Page 34 of A Lady of Means (Roses and Rakes #1)

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Burn Book of Lady M

The Earl of Clairville, The true Earl of Clairville. You were in front of me this whole time. How did I not see the signs? What a stunning liar you turned out to be.

* * *

It was a night she’d cherish forever, all the people she really loved sitting around a table, sharing a meal that she was sure Jasper had spent days poring over a menu for and she’d never fully appreciate. The conversation and the wine had flowed until the late hours, no one making moves to leave.

The ladies and gentlemen had all retired to the same sitting room rather than separate spaces.

Kathleen had been adamant that with Devyn’s departure in only a couple of days, that they give the betrothed time together, not to force them apart.

And so there had been parlor games, music, and drink, and laughter in Pembrooke House of a caliber not seen in decades.

And at the center of all of it, wasn’t just her, but the man that she…. loved.

Love wasn’t a word that carried the full weight of what she felt for him. It was too watered down, too much for everyday use, not rare enough.

Devyn was not an ornamental man. God, but he was beautiful though.

It had lit her from within with a kind of unfamiliar iridescence to see the people she loved laughing at his jokes, asking him questions about his deployment, smiling at him appreciatively while he gave diplomatic answers with important sounding words, being happy for her. Being happy.

And at intervals all too frequent to count, whether anyone had been watching or not, he’d given her pieces of affection that she wasn’t sure how she was supposed to go months without.

His lips brushing her forehead, his fingers brushing hers, his hand at the small of her back, his knee touching hers.

They weren’t scripted or to gain her attention, they were as natural as air.

An air supply that was cut off when Peregrine had taken his coat from her at his departure and said, “I’m glad you weren’t too angry with him.”

She’d thought the other shoe dropping was her daughter’s birthday, needing to be there, needing to share it with the man she loved. This, this was the other shoe dropping.

“I’m a forgiving woman,” she said, not sure exactly what Peregrine was referring to.

“Naturally, I told him he should tell you sooner rather than later.”

Thwap, the other shoe hit her in the head. Pain lanced through her heart.

What had Devyn not told her?

You’re not the only one who can keep secrets, some inner voice mocked.

When Moria was tongue-tied, unsure how to respond, Peregrine’s face fell.

“Oh god, he didn’t tell you, did he? I’ve just gone and fucked up the whole damn night with my big mouth after two many glasses of port. Forget I said anything, my lady, I’ll see myself out.”

The shoe had dropped, she had to know what it was, if it was a shoe she could wear, or a shoe that would rub raw places in her soul.

Moria was fast, seizing a hand around Peregrine’s upper arm. “Oh no, you don’t. You lit this fire. Put it out or I’ll carry a grudge for this for longer than you can imagine.”

Peregrine leaned in and did just that.

* * *

Devyn knew the moment that something had gone amiss.

He could see it in her eyes before the words fell out, she was spoiling for a fight.

Moria didn’t say goodbyes to the others as they left, instead telling them all she was tired, until Devyn was the last to come bid her goodnight. He wrapped his arms about her and leaned in to kiss her.

She didn’t say anything, she took his hand and pulled him up the stairs to her room.

He was as quiet as he could possibly be at six-foot-three and the size of a door.

But she was squeezing on his hand, towing him down the carpeted hall while her glowering ancestors looked down on him in portraiture, finding him wanting.

When they made it to her room, the pinkest room he’d ever seen in his goddamned life, she closed the door. She took two steps, pressing him up against it. For a woman of her size, she was surprisingly formidable.

“When were you going to tell me?” she whirled on him.

“When was I going to tell you what, Moria?” He willed his voice to sound gentle.

She let out an angry little huff and crossed her arms over her chest. “That your brother isn’t the heir, you are. He’s your father’s bastard. He’s the spare, not you.”

The floor dropped out from beneath him.

He was going to murder Peregrine. He’d wanted to tell the woman he loved all about his family history, he just…actually, there was no excuse, he should have fucking told her already.

When?

He didn’t know honestly, but before now. He’d wanted to show her he was better than all the other men she’d known, but maybe he wasn’t.

“He told you. Earlier when you walked him out.”

“I’m glad someone apprised me of the truth,” she said, her jaw set.

He’d gotten so far, knocked down so many of her walls, heard her say I love you, and now she was looking at him like an enemy. He fucking hated it.

“It doesn’t change anything.” He shook his head, letting her step backward.

Her mouth was agog, then she closed it, flaring her nostrils, and opened it again.

“I don’t see how!”

She was angry with him. Good, that meant she still cared. Hadn’t shut him out completely. Not yet at least.

He took a step closer to her, closer than he’d meant. But he was trying desperately to pull the ground back beneath their feet. God, she was so close he could easily kiss her.

“No. It wouldn’t,” he could see she was waiting for an answer, so he sat on the edge of her bed, pulling her to stand between his legs. He held her hands in his as she looked down at him, listening to him explain.

“My father raised Peregrine to be the heir, he was the heir for almost a decade before I came along. My father pushed me to take it all away from Peregrine, for us to be in competition for every scrap of paternal pride and affection, every material possession. He dangled them in front of us, asking us to carry out increasingly awful tasks to get them. If I failed, well I bear the scars of that,” he gestured to his inked torso covered by his shirt.

“Most of them I covered up with tattoos. Some of the blows I took were for Peregrine. Even though I was younger, I was bigger, stronger.”

He watched her lip wobble at his admission, taking it between her teeth. Devyn ran a hand through his hair and blew some air out of his mouth to keep talking instead of kissing her.

“But when I became a man, I realized something. I was better suited to soldiering, and Peregrine is tailored for land management and shaking hands in Parliament sessions. A soldier is all I’ve ever been. That’s all I know how to do. And I’m damn good at it—”

“You’re lying to yourself,” she said, a hand coming to rest against his stubbled cheek when he thought maybe he’d better deserved a slap. He leaned into the softness of her hand and closed his eyes.

“You are more than a soldier, Devyn. You,” she poked him in the chest with the pointer finger of her other hand for emphasis, “Are not a spare anything. You’re honorable, and just, and a man that people look up to.

Your men put their careers on the line for you.

In any way that counts, you’re just as fine a man as your brother is and just as noble. ”

Devyn’s heart swelled with pride at the words. To hear such words from her lips made him hold her tighter. His fingers dug into her waist.

“To hear you say that, that’s all I’ve ever wanted. But Peregrine’s whole life is Parliament, his causes. He does more good for the working class than I even know about. The work he does-”

“Is accomplished more easily with his influence but he would still accomplish it with yours.”

“You don’t want me without a title, is that it?” The words came out harsher than he meant.

Moria grabbed his hands, held them to her heart. Her little fingers were trembling, nails digging in like little cold needles to keep him close.

“Listen to me, you don’t have to go. You don’t have to fight. Sell your commission. Stay. Take up the role that’s yours to take.”

“It’s not that simple.”

Moria was quiet for a moment. “I wish for once it could be.”

“Moria, I-”

She held up a hand, he hated the emotion in her eyes. “You listened to me. I told you my deepest, darkest secret. The darkest hours of my life. You promised yourself to me, but you kept this from me?”

“It was never my secret to tell, it’s always been Peregrine’s.”

“I trusted you, but you didn’t trust me with something that could make our lives so much different. You didn’t tell me because you didn’t want me to talk you out of going. You didn’t trust me to keep your secret.”

“It isn’t that I don’t trust you, but I can see how it would appear that I didn’t.” He shook his head to punctuate the words he said next. “I can’t lose you over this.”

Both of her hands came up to the back of his head. “You and me, we don’t need proposals or rings or formal introductions to define what we have.”

Her small fingers pressed into his nape as her ocean-colored eyes bore into his.

“You found me when I needed you, you kept finding me. You never let me push you away, and I kept holding on. I’ll keep holding on. Keep…” she gripped him tighter, like he might blow away on a breeze, blew some air out of her mouth. “Loving you,” she gritted out.

Tears marched down her cheeks like two steady soldiers.

“Because I know you’ll come back to me. You told me yourself, remember? ‘Who could let something like death keep them from a face like yours?’”

His eyes were swimming, drowning in tears, in the sight of the woman he loved, the woman who loved him, in front of him maybe for the last time. He was here, in her rooms. A place he’d have given his soul to be invited into in the past.

With a fluid motion, he reversed their positions, so that she was on her bed, and he was above her. She wrapped her legs around his middle. He kissed the inside of her arm.