Sweet Torture Page 11

  He needed to move past this, to overcome the demon of anguish that was ravaging his insides. A new emotion swelled within him—a sense of determination and will to succeed. He had given into the pain and given himself over to the madness, but it had not been enough to forget her. Now he needed to take control. To be the cool gentleman he once was and to be the man his family needed him to be. He was his father’s only heir; he had responsibilities and a family to help care for. He had a purpose, he had a light at the end of the tunnel with the people who loved and needed him.

  He sat up slowly as the room tilted around him. He reached for the cup of cold tea, taking two large swallows to moisten his mouth. He reached for the chicken and took a bite. He chewed slowly and then swallowed, waiting for his stomach to revolt.

  Nothing.

  He took a few more bites and then reached for the cheese. It was a small victory to keep down solid food, but he would take it. His next goal would be to clean himself up, and then leave his sick bed for fresh surroundings. For the first time, Devon felt as if he were healing.

  Chapter 14

  Olivia reached the front hall as Bronson, the butler, pulled the door open. She stepped out on the portico where she found her father handing her mother down, and another carriage pulling up behind them.

  “Oh, dear God.” She froze as Colton came up behind her, and she grabbed his arm in panic. “I expected my parents at some point but not this.” She watched as a footman opened the door to the second carriage and handed an elegant woman down, her face shielded by a fashionably wide-brimmed bonnet. He turned to the other occupant and handed her down. She stepped out gracefully, standing tall and using her hand to block the afternoon sun from her delicate skin. Her blonde hair shone in the light with pale streaks. She turned to Olivia and smiled warmly.

  Olivia smiled hesitantly in return.

  “I’ll be damned. This will kill him,” Colton said.

  Olivia’s father stepped forward and shook Colton’s hand. “Rather unexpected I know, but it was urgent.”

  “Urgent?” Olivia said nonplussed. “We are harboring a barely civilized ape, and you had urgent business?”

  “Olivia!” her mother admonished. “We should go inside. There is much to discuss.”

  Olivia and Colton shared a worried glance.

  Olivia turned to the two women who approached. “It has been some time, Lydia, Lady Covington. You both look well.”

  “You, as well,” Lydia’s mother answered. “Marriage suites you, from the looks of it.”

  “Why thank you, Lady Covington. Let us move to the drawing room where we can have some tea. Bronson can bring a plate of sandwiches if you have not had luncheon yet.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Lydia said.

  Questions buzzed inside Olivia like impatient bees, but she also worried. What were they doing here, and how would she explain it to Devon?

  She had a nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach that things were about to go awry.

  They moved to the drawing room and continued with banal pleasantries as cups of tea and cucumber sandwiches were dispensed. Olivia sat back, straight as a tuning fork and humming with nervous energy. Her gaze kept darting from Lydia to the doorway repeatedly, as if Devon would unexpectedly enter and start tearing up the room like an angry bear. The minutes passed as Colton asked about their travel here and news from London. Finally, things drifted to an uncomfortable pause, and her eyes lingered on her father until he exhaled heavily.

  “I’m sure we are unexpected, but as I said before, it was urgent,” her father said, the lines bracketing his eyes having grown deeper since Devon’s disappearance months ago.

  Olivia shot another glance at Lydia and her mother, who seemed suddenly tense.

  “I would like to see Devon, if I may. It has been so long…” her father said pleadingly.

  With surprise, Olivia realized he was asking her permission. She looked to Colton for support.

  “Well…”

  Her mother’s hand shook as she brought it to her chest, and the color drained from her cheeks.

  “Devon is quite well, I assure you,” Colton said. “It’s just that…”

  “Dear God, what is it?” Olivia’s father demanded.

  “He is very unpleasant at the moment,” Colton offered.

  Her father visibly relaxed. “Unpleasant is remarkably better than dead.”

  “You may see him if you wish, just be forewarned.” Olivia continued, “I would not mention to him that we have other visitors.” She paused and looked at Lydia.

  Lydia stiffened and looked away. Lady Covington sat up straighter and took her daughter’s hand in a tight grasp. “That is understandable given the circumstances. We would appreciate a rest after our journey.”

  “Certainly, my lady, I can show you to your rooms. Father, please wait for a moment, so I may speak with you before you see Devon.”

  Olivia led Lydia and her mother from the room. Their rooms were in the opposite wing from Devon’s, but she already had the dreadful feeling that a fuse had been lit.

  Seeing Lydia and her mother settled, she returned to the drawing room and the awkward silence that awaited her. She would have none of it.

  Her father was pacing the floor in agitation. “Can I see my son now?” he said belligerently.

  “After you explain to me why you’ve arrived unexpectedly and with the woman who drove him away?” Olivia returned.

  “Do not address your father in that tone, young lady,” her mother warned.

  Olivia turned to her. “Colton found Devon in an opium den, pale as the dead and his mind twisted in illusions. I thought he was going to die on more than one occasion, and now that he is come back to us, you risk pushing him away again?”

  “We want nothing of the sort,” her father argued. “There is much to be discussed, but first—goddammit—I will see my son.”

