Sweet Torture Page 13

  Was she truly sorry? Did those words mean anything to him?

  “Why are you here, Lydia?”

  “I told you, but you refuse to believe me.”

  “You have yet to give me a believable answer.”

  “You are so stubborn,” she said in exasperation. “You want to believe I am here to save my reputation and nothing more. Is that the kind of woman you claimed to love? I thought you knew me better than that.”

  “I thought I did too, but I was a fool. You are, and always will be, that cold calculating woman who chose safety over love. You were just as stubborn—determined even—to catch yourself a quiet biddable husband.”

  “The reality seems to suggest otherwise. It’s true you ruined my reputation, but I don’t need to marry you, Devon, not in that sense. My mother and I are very willing to turn our backs on all polite society and live permanently at Covington Cottage. I am here because I want to be.”

  Devon’s fists clenched at his sides. He once longed to hear those words, but he refused to fall prey to such prose. He was growing weary again. Who knew emotion could be so draining? He staggered over to the bed and lay back against the pillows. From his periphery, he could see Lydia watching him with a worried frown.

  “I shouldn’t tax you when I mean to care for you. Do you want me to remove the tray? I can leave the tea and toast for you to nibble on?”

  “For god’s sake, Lydia, I don’t nibble on things. Do I look like a rat?” he asked tersely. He glared at her as she tried to hide a twitch of a smile but even glaring was taxing. “You may leave the tea and toast on the bedside table, if you wish.” He closed his eyes. He could hear her moving about and the ting of the cup and plate being set down beside the bed. He cracked an eyelid as she moved away and retrieved the other dishes.

  “Do you really intend to nurse me back to health in Olivia’s place?”

  She halted near the door and turned back to him. “Yes.”

  “I don’t intend to make it easy on you,” he warned.

  “Give me your worst, Devon, I don’t intend to fail.”

  He smiled wickedly as the door clicked shut behind her. The thrill of a challenge boosted his flagging energy. If anything, it would certainly be entertaining to drive Lydia batty until he was well enough to escape this madhouse on his own two feet.

  “I warned you, didn’t I?” Olivia stepped out from an alcove.

  “Were you hiding in there?”

  “Of course. I know how he is. I wanted to be near in case you needed rescuing.”

  Lydia sighed. “While I appreciate the sentiment, I beg you for some privacy. If he knew you were eavesdropping on our interactions, he may not be as forthcoming as I need him to be.”

  “I suppose…”

  “Give me your word, Livie.” Lydia eyed her sternly.

  “You have my word,” Olivia said grudgingly.

  “Thank you.”

  “But how will I help if I don’t know what is happening between you?”

  “I will come to you when I need assistance.”

  “But—”

  “Well, well, what do we have here? I smell a conspiracy.” Colton approached them.

  “Mrs. Darling,” he greeted Olivia with a sizzling look and a sultry smile.

  “Mr. Darling,” Olivia purred.

  Lydia watched in awkward silence as husband and wife devoured each other with their eyes.

  “Ergh, um.” She cleared her throat. “Mr. Darling, you will be happy to know that I will be taking over the care of Devon.”

  Colton slowly looked away from Olivia and smiled—much more benignly—at Lydia. “I am glad to hear it, Lady Covington.”

  “Please, call me, Lydia. There is no use remaining so formal in these circumstances. Things are rather irregular, as it stands.”

  “And I would be pleased if you would call me Colton. I seem to have stumbled upon a rather interesting conversation?

  “I fear not, I was making Olivia swear that she would give Devon and I the necessary privacy we would need to”—Lydia blanked—“patch things up.”

  “I understand what you mean,” Colton said reassuringly. “And I am happy to help.”

  “Help?” Olivia said.

  Colton smiled indulgently at Olivia and turned back to Lydia. “I will keep Olivia occupied.”

  “Occupied!” Olivia scowled.

  Colton turned back to his wife. “I promise you will thoroughly enjoy it.” He winked.

  “I appreciate the help.” Lydia tried to hide an awkward smile. “I promise I will come to you when I need you, Livie.”

  “Promise? You said you needed my help. I hope those weren’t just pretty words to gain access to my brother.”

  “Of course not! I do need you, Livie, but I need to be alone with him, with your aid, of course. I need you to make it so I see to all of his needs. Whenever he calls, it is me who answers. Do you understand?”

  Olivia sighed. “I understand, I think. I will do whatever I can.”

  “Thank you, Livie.” Lydia smiled. She turned away from the happy couple and returned to her room. She didn’t know what to do with herself while waiting for an opportunity to return to Devon. Unless he actually requested her presence, she didn’t have a reasonable excuse to see him until lunch, which seemed so far away. She decided to take a nap. Sleep was her dearest friend these days, and it would help her keep her energy up when dealing with Devon.

  Chapter 18

  Lydia once again found herself excitedly and nervously standing outside Devon’s door. A maid stood with her, carrying a tray laden with hot pigeon pie, a lemon tartlet, and a juicy peach. Taking the tray from the maid, the maid knocked twice, turned the handle, and nudged open the door for her. Lydia entered, chin up, and ready to do battle.

