitia Stanton, whether intentionally or no, under the guardianship of such a one as Lady Halcombe was an offense against Nature!
Beneath his cold, often cruel exterior, Lord Devron did indeed have a heart, and it went out to this child. "Poor child," he said once again, taking her hand in his. "My advice to you is to marry quickly and escape the Dragon's clutches."
"You are indeed kind, Lord Devron. I told you I had not" misjudged you." She shook her head, however, "But I could not bear to spend the rest of my life with someone of my aunt's choosing, and I daresay anyone of my own choosing would not be approved of by my aunt! But since I am not permitted to know anyone of whom my aunt does not approve, I am not likely to meet anyone anyway."
A fleeting suggestion passed through Devron's mind, but it was quickly sent packing. Such a thought was quite out of the question. Devron frowned once more.
Letty, misinterpreting his frown, was immediately contrite. "You see, I have bored you. I warned you it would be so."
Devron's brow cleared instantly, and he smiled reassuringly. "No, indeed you have not bored me. I was merely considering how I might help you."
"Oh there is no need. I will manage quite will. I daresay I will be able to elude my aunt long enough to make life bearable. Did I not do so tonight?" Letty shrugged her shoulders eloquently. "In any case, I have only to wait until I am one-and-twenty. At that time I will have a large fortune, and I will be able to have my own household."
No doubt she would be wed far before that, Devron thought grimly. The girl was bound to have scores of suitors. Doubtless her resistance would wear down, and she would accept one of them.
It of a sudden occurred to him that Letty would be in for a rare rake-over when the Dowager discovered, as she inevitably would, that she had stood up with the notorious "Devil" Devron and had even gone so far as to leave the floor in his company! For possibly the first time in his life, Devron actually felt remorse over his actions.
"I had better return you to the ballroom," he said, rising abruptly. "I should not have removed you from it in the first place. Your aunt will like as not give you quite a thorough trimming over this. I'm afraid we shall have to postpone the story of my life until we meet again."
Letty sighed resignedly. "Yes. Aunt Halcombe will no doubt shriek at me and ultimately banish me to my room in disgrace." She smiled up at him, her enticing dimple making its appearance again. "But it does not matter" she continued gaily. "I have never enjoyed an evening more. You are quite pleasant to talk to, Lord Devron."
Devron bowed over her hand. "Indeed, Miss Stanton, I do not think I have ever enjoyed a more pleasant conversation myself." He spoke, to his surprise, with complete truthfulness. "Perhaps, when you can escape your guardian once more, we can talk again."
Letty made him a deep curtsey, "I should like that very much. Besides, I mean to hold you to our bargain," she said gaily.
After he had escorted her to the doors which opened from the ballroom into the garden, he remained, watching her as she threaded her way through the crush of guests. He smiled to himself, causing Sir Richard, who happened to espy Devron’s return to the ballroom, to narrow his eyes thoughtfully. Devron, quite unaware of his friend's thoughtful scrutiny, continued to smile to himself, his eyes softening in a way that would have made the majority of his acquaintances hard put to recognize him.
The child was certainly unique. She reminded him forcibly of an impish little kitten. He started mentally as he realized the direction his thoughts were taking. A bitter grimace swiftly replaced the smile, causing Sir Richard--not for the first time--to shake his head in wonderment at Devron's alarmingly volatile moods. She would no doubt end to be no different from the others of her sex, Devron thought grimly, once again donning his habitual armor of cynicism. Her kittenish innocence would like as not turn to something quite different when she had been about the world a little more.
He gazed about him discontentedly. He found that the affair, which--despite its tediously insipid beginning--had shown brief signs of becoming interesting, had once again grown sadly flat. He made his way around the perimeter of the ballroom to take his leave of his aunt. As he did so, a simpering young damsel made an obvious attempt to attract his notice. He shamefully ignored the lovely young lady, however, who pouted prettily as he walked by without even a glance in her direction. Her pout did not long last, however, as her hand was instantly claimed by an obviously besotted admirer.
Sir Richard excused himself from his present company. “Leaving so soon, Justin?" he inquired, his eyes twinkling, as he reached Devron's side.
"Soon?" Devron repeated, turning to him. "I have no intention of kicking my heels here the whole damned evening merely to please my interfering aunt. I have put up with this tedium far too long already." His voice was unwontedly harsh.
Sir Richard raised his eyebrows slightly. “I had thought you had found a suitable diversion," he remarked, his keen eyes watching Devron's face carefully for... for what, he did not precisely know.