  “Why is she here?” Olivia demanded. She would not let anyone—her parents included—destroy the fragile progress Devon had made in his recovery.

  “Things need to be set right, Olivia. Lady Covington sought our help because Lydia needs Devon just as much as he needs her. They are here to make amends.”

  “That’s impossible. Devon wasn’t good enough for her to marry, she told me so herself.”

  Olivia’s mother pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. “She could not marry Lord Caverly, Olivia. She now realizes the mistake she has made and wishes to make amends. We support this, if it means our son will return to the man he was and be happy.”

  Olivia sat heavily on the sofa and brought her hands to her face. She pushed her fingertips into her brows and circled around her eyes in exasperation. What they wanted was impossible now, she was sure. The man her brother used to be was gone. All that they could have was the man he was going to be after the healing was done. He might look the same, but he would never be the same. She had watched him for countless hours, writhing in delirium, shouting Lydia’s name. She had mopped the sweat from his brow and started to hate Lydia as well. She had never seen nor heard of anyone being so broken from love. It was terrifying.

  “Perhaps you should see him, and judge for yourself if such a rift can be mended, but I warn you. He cares for nothing, and no one, at this time. He can be quite abrasive.”

  “I will show you to his room,” Colton offered.

  Her parents nodded and followed Colton from the room silently. Olivia followed behind them slowly. She was curious to see the reception her parents would receive after not seeing him for so long. Upon their return from Amsterdam, they had asked for privacy and time for Devon to recover and gain some semblance of himself. It was a terrible shock to her parents, and even more so when Colton and Olivia had demanded to be married immediately. There was no protest, only bewilderment and blind acceptance. They had been through so much. All of them had, but it was not over yet, and Olivia’s deepest fear was that if pushed too far, Devon would run again and never r
eturn.

  When she peeked in the doorway, her parents stood at the foot of the bed, and Devon was sitting up. Olivia entered quietly and was pleased to notice he had eaten some of the chicken and cheese. Her mother wept quietly as her father stoically made small talk and asked about his health. Devon responded with single word answers. His face was as hard as granite and devoid of emotion. He still looked so pale; the only color was the deep purple circles under his eyes. Her mother came to his side and took his hand. She watched as Devon stared at it like a foreign object, and then accepted the comfort. Olivia exhaled in relief.

  “We are so glad to have you home, son,” her father continued.

  She watched in amazement as her father fought to contain his own emotions. Olivia returned to the hall, and at the end stood a ghost of a woman.

  “Lydia,” she gasped. Olivia quickly looked back at Devon’s room, but no one had heard her. She strode forward quickly and grabbed Lydia’s arm, towing her down the hall toward the main stairs.

  Lydia followed complacently as they reached a small private parlor, and Olivia closed the door behind them and turned on her.

  “You have some gall coming here.”

  Lydia wilted like a singed flower beneath her glare and sat on the settee. “I had to, Olivia. You don’t understand.”

  “By all means, make me understand, Lydia. You ripped his heart out and now you wish to put it back. I’m not sure he has a heart anymore, to tell you the truth. What are you doing here?”

  “We came to apologize and more specifically, I came to beg his forgiveness.”

  “And then what?” Olivia said scornfully.

  Tears began to fall from Lydia’s eyes in rapid succession, but she did not look away. “I love him, Olivia. Only him. You say he no longer has a heart, nor do I. We both ripped them from our chests and have lost them.”

  “No, Lydia. You ripped his out and threw yours away for Lord Caverly,” Olivia snapped.

  Lydia flinched. “Whatever the case may be, he will be my final judge. Only he knows what truly lies between us and if he doesn’t want me”—a sob erupted from her—“then I will leave and never face him again, but I must tell him that I love him, and I’m choosing him. It is he or no one.

  “Too little too late, Lydia,” Olivia said with scorn.

  “You have no idea how right you are, Olivia. I will do everything in my power to mend it, and to mend our friendship as well.”

  Olivia turned her back to her and hastily wiped away a tear. “I wish you luck with that endeavor.” She left the parlor and closed the door, leaving Lydia alone. The day was rapidly unraveling and all she wanted was to lie down and feel Colton’s arms wrapped around her.

  Lydia sat in the empty room as still as a statue. She had lost everything in the time Devon had gone, her reputation, her heart, her best friend… Her mother had become her sole support and warrior. She looked around the room in bewilderment, unsure of what to do. Was she wrong to come here? She knew it would not be easy, but if he had truly loved her, surely forgiveness would not be so difficult. It was certainly easier to run away; her mother had said as much and promised that no matter what, they would be together and face whatever came their way. But Lydia didn’t want to contemplate a life without Devon. There was only one option, one choice to be made, and he would have the final say. He would want her or he would not. If only she could see him without anyone around. She didn’t want to face him alone, but nor did she want witnesses to her unraveling. The idea alone of facing him again and all the anger he would unleash on her was terrifying, but she couldn’t back down. It was now or never.

