He left her alone in the empty bed and dying firelight to contemplate her dream of a happy future. A moment later, the fire flickered out, leaving only a few smoldering embers. A chill came into the room, so she drew the covers up to her shoulders and hugged her knees to her chest to keep warm.
Devon walked out of Rebecca's bedchamber. He closed the door quietly behind him and strode down the corridor before someone had a chance to encounter him in this wing where he had no reason to be. Other than to debauch a virgin and seduce her into becoming his wife with immediate haste.
As soon as he entered the corridor that housed his own lodgings, he stopped and rested a hand over his stomach. He swallowed uncomfortably and backed up against the wall, then tipped his head against the dark oak paneling and closed his eyes.
He had wanted Rebecca tonight, there was no question about that, and he wanted her still-with every primal, pounding urge in his body. The troubling fact of the matter was-he had forgotten himself. He had allowed romance and desire to overshadow his intellect.
Marriage. He'd known he would have to succumb to it eventually, he just hadn't expected to be swept away so quickly and impulsively without even attempting to swim against the current. He had been home for only a few days, and already he was back in that familiar saddle, doing exactly what his father wanted him to do. This, when the man was clearly out of his mind.
Devon wondered how he would be dealing with this situation if Rebecca had not come to the ball. He certainly would not have been deflowering Lady Letitia tonight, or any of the other women who had attended. He would have been thinking things through more carefully, maybe even swimming upstream in the opposite direction. He would not have been so full of lust and desire as to thrust himself recklessly past the point of no return.
There was no going back now.
So it was her fault then, he told himself, with an embittered chuckle and cynical shake of his head. Her fault entirely, for being so inconceivably alluring, like some beautiful, magical nymph sent here to bring him to his knees.
Maybe it was a test of some kind to see if he'd learned anything from the past and had strengthened his will. If it was, he was failing it. Miserably. He would try to do better.
He pushed away from the wall and headed toward his own room. Tonight he would focus on practicalities. He would plan a swift and efficient wedding to the woman he had just bedded.
That very night, far from Pembroke Palace, beyond the Cotswold Hills, Rebecca's father, the Earl of Creighton, rose from his desk and sat down in front of the fire in his bedchamber.
He held a letter in his hand. The ink was barely dry. He had signed his name to it only seconds ago.
Rushton would not be pleased when he received it. What would he do? Would he come here straight away, or would he give up his plan to have Rebecca as his wife and simply back down?
Unfortunately, the earl knew that Rushton would not be so easily defeated. He had spent his entire life working toward this goal, climbing and clawing his way back to this tiny, secluded part of the world. He was not going to give up, and he was not going to be happy.
The earl took a sip of brandy and stared into the hot, dancing flames. His daughter was gone.
Damn her for her independence. She was too much like her mother.
But perhaps it was that very spirited nature that had attracted him to his wife more than twenty years ago, and later that young woman Rushton had brought round…
Serena.
For a brief fleeting second, he thought he could see Serena's pretty face in the flames, her golden hair flying in the wind, but then she was gone, and he became quite certain that he was looking into the very portal to hell.
Chapter 10
Devon hesitated in the doorway of the breakfast room when he spotted Lady Saxby standing by the sideboard with a cup of tea in her hands. She was laughing and conversing with one of the other female guests. Lady Letitia was on the opposite side of the room with her mother.
Rebecca sat at the table next to Charlotte. He looked at her lovely face and recalled the tantalizing warmth of her voice when she'd read to him from the diary the night before, and the mindless lust that had driven him to make love to her and propose. Something lurched in his chest and all at once his feet seemed fixed to the floor.
A muscle clenched in his jaw. He wondered suddenly if Lady Letitia might have been a safer choice, for there would never have been any danger that he might lose his heart to her.
But, no, there was no point wondering about what might have been. He had amends to make to everyone in this family, and he would make them. He had made his choice last night. He would go forward.
He stood for a few minutes more, then entered the room and approached Lady Saxby.
"I beg your pardon," he said, "but if I could have a word with you in private, madam?"
Her smile disappeared and was replaced by a look of surprise. "Of course, Lord Hawthorne."
He bowed to the others, then escorted Lady Saxby out of the breakfast room and through the wide doors to the blue drawing room, which boasted the best tapestries in the palace. He gestured toward the two striped chairs facing each other in the corner and spoke courteously. "Please."
She took a seat.
He sat down facing her. "May I enquire without pretense, madam, about your niece?"
"Certainly."
He hesitated a moment to allow her time to comprehend what he was about to ask, then spoke without ambiguity, determined to say what he must, but being careful not to reveal that he had already secured Rebecca's hand, quite irrevocably in fact, in the most dishonorable way possible.
"Has she given any thought to her future? Does she wish to marry?"
The woman stared at him for a moment before a clear understanding reached her eyes, then she spoke with complete discernment. "Yes, of course, Lord Hawthorne. What young lady of good breeding does not desire such a future?"
"In that case, may I enquire about her father? Is he available for discussions on the matter? Can he be reached during his travels?"
Her lips parted slightly, and she hesitated before she answered. He supposed this was an unnerving conversation for any woman in charge of a younger woman's future.
"He could be," she replied, "but it might take some time for a letter to reach him." She shifted in her chair and tilted her head to the side. "But would it be of interest to you, Lord Hawthorne, to know that my niece is only a few days away from her majority? She will be twenty-one on Saturday."
"Ah, that is indeed helpful," he said, for Rebecca would not require parental consent in order to marry. That would speed matters up considerably. "But I would of course still wish to communicate with her father about any important decisions regarding his daughter's future."
"I understand," she smoothly replied. Then she tilted her head again. "But allow me to inform you also that Lord Creighton has left his daughter in my capable hands with the express purpose of attending the Season in London, and shall we say, solidifying her future. As you know, he is not a social person, but he desires his daughter's happi ness. So I have therefore been entrusted with his blessings, so to speak."
Devon studied Lady Saxby's expression with great care. She was eager, there was no doubt about it, but he supposed that was to be expected. Any woman in her position would consider it a great personal achievement to match her niece with a man of his rank. It was a plain and simple fact. He was heir to a dukedom.
He inclined his head at her. "In that case, I wish to appeal to you for the honor of your blessing, Lady Saxby, so that I may request a private moment with your niece this morning and speak to her directly about a shared future."