  She spotted Devon sprawled in the wing-backed chair that he had pushed toward the windows. The windows had been thrown open, allowing sunshine to pour in and a light afternoon breeze to waft into the room. He had his head thrown back, eyes closed. He wore nothing but breeches and shirt.

  Lydia froze, her eyes greedily absorbing him. She heard a gasp come from behind her, and she quickly kicked the door shut with her heel. She was not one to share.

  * * *

  Devon lifted one eyelid as she walked farther into the room and set the tray on the bedside table.

  “I hope you're hungry.” Lydia tried to appear unaffected by his bare chest but feared she was failing. “The pigeon pie is exceptional, and I can also attest that the peach is ripe and sweet.”

  “Hmmm, ripe and sweet, you say?” he drawled.

  Lydia picked up the subtle timbre of his voice and her pulse quickened. She avoided his gaze and filled a glass of water from an ewer on the bedside table. “Do you wish to eat by the window?”

  “I suppose.”

  From the corner of her eye, she could see him watching her like prey. What game was he playing at this time?

  Lydia looked toward the small table near the hearth. It was really the only suitable means to dine upon, but she weighed the difficulty of moving it.

  She shrugged and walked over to it, gave it a wiggle, and realized it was not as hefty as it appeared. She began to pull it over when Devon stood and came to help her.

  “Please sit, you are still sick.” She waved him away but he ignored her.

  “I’m not as sick and invalid as you think I am,” he snapped, “and much as I love to watch you serve me, I am still a gentleman.”

  “Well.”

  “Go ahead and make whatever remark you wish in regards to my good manners, or lack there of, it would be like old times.”

  “Old times?” Lydia scoffed. “Everyone would be quite pleased for you to return to your old self, terrible rogue that you were.”

  “I suppose now I am only terrible.”

  Lydia fetched the tray of food from the bedside table and set it on the smaller table. She smiled wistfully. "I believe you have it in you to be a rogue again. Some things just cann
ot be changed." She saw a ghost of a smile on his lips in response and counted it as a small victory.

  “Would you like that, Lydia?” he asked as he picked up his fork and dug into the pigeon pie.

  She paused as she picked up the glass of water. “Of course, we all would.”

  “I didn’t ask about the others.”

  “You care to know what I would prefer?”

  “You had so many opinions about my behavior before, do you not now?”

  “You know what my opinion is, as I have told you how I feel. What remains is if you wish to feel the same.”

  Devon scowled at his food.

  Lydia set the glass down beside his plate. She jumped when he grabbed her hand as she went to pull away. His eyes caught hers, and for a moment, they just stared at each other.

  “Why didn’t you marry Caverly? He was everything you wanted.”

  “That’s not true. What I wanted I didn’t think I could have.”

  “Bollocks, the only thing standing in our way was you,” he accused.

  “I won’t deny that, but now it’s you, Devon.”

  “Me?” He let go of her hand and took a savage bite of the pie. “I have a very good reason for not wanting to marry you now. Your reasoning was self-induced tripe.”

  Lydia stepped back in shock. She took a second to compose herself. She expected this kind of animosity, but that didn’t take the bite away. “Yes, well, we all have our failings, but it’s how we choose to go on that defines us, doesn’t it? I’ve accepted my mistake and will do anything to fix it, but you want to punish me while you wallow in self-pity. Tell me, Devon, between the two of us, who is more pathetic?”

  “Touché,” he said bitterly.

  Lydia turned away angrily and looked out the window. She knew he was not going to fall easily in with her plans, but she prayed he would not torture her thusly for long. She wasn’t sure her battered heart could take it. Time was running out. Things needed to be said, revelations made, and hearts mended or he might accuse her of the ultimate deceit and manipulation. She was playing a very dangerous game, though she loathed thinking of it as such. But she desperately needed him to believe in her love before she could reveal all, otherwise he would truly hate her. Lydia wanted nothing less than all of him, all of his heart, given freely and openly.

  “I don’t know what to do or say to make you believe me, Devon. All I can do is try to win your love back, earn it even.”

  Devon shoved the food away and bolted from the chair. He strode to the bed then turned away disgusted. He paced the room like a trapped animal.

  “Is this how you mean to do it? Corner me here where I can’t get away?”

  “No, of course not, but what are we supposed to do, pretend it never happened?”

  “That would be a blessing.” He ran his fingers through his hair in agitation.

  Lydia clenched her teeth in aggravation. “How can you not talk about what happened, Devon? How will we resolve it if we don’t talk about it?”

  “I can’t talk about it, Lydia, don’t you understand? I nearly killed myself trying to kill my feelings for you. Now I’m trapped here in this cage with you, and you insist on making me talk about it and feel again.”

  “Fine, Devon!” Lydia turned away sharply, bumping the table and tray of food. They crashed to the floor with a bang, followed by the clatter of dishes shattering.

  Devon stared in wide-eyed shock.