"Diversions, my dear friend, are just that—diversions, " Devron drawled, his voice cold and devoid of any emotion except boredom.
Sir Richard sighed. He had thought for one moment—as he had watched Devron from across the room—that he had seen some-thing in Devron's face, something in his smile... It was a pity that Devron was so damned skilled at masking his emotions. His face betrayed not a clue as to his inner thoughts. He shrugged. Perhaps he had been mistaken after all. No doubt he had read too much into the thing.
"Are you off to the fair Isabella?" Sir Richard inquired after a moment. His words were spoken in a purposefully light tone of voice, and there was a hint of a smile in his eyes.
Devron’s face broke into a reluctant grin. It was amazing, thought Sir Richard, how very different Devron looked when he smiled.
"Of course, ****! Did I not tell you se earlier?"
“Do you mean to be done with her then?” **** inquired. “Because if you are, I would like to he the first to have a crack at repairing her broken heart."
Devron’s eyes grew cynical once more, again causing Sir Richard to marvel at the swiftness with which his friend’s moods could change. "I have no doubt that the dear Isabella is completely unacquainted with the organ. She is motivated only by an insatiable lust for gold and jewels. But she cannot be blamed for that I suppose," Devron added in a tone tinged with bitterness. “I think it must be the nature of the sex.”
“So, you have retreated behind that wall once more, Dev,” thought Sir Richard with a pang of regret. He silently damned the soul of one Miss Georgina Lowell to the everlasting flames of hell. Would that Dev had never met the jade!
Devron took his leave of his aunt, who—obviously resigned to the inevitable—merely sighed weightily as she watched him go. She had failed again.
Sir Richard took his leave of his hostess, as well, pleading an early engagement on the morrow—which, in truth, he did not have.
Lady Harrington nodded sagely. “Fustian!" she pronounced succinctly. Sir Richard, who if the truth were told, had a fondness for Devron's indomitable aunt, bowed deeply over her hand.
"Just so, ma'am," he murmured, a twinkle In his eye.
"Be off with you, scoundrel!" she commanded imperiously, her eyes twinkling in response. He bowed once more and departed.
When he had left, Lady Harrington turned to her neighbor, Lady Dorland. “Sir Richard is such an appealing gentleman. It is a sad pity that he has no fortune to speak of."
Lady Dorland nodded in agreement. “Yes. His father left him little more than a scant competence." Her eyes followed him, "And it seems he is determined to gamble that away." Privately, Lady Dorland thought that Lord Devron, whose own fortune was too immense even for such a reckless gamester as he to dispose of in one lifetime, was more than half responsible for Sir Richard’s lamentable life style! Knowing her friend Horatia's misplaced fondness for her nephew, however, she held her tongue.
As he made his way to the door, Sir Richard caught sight of Letty, her head turned in Devron's direction, watching him leave without a backwards glance at anyone. Her expression was wistful, and he felt a twinge of pity for the child. It was apparent that she was smitten. He sighed as he saw the Dowager Lady Halcombe striding purposefully toward her. Well, no doubt her aunt would prevent her from having any further encounters with Justin. Unless he very much missed his guess, the child was in for quite a rare tongue-lashing from the Dowager over her meeting with Devron. He sighed. It was undoubtedly all for the best.
He made his exit, but Devron was nowhere to be seen. Apparently he was in a great haste to see Isabella, he thought wryly. Not that one could blame him for that. He declined a young boy’s offer to obtain a chair for him—tossing the boy a coin for the offer, nevertheless—and strolled leisurely toward his club. A good bout of gaming would be just the thing to clear his head of the disquiet that had settled upon him of late. Perhaps his luck would be in tonight.
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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10/13/2003, 4:24 am
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wanderingsoul
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Chapter 2
"I thought you would not come tonight, my love," the voluptuous, raven-haired beauty said in a soft voice. There was just a hint of a pout about her full, red lips.
Devron regarded her, an ironic smile playing on his lips. "My foolish Isabella," he remarked dryly. She came toward him, the silk negligee--which he had, of course, paid for--falling apart slightly, revealing her rounded form to him. She slipped her arms around his neck and raised her eyes invitingly to him.
Looking down at her, Devron noticed, possibly for the first time, that she was not quite as young as one might expect. There were tiny, though unmistakable, lines about her eyes which even the artful application of a hares foot could not entirely conceal. He wondered how he had managed to tolerate her clinging possessiveness for so long.
He kissed her just the same. She kissed him hungrily, pressing her body against his. In spite of the fact that he had come with the intention of giving her her conge, he felt himself responding to her passion. He sighed against her lips, the heavy scent of her perfume drowning his senses. Old habits, especially those of this nature, were tediously difficult to alter.
