Page 19 of The Devil’s Bargain (The Lovers’ Arch: Later in Life #2)

19

The Devil’s Heart

D evlin paused in the doorway of Caroline’s study, struck by the sight of her bent over her drafting table. A single lamp cast her in golden light as she worked, copper highlights gleaming in her loosened hair. Her usual rigid posture had softened with exhaustion, and something in her vulnerability made his chest tighten.

“It’s well past midnight,” he said softly.

She startled, her hand flying to her throat. “Devlin! I didn’t hear you.”

He moved closer, noting the dark circles beneath her eyes, the ink stains on her fingers. Technical drawings covered every surface—her latest modifications to the filtration system.

“When did you last eat?”

“I...” She frowned.

He set a covered tray on the corner of her desk. “The kitchen staff mentioned you missed dinner.”

“You had them prepare food for me?” Something flickered in her eyes. Surprise, confusion at this show of consideration from the man she still thought of as her adversary.

“Someone has to ensure you don’t work yourself to death.” He uncovered the tray, revealing bread, cheese, and fruit. “Though I suppose that would be one way to end our marriage.”

Her laugh was startled but genuine. “Hardly an efficient method.”

“No?” He perched on the edge of her desk, closer than propriety allowed. “I’ve found you’re rarely inefficient about anything.”

She picked up a grape, studying it rather than meeting his eyes. “Why are you being kind to me?”

“Perhaps I prefer my opponents at full strength.” But his tone was gentle as he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. She went very still at his touch. “Or perhaps I simply don’t enjoy seeing you exhaust yourself.”

“I’m not your responsibility.”

“No.” His fingers lingered at her temple. “But you are my wife.”

She finally looked up at him, and something passed between them, something that had nothing to do with their constant power struggles and everything to do with the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “For the food.”

He nodded, withdrawing his hand though it ached to touch her again. “Try to get some rest.”

At the door, he paused. He wanted to tell her he missed having her in his arms, but he said nothing. Instead, he left her to return to her drawing.

It’d been two and a half weeks since Devlin slept in her bed. She noticed the pattern shortly after their last night together. Just before midnight, Devlin would pause outside her door on his way to slip into the small study at the end of the hall. She’d hear the door click shut, then silence until the early hours when his footsteps would finally retreat to his chambers.

One night, curiosity got the better of her, and Caroline found Devlin in his private study well past midnight, his head bent over ledgers in the lamplight. The small study was nothing like his grand office downstairs. No impressive desk or leather chairs. Just a simple writing table, its surface covered in maps of London’s poorest districts. Red marks dotted the areas with the worst water quality.

“You should be in bed,” he said without looking up.

“So should you.” She moved into the room, drawn by this unfamiliar version of him—coat discarded, cravat loosened, defences lowered. “What’s this?” She picked up a document covered in calculations. Her eyes widened as she read.

“These are plans for bringing clean water to St. Giles. But the cost is considerable.” He moved behind her, hands settling on her shoulders. “Though perhaps with your expertise, we could make it more efficient.”

She turned to face him. “You’re serious about this?”

“I am,” he said simply.

Something shifted in her chest as she studied him. “Why haven’t you implemented these plans?”

“The board would never approve such an unprofitable venture.” His thumb traced her collarbone. “And I admit, I’ve been rather distracted lately by a brilliant engineer who keeps challenging my every move.”

“I’m beginning to believe there’s more to you than you let anyone see.”

“Careful.” His smile held a hint of self-mockery. “You’ll ruin my reputation.”

“Heaven forbid.” She reached for one of his papers, their fingers brushing. Neither pulled away. “Your flow rate calculations are wrong, by the way.”

“Are they?”

“Mm.” She picked up his pen, leaning over to correct the figures. “You’ve forgotten to account for pressure loss in the smaller pipes.”

He moved behind her chair, one hand bracing on the desk as he studied her corrections. His warmth surrounded her, his breath stirring her hair. “Show me.”

She explained the mathematics, hyperaware of how his other hand had come to rest on her shoulder, thumb absently stroking her nape. The touch was soothing.

“You’re brilliant,” he murmured, voice rough with admiration. “Do you know that?”