  This was the hardest thing she had ever done, and she wasn’t going to back down. She would accept his decision with whatever dignity she had left and leave it at that. What was most important was that he knew the truth, all of it. He had to know she loved him and would love him until the day she died. All she needed now was the appropriate moment and privacy in which to do it. As for Olivia… She would mend that fence in time. Olivia had a heart bigger than anyone she knew, and she was sure they would be friends again in time.

  There was a soft knock before a maid entered and asked if she needed anything. Lydia dabbed at her eyes and stated she would return to her room. She requested a bath and some broth and retired to her room to think. She wanted to mentally prepare for Devon, to rehearse all that she would say and do. The anticipation was making her shaky and nauseous. She paced her room until the bath arrived, and then once she had washed all the dust off, she sat against the pillows on her bed to slowly sip the steamy broth. It did little to calm her stomach, so she lay on the bed and stared at the canopy above.

  There was a tap on the door before it opened, and her mother stepped into her room. “Are you feeling well?”

  Lydia sighed heavily. She had never felt closer to her mother than she did these past three months. She turned her head and gave her a watery smile. “I’m having an attack of the nerves. I want to see him desperately, and yet I’m terrified.”

  Her mother came forward and sat at the foot of the bed. “In good time, dearest. At the right moment, all will be revealed. Have faith in the return of his affections. His actions will speak far louder than anything he might say in anger.”

  “I’m afraid he hates me.” Lydia covered her face with her hands and willed away the nausea.

  “It’s a very fine line between love and hate, Lydia. We can love so strongly that it leads to resentment for feeling so vulnerable. Hearts are fragile and strong, easy to break but will mend to be stronger. If he truly loves you, as I believe he does, then he will forgive you.”

  “How can you have such faith, Mother? In so many ways, Devon seems so much like Father, though he is not.”

  “’Tis true, I would not wish this experience upon you or for you to love such a passionate and handsome man, but one thing cannot be denied—your father never felt for me as strongly as Devon has felt for you. I can attest to the look of anguish I saw on his face that night. If he had only base intentions toward you, he never would have fought for you as he did or abandoned his home and family the way he did. Remember, that no matter what he says in anger, you must look past it and find the love he has for you. Such a love does not fade so quickly. He is hurting much like you, and together, you must heal.”

  “Oh, Mother.” Lydia sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed. She put her arms around her mother and rested her head on her shoulder. “I hope you are right.”

  “Tsk. I am always right. Will you be coming down to dinner or shall I make excuses for you?”

  “I think I will cower in my room for the rest of the day.”

  “So be it. But today is your last day to be a coward. Tomorrow we move forward and conquer Devon Brentton’s heart, if not the world.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Lydia looked up at her fierce and loving mother and smiled. Her mother smiled back at her with a rather diabolical twinkle in her eye.

  Chapter 15

  Lydia slept through dinner, only waking when her mother checked on her before retiring for the night. She sat up in bed and waited patiently while the house and its occupants settled and candles were extinguished. She waited until the halls grew silent and the servants retired to their beds, so that when she stepped into the shadowed hall, there would be no witnesses to her own diabolical plan. She made her way to Devon’s room, silent as a mouse, and pressed her ear to the door. She could hear nothing. She gently turned the knob and pushed the door open. His room was dark, no fire in the hearth, curtains open but only revealing weak light from the moon. The bed was hung with curtains, closed loosely. She crept closer, the floor creaking mutinously under her bare feet, but no sound of movement was heard from the bed.

  “Are you a ghost come to haunt me?”

  She froze. Her heart kicked into a gallop, and a shiver of awareness rippled through her at the sound of his voice. She turned toward the source, a high-backed winged chair by the fireplace where she could faintly make out the da
rker shadow that was his form.

  “Sometimes it feels as though I am,” she whispered.

  “How very melodramatic. It isn’t like you.”

  “You know me so well, then?”

  “I know you, Lydia…inside and out.”

  She shivered again. His deep voice awoke memories of his hands on her skin, their bodies joined intimately. She stepped into the meager light from the windows. A blessedly cool breeze wafted through the curtains and cooled her cheeks.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “We came to—”

  “We?” he said darkly.

  “My mother and I.” She waited with baited breath. She squinted into the darkness, anxiously watching for any movement. He was sitting perfectly still, his back to her, his dark head a silhouette above the chair.

  “Your mother? What business do either of you have being here?”

  “We came to see you, Devon. To make things right.”

  “Things?” He slowly rose from the chair and rounded it, giving it a hard shove as he passed it in a sudden burst of ferocity. It crashed into the wall with a startling bang, and Lydia was frozen with fear as Devon stalked toward her, only stopping when they were toe to toe. She could feel his breath on her face.

  “What things do you think you can set right, Lydia? There is no coming back from where we have both gone. You’re married, and I’m an empty carcass of a man.”

  “No, Devon,” she said with more breath than sound. The weak moonlight lit his face just enough to reveal his anguish, the lines of strain and sadness. It was all because of her, and she feared not only would he reject her, but also that she could never make it up to him. She wanted to take it all away and only give him joy and happiness. Was it too late to mend his wounds? She was ready to devote her lifetime to it, if only he would let her.