***
"I love you, Justin, " Isabella, whispered against his shoulder as they lay together.
His lips twisted into a sneer. "You love the jewels and gowns I buy you," he thought grimly. He rose in one swift movement.
Isabella cried out in protest. "You surely are not leaving already!"
Devron, who was in the process of reaching for his clothing, glanced down at her. She was lying on the bed watching him, propped up on one elbow. She made no attempt at all to cover her nakedness.
Devron felt a sudden wave of disgust sweep over him. A vision of Letty's impishly child-like face came unbidden before his eyes. He could not help but make the obvious comparison between the two. The feeling of disgust was quickly replaced by one of impatience--partially directed at Isabella's irritating possessiveness, but more so at his own seeming inability to banish the Stanton chit from his thoughts.
Some of the impatience he felt sounded in his voice as he said curtly, "I have other engagements to attend to this evening."
Isabella's dark eyes flashed with anger. How dare he treat her in such a cavalier fashion! But experience—of which she had plenty--told her that a show of anger would only serve to drive him from her. She had no desire to lose such a generous lover, especially with her nipfarthing husband's return imminent. She decided upon different tactics.
"Please stay a while longer, darling." Her voice was softly cajoling. "I didn't tell you, but I received a message from Randly several days ago. He writes he is returning to England."
Devron turned to look at her. Here was the perfect opportunity to give his fair charmer her conge. "Your husband is returning," he repeated thoughtfully. Sir Everston Randly had, for the past six months, been engaged in some tedious but extremely convenient business which had kept him on the Continent. It appeared he had completed his business—and at quite a fortuitous moment.
Isabella's lips pouted. "Yes, the dreary creature is re-turning. It seems he can bear to be parted from his dear wife no longer." He was indeed like a lovesick puppy around her; but he was not, she reflected bitterly, lovesick enough to buy her the jewels and gowns she craved.
She looked at Devron from under lowered lashes. "You know how jealous he is, my darling. Once he has returned it won't be easy for you to come as often. A few moments now will mean so much to me when I am deprived of your company."
Devron studied her silently. "It occurs to me, Isabella," he said after a moment, "that since your husband is returning, it might be best if we ware to discontinue our relationship. A jealous husband milling about is not exactly conducive to the enjoyment of a relationship such as ours." His voice was cold, totally devoid of emotion.
A blinding rage filled Isabella. This time, she could not quite conceal it. “What are you saying?" she demanded, rising and grabbing her negligee, which had been carelessly flung on the floor.
Devron's visage expressed extreme boredom. "I thought my meaning quite clear, my dear." He raised his brows slightly.
Isabella felt something very closely akin to panic sweep over her. The devil had a reputation for dismissing his mistresses in a quick, merciless fashion. Did he mean to cast her off? She laughed shrilly. "You are making game of me, my lord!" She devoutly hoped it were so. She moved to his side and stroked his still bare chest with her delicate fingers.
He pushed her firmly away from him. "I do not make game of you," he contradicted, pulling on his fine linen shirt. "You are quite a delightful armful, Isabella, and I have enjoyed our affair considerably. But I have not, however, enjoyed it so considerably that I wish to continue it with your husband forever lurking about. That, I'm afraid, I would find rather de trop."
"You bastard!" she hissed and flung herself at him, her nails reaching for his face. He slapped her hard across the face. She fell back away from him, her hand holding her reddened cheek. Her eyes blazed.
"Don't, pray, be so tedious, Isabella," he said, a note of irritation in his voice. "Doubtless you will find someone more than willing to suffer the ominous presence of your husband in order to have the pleasure of your favors."
A devilish gleam crept into his eyes. "You might try Bainbury, my dear. He has already expressed a desire to be the first to help repair your broken heart. Although," he added as an afterthought, "I doubt ho has enough blunt to afford your expensive, but charming, tastes."
"I hate you!" Isabella hissed through gritted teeth.
Devron laughed — it was a hard, almost cruel laugh. "And not a few moments ago you said you loved me. You are such a fickle wench.
From belowstairs there came the unmistakable sounds of an arrival. Isabella paled. Devron merely smiled, "It would appear that our dear Randly has returned to his loving wife."
Isabella was thinking fast. In a few moments Randly would come up and discover Devron. He would, of course, call Devron out. And it would serve the arrogant bastard right if Randly were to kill him! Not that there was much of a chance of that, Isabella thought with a flash of bitterness. It was more than likely that it would be Devron who would kill Randly. Not that she would be unduly upset by such an occurrence… But in any event, she must make herself appear less culpable.
The solution came to her in a flash. A piercing scream shattered the silence of the room.
Devron raised his brows. He chuckled softly. “Very clever, Isabella," he remarked in appreciation of her stratagem. "He might even believe you, my dear.” So, it appeared he was to be cast into the role of a ravisher of innocence. He sighed. He knew Randly had no skill to speak of either with swords or with pistols, but the fellow would have no choice but to challenge him after discovering him in his wife's boudoir. Ah well, thought Devron, when one has dueled so many times, what difference did one more make?
The door was flung open. The travel-worn figure of Sir Dverston Randly fairly flew into the room, his eyes alight with fury. He swiftly took in the scene, and his face, which had been crimson with rage, turned chalk white.
Isabella cast herself into his arms, sobbing into his coat. "He forced me, Ev!” she wailed shrilly.
Devron gave a short bark of laughter. A slight sneer spread across his lips. "Really, Isabella," he drawled, "you have never called it rape before."
Isabella turned a look of utter fury upon him. "You contemptible bastard!" she hissed. "He's lying, Ev! He came in when I was sleeping, and he--" She buried her face once more in the lapels of Randly’s coat.
Sir Everston's eyes went from Devron--at whom he had been staring with unveiled hatred from the moment of his entering the room--to his wife, still clinging desperately to him. The light of hatred went out of his eyes and was replaced by a look of immeasurable anguish.
Devron, who had never felt anything for Randly save utter contempt, felt a sudden stirring of pity. No man alive de-served to be wed to a female of Isabella's stamp. For his part in the affair, Devron felt not the slightest trace of conscience. Isabella had made her offer; he had accepted it. If it had not been he, it would have been, some other, And doubtless there
would be others yet, he thought cynically. Females were, without exception, a perfidious lot; and Sir Everston had apparently
only just discovered this. For himself, Devron had come to this mighty realization more than twelve years previously. Fortunately for him, he had come to this knowledge before wedding the jade. Randly had not been so fortunate.
Perhaps it was the memory of that incident in his past which prompted his next words. Devron himself did not quite know.
“It is as the lady says, Randly.”
Isabella raised her head and looked at Devron, her eyes narrowing. What was in his mind? Surely he felt no desire to protect her honor. That thought was too laughable by far! Men of Devron’s type did not protect a female’s honor—they destroyed it! Could he have wished to spare Randly?
Devron felt as much contempt for the creature as she, that she knew for certain. But men were incomprehensible creatures, after all...
Randly shook his head slightly at Devron1s admission. “No, I think not, Devron." The words were barely audible.
Isabella tore herself away from Randly who made no effort to restrain her. She stared incredulously at her husband, her surprise so complete that it left her bereft of speech. She could not accept that her husband, who never questioned anything she said or did, had not accepted her explanation on this occasion. Why, Devron himself had even admitted to ravishing her!
Randly looked down at her, the anguished look in his changing to something cold, expressionless. Isabella felt a sudden chill pass through her. "I may be a fool, Isabella, but I am not such a great fool as you think."
He turned to Devron, who had by now restored himself to his usual sartorial splendor. "If you will give me the names of your seconds, I will have mine call on them on the morrow,” he said in a voice to-tally devoid of expression.
Devron readily did so. His eyes met those of Randly. “She is not worth it, you know,” he said harshly.
Randly inclined his head slightly in silent agreement. He turned to Isabella, who had not yet found her voice. He stood there a moment, his eyes closing briefly. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and left the room.
Devron walked silently toward the open door. He paused for a moment and turned back to Isabella. "Adieu, my dear Isabella," he said with a slight mocking bow. "You have made your bed quite well. I leave you to lie in it."
He turned and left, closing the door behind him. As he departed, he heard what sounded like the shrieking of a deranged Bedlamite. He laughed harshly.
It appeared Isabella had at last found her voice.
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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10/13/2003, 4:30 am
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Lilly
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Re: Historical Romance-No Title (read only if you love me!)
Really loved it Luc. (Yes i did! It's good! don't say it's horrible because it's not!!)  wish you would write more. I want to see what happens with lord Devron and of course Letty. Great job Luc. ^_____^
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Lilly.
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10/14/2003, 1:33 am
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maraga
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Re: Historical Romance-No Title (read only if you love me!)
Your Grace, capital, capital!
I would be gratified if your pen would touch paper again Your Grace, and you wrote a bit more.
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3/29/2004, 8:19 pm
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