“That’s the only reason you married me,” she teased, but her voice shook slightly.

“No.” He turned her chair to face him, his expression serious. “I wanted all of you. Your mind, your fire, your impossible stubbornness.” His hand cupped her cheek. “Even your complete inability to admit when I’m right about something.”

“Which happens so rarely,” she whispered but leaned into his touch.

“There you go again.” But his smile was tender as he traced her bottom lip with his thumb. “My contrary, brilliant wife.”

She caught his hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. The tenderness surprised them both. “These plans... they’ll help so many people.”

“They’re not finished yet.” His fingers tangled with hers. “Help me? Not as my wife or business partner. But as someone who understands what it means to want to make things better.”

Caroline studied their joined hands, thinking of all the walls still between them, walls she’d helped build. But here in the quiet night, those walls seemed less important than the man before her, asking not for her submission but her partnership.

“Yes,” she said softly. “Though I reserve the right to correct all your errors.”

His laugh rumbled through his chest. “I would expect nothing less.”

“Devlin, may I ask you something?” Caroline’s fingers fidgeted with her sleeve as she gathered her courage.

He turned to face her fully, his eyes softening at her nervous gesture. “Of course.”

“Why have you been retiring to your chamber?” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the question seemed to fill the room.

“I didn’t wish to disturb your rest.” His expression held a mix of tenderness and uncertainty as he explained. “I’ve noticed that you looked more rested without me in your bed.”

“I see.” She took a hesitant step closer. “I thought perhaps you were still angry about Findlay.”

“I am vexed,” he admitted, running a hand through his chocolate brown hair in frustration, “but it’s no fault of your own. I didn’t realise what a jealous scoundrel I could be.”

“Is this out of your character?” Her lips curved in a small smile.

“I’d say so. I’ve not had a wife before.” His answering smile held an endearing touch of shyness, so different from his usual confident demeanour. “Tell me, Caroline. Would you like my company?”

The vulnerability in his voice made her chest clench. She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I would.”

Caroline’s heart fluttered as Devlin led her into their chamber, his hand warm and steady around hers. The familiar scent of his soap lingered in the air, mixing with the gentle glow of the bedside lamp. She watched his face in the mirror as he helped with her dress buttons, noting how his usual mask of confidence had softened into something more vulnerable, more real.

His fingers moved with deliberate care, occasionally brushing against her skin in a way that made her breath hitch. How strange, she thought, that these same hands that had once represented her captivity now felt like freedom.

“I’ve missed this,” she confessed softly as he drew back the covers. The words felt dangerous, like admitting too much, but she couldn’t stop them.

The warmth of his body enveloped her as his arms circled her waist from behind. “I’ve missed everything about you,” he murmured against her neck, his breath stirring loose strands of her hair. “Your scent, the sound of your breathing, even the way you steal all the blankets in your sleep.”

She turned in his embrace, pressing her palm against his chest where she could feel his heart beating as rapidly as her own. “I do not steal blankets,” she protested, though her voice held no real indignation.

“You absolutely do.” The tenderness in his smile made her chest ache as he guided her into bed.

They settled beneath the covers, and Caroline found herself instinctively curling into his warmth, her head finding its place against his shoulder as if it had always belonged there. His arm curved around her, strong and protective. She marvelled at how different it felt now—not an obligation or a compromise, but a choice.

“Devlin?” She hardly recognised her own voice, so soft and uncertain.

“Hmm?” His fingers traced patterns on her shoulder that made her skin tingle.

“Thank you for giving me space when I needed it.” She swallowed hard before adding, “But please don’t do it again.”

His arms tightened around her, and she felt rather than heard his relieved exhale. “Never,” he promised, his lips pressing against her temple. “You’re rather stuck with me now, wife.”

Caroline smiled against his chest, letting herself be lulled by the steady rhythm of his heart. Just before sleep claimed her, she felt him whisper something. Though she couldn’t make out the words, the tender affection in his voice wrapped around her like a blanket, making her feel utterly, completely safe.

For the first time in weeks, she slept without dreams of escape or schemes of independence. Instead, she drifted off secure in the knowledge that she was exactly where she wanted to be—in the arms of a man who saw her, respected her, and despite everything, had become essential to her happiness.