  Lydia stood with her chest heaving, and her cheeks flagged with red. She strode for the door, angrier than she had ever felt and embarrassed at her loss of temper. She went in the opposite direction of the main hall, taking the servant stairs to the ground floor. She exited through a side door, and she recognized the garden she and Olivia had strolled in before. She took the path leading to the overlook, her heart beating hard with exertion and emotion. She heard the scuffle of gravel and a curse from behind her and turned. She was stunned to see Devon trailing behind her. His face was pale, and he was sweating profusely.

  She rushed over to him as he collapsed onto a stone bench and panted for breath.

  “You shouldn’t have followed me,” she scolded him.

  “I had to as I’ve never seen such a wondrous sight as you losing your temper. It was magnificent.”

  “How like you to make a joke of my emotions when you look fit to expire where you sit.”

  “I won’t die. Only the good die young.”

  “That’s good to know,” Lydia mumbled.

  Devon pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.

  “See? This is better, the bickering, the snide remarks. That makes me feel normal again. I need a little bit of normal until I get my bearings.”

  Lydia thought about what he said. How could she act normal? Everything about them now was exactly opposite of normal. “You want me to pretend everything is normal?”

  “God, yes. Everything in my body hurts because of the withdrawal of the opium. Everyone is treating me like a bloody baby and acting as if I’m on my deathbed. I need perfectly banal conversation, as hideous as that sounds, and to be treated like an average man—not an invalid.” He turned his face into the sun and sighed.

  Lydia watched him diligently. He seemed to enjoy being outside, for he closed his eyes and took great deep breaths of fresh air.

  “All right, then. Wait right here.” She turned back toward the house.

  He cracked an eye open. “Where are you going?”

  “You want normal and banal? Nothing is as normal as a picnic on a fine afternoon.”

  * * *

  Lydia returned with a blanket and a footman carrying a small basket of cucumber sandwiches, a jug of lemon water, and a book of poetry. Devon was precisely where she left him, looking much better and more at ease.

  “There is a small climb to the overlook, or as Henry here suggested, the lawn is freshly clipped and dry.”

  “I will fare better on the lawn, I suspect,” Devon admitted sheepishly.

  He stood and offered his arm, but when Lydia tucked her hand in his elbow, she took some of his weight to ease his effort.

  Reaching the lawn, the footman spread the blanket and uncorked the bottle of lemon water before leaving them. Lydia handed Devon a sandwich. They sat in silence for a spell, absorbing the quietness and relishing the gentle breeze. Soon fall would be here, and the wind coming from the ocean would be bitterly cold.

  Devon was the first to break the silence.

  “Olivia seems to be enjoying herself.”

  Lydia smiled. “It was only this past spring that she told me about her feelings for Colton. It seems so long ago now.”

  “So ’tis Colton now?” He raised one brow.

  “With his permission, of course. There’s no use remaining so formal when it’s just your family and mine.”

  “We are rather cut off from the world here,” Devon mused.

  “I rather like it. I feel free.”

  “I really have seen everything now,” Devon teased.

  Lydia rolled her eyes. “The only person who puts me on a pedestal is you. I am quite an average individual, you know. We all wear masks in polite society. You were the consummate rake and I—”

  “The ice queen.”

  “No one dared call me such but you.”

  “No one was brave enough.”

  “Or foolish enough,” Lydia returned.

  Devon smiled slowly and tossed his half-eaten sandwich into the basket. He leaned back on the blanket as he looked up into the canopy of the oak that shaded them.

  Lydia watched him from beneath her lashes. At some point when following her from the room, he had tucked in his shirt. She thought about what to say next, and how to make polite meaningless conversation when their future happiness was at stake. How could she hide her true feelings?

  “How long will you stay once you are feeling better?” she asked quietly. She didn’t want to come off as prying, but it was vital information. She would prefer them to sta
y here in quiet seclusion, giving him all the time he needed to love her again. But if she had to, she would follow him anywhere.

  “As long as I need to, and after that I’ll return to London.”

  Her heart sank. Given his tenacity, that could only be a matter of days.

  “Even for the winter?”

  He shrugged.

  So if he wasn’t going to be forthcoming, she would have to change the subject to something lighthearted to draw him out again.

  “I wonder how quickly Olivia will start breeding,” he said suddenly.

  Lydia froze, glass tipped to her lips. She slowly lowered it and kept her face averted, lest he see her expression.

  “Br-eeding?” she stuttered.

  “Opposed to the term? Fine then, enceinte—is that more to your liking?”

  She nodded slowly and held a carefully composed expression. “You really wish to discuss this?”

  “I fancy the idea of being an uncle. I think I would be good at it.”

  Lydia finally looked at him. He was completely unaware of her distress and perfectly relaxed, stretched out fully with his boots crossed at the ankles and his arms folded behind his head.

  She wanted to stand and walk away, perhaps cry, but that would not bring her any closer to winning his heart. It would probably confound him and only raise uncomfortable questions and conversations—things he did not want.

  This was misery.

  Why couldn’t this be easy, why couldn’t they just embrace their second chance to be together? Hadn’t they both lost enough already? Why did he have to be so stubborn and make everything more difficult than it had to be?