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Authors: Cathy Maxwell
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way, but Charlotte stopped him.
“You did not ask me why love does not come easy, cher .”
“What reason could that be?” he asked sarcastically, smarting from his own discoveries.
She smiled, the expression sober. “Because in order to love, you must be worthy of love.”
Her words haunted him for the rest of the day, especially as he relived over and over his words with Leah. She had to love him. She must.
But in the end, what he wished or she wished didn’t matter.
Unbeknownst to them Sir Godfrey had recognized Leah. She was the Season’s Reigning Beauty and Sir Godfrey was not as oblivious to a pretty woman as Devon had suspected or as cloistered. He had seen her from afar at numerous parties. So Sir Godfrey mentioned her standing on Devon’s shoulders to several members of his club, who repeated the words. Soon the gossip spread.
Scandal always traveled fast in London. McDermott was the one who told Devon of the gossip later that very same day.
Devon hurried to repair any damage that might be done to Leah’s reputation. He made up some cock-and-bull story about not recognizing her and helping a damsel in distress. It all sounded silly, but there were enough gentlemen interested in pursuing her who were willing to forgive anything.
She had that sort of impact on men, he realized. It was a gift. Some women had it; some didn’t.
He wondered if it was love he felt, or was he, too, a victim of her spell? He planned on finding out when next he saw her at Whitney’s.
Of course, that never happened. That evening, when he returned home, he found Julian Carrollton waiting to call him out.
Part Two
Yorkshire, 1815
Chapter 4
Devon’s long legs ate up the distance to the cottage. He had to find help. Halfway there Leah’s body trembled, but not from the cold. A spasm gripped her. It took hold of her like a giant hand pulling the strings of a marionette.
The only birth Devon had ever witnessed had been that of a horse. He remembered the animal’s struggle to push a life out into the world. Leah was so petite that he couldn’t imagine her surviving such an effort.
Gallant nickered a greeting as he passed. Devon didn’t pause but shoved the cottage door open with one shoulder. Entering, he spied a bed in a room off to the side. He headed for it.
He had just started to lay her down when she whispered, “No, I can’t.” She started to make as if to rise from the bed, but he gently pushed her down.
“Leah, rest. I have to get help.”
Now panic set in. Her fingers dug into his coat. “Can’t leave. Too late. Don’t leave.”
He covered her hands with his own, trying to calm her. Her hands were no longer lotion soft but callused by work. Hard work. “Where is your husband, Leah? He will want to be here.”
“Oh, Devon.” Her voice sounded sad. She released her hold, turned her head away from him. “I have no husband.”
She said the words so softly that he almost hadn’t heard them. No husband. He nodded, concern mixing with a strange, elated relief.
“I’ll get help.” He started to leave.
Her hand gripped his. “No! Stay.”
“Leah—”
“Please—” Her protest was cut short by the next contraction. It doubled her up. Her knees bent, and she cried out in pain.
He couldn’t panic, he warned himself. Women had been having babies for centuries. It was natural, a force of nature. It was also damn scary.
And in spite of his fear, he couldn’t help but wonder who the father was.
A middle-aged woman with an ample bosom, dressed in black from head to toe, wandered in the front door. “Good heavens, why did she leave the door wide open?” Her apple cheeks flushed with indignation. “Where’s Leah? Has she no sense?”
She was talking to a young man who shared her same fair coloring. “Mother, I wish you’d leave her alone—”
His words were interrupted by his mother’s sharp cry of surprise upon seeing Devon. She raised her prayer book protectively in front of her.
Her
“You did not ask me why love does not come easy, cher .”
“What reason could that be?” he asked sarcastically, smarting from his own discoveries.
She smiled, the expression sober. “Because in order to love, you must be worthy of love.”
Her words haunted him for the rest of the day, especially as he relived over and over his words with Leah. She had to love him. She must.
But in the end, what he wished or she wished didn’t matter.
Unbeknownst to them Sir Godfