Page 26 of A Lady of Means (Roses and Rakes #1)

Letting go of Moria with a playful squeeze of her hip, Devyn pushed Calum aside to make room to lean his head out the window.

“Hang on, I don’t think I heard you correctly because there’s about three dozen of you standing outside my window like a bunch of gits,” there was a rumble of laughter from the street.

“I thought I heard you say you handled my disciplinary hearing.”

“No, right, Cap, that’s definitely what McFee said.”

“Do you mind?” Devyn’s elderly neighbor was leaning out her window, all five-foot nothing wrinkled and frowning. “Some of us don’t care to be privy to your conversation.”

Devyn and Calum were both hanging their heads and elbows out the window, but Moria jutted her hip against Devyn’s saying, “I’ve got this,” and leaned her head out the window, one arm around Devyn.

“Gentlemen, I apologize for the…lukewarm reception,” she gave Devyn a wink.

His heart nearly fell right into her pocket as she held onto him leaning toward the window, the men below rapt at her words.

“Since you came all this way, and have gone to some trouble to organize yourselves on the Captain’s behalf, why don’t you gentlemen bring yourselves upstairs and deliver your message in person? ”

The wind blew a stray piece of hair from where her blonde tresses were intricately pulled back, the cool air was pebbling the skin just above the neckline of her gown, her cheeks were flushed when she smiled up at him so big her blue and gold eyes were a little squinty. Yep, he was all fucking hers.

“Wha are ye doin’? There’s abou’ thirty-seven lads in th’ street, they cannae’ all come up ‘ere.” Devyn cleared his throat, Calum added with an eye roll, “my lady.”

“You heard the lady, come on up, lads!” Devyn leaned further out the window, giving them an encouraging wave. Miss Dempsey groaned, but then Calum gave her a wink. Bloody Scots.

There was a chorus of “Thank You, Captains” and the shuffling of boots as the group reassembled themselves inside.

There was a comically large group of men dwarfing the sitting room and entry of Devyn’s town house.

Several of them shoved for precedence or seating.

Calum was doing a headcount of them all like some sort of house mother in a dormitory.

Moria was offering them tea which Miss Dempsey set to work preparing in Devyn’s kitchen, they were all just staring at her or stumbling over themselves like a bunch of infatuated schoolboys rather than highly trained warriors, cavalrymen, and sharpshooters. Christ, the effect she had on men.

She had that effect on you, too, still does.

“Out with it then,” Devyn said, nodding to the young Welshman who seemed to have elected himself the spokesman of their haphazardly organized group.

“We told General Waddingham that you were defending the honor of a lady, and Fox said some things that don’t bear repeating.”

“And?”

Belcher nodded, continuing his explanation. “If you are sacked, he’d be your replacement, so we all told General Waddingham that if he replaces you with Fox, he’d have to replace us too.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“Oh, Christ,” Calum said, pushing two underlings out of his way and sitting down on a settee, running a hand over his mouth.

Moria’s fingers found Devyn’s. Like she’d sensed exactly what he needed from her. Her fingers squeezed his, and suddenly he could hear anything, bear anything, they had to say.

“He’s not the kind of man I’d follow into battle, Captain, but you are.”

Devyn’s hand flew to his temple. “Belcher, you didn’t.”

Moria and Calum’s heads swiveled back and forth from Devyn to the men in the sitting room.

“Oh, no, I didn’t, we all did.” Belcher.

“And what did Waddingham say to that?” Devyn.

There was a taut beat of silence that stretched on.

Devyn ran a hand through the lengths of his dark hair, tied it back at the nape of his neck.

He felt Moria’s eyes on him the whole time.

Several men shifted uncomfortably, fidgeted, or propped themselves against furniture or a nearby wall. Still no one spoke.

“Oh, you lot are worse than a bunch of debutantes! Enough of the dramatics, don’t leave us hanging, gentlemen,” Moria said, crossing her arms.

“He said he was moved by our loyalty....” McFee began.

“So you won’t be forced to sit through a disciplinary hearing,” Booker continued for him.

Moria squeezed Devyn’s hand so hard he couldn’t tell if she was delighted or disappointed his captaincy wasn’t on the line.

She hadn’t come out and said as much, but he knew his going away was hard for her, that she didn’t want him to go.

But he had to see this through, see these merry, brave men through this conflict, and then he’d be home to her.

They were putting their trust in him to do right by them.

His men who were now clapping him on the back, shaking his hand, cheering, and laughing. Somehow Peregrine had entered with Tristan Valentine in tow for some god forsaken reason, taking stock of the general melee in Devyn’s townhouse.

“I came when I received your note about Waddingham’s little tirade,” Peregrine said, clapping a hand on Devyn’s shoulder. “Didn’t even need any input from me to save your hide, you never do.”

At the same time, Devyn noted Tristan handing Moria a flask and whispering something in her ear that had her laughing raucously and slapping his arm.

“Where did you pick up the stray?” Devyn asked.

Peregrine sighed. “He has a sixth sense for celebrations, does Valentine. Always seems to find his way in wherever there’s a good time to be had and good cognac to be drunk.”

Devyn raised a brow. He felt like there was a story there but before he could inquire further, liveried footmen entered through the front door delivering case after case of ale and good liquor. The men were uncorking it and passing it around.

“You didn’t,” Devyn said to his brother, groaning.

“Oh, this was definitely not Lord Bird’s doing, he’d have gone with the cheap stuff,” Tristan cut in.

Moria nudged him in the ribs, he gestured helplessly.

Peregrine looked at Tristan with an amused expression, who said, “You only have the one brother,” with a shrug, taking a proffered bottle in hand.

Tristan offered the bottle to Moria, the only lady, first, which actually suited Devyn down to the ground that the man did have manners.

“Might as well celebrate his accomplishments while he’s still on English soil.”

Devyn noted Moria’s discomfiture at that last statement, tossing back her drink in one go with her body so close to his but not close enough.

Devyn answered Tristan’s pronouncement. “I fail to see what I’ve accomplished worthy of celebration. I let my fists do the talking for me instead of—”

“You gave him a moment to recant his words, he didn’t back down, Captain,” a private interjected.

“I’d have done the same in your shoes if he’d talked about my girl. You taught him a lesson,” another added on, throwing an arm around their Captain’s neck. At Devyn’s grimace, he removed it.

“Devyn, you stood up for me,” Moria said, pulling his head down so they were closer to eye level. “You risked your title…for me.”

At the word title, his heart almost gave a little somersault, thinking she knew of the other title that was just as much his.

But there was so much admiration swimming in her eyes, so he answered, “I’d risk my last breath for you,” into her ear and stole her lips into a fierce kiss with raucous, drunk cheers and her heartbeat filling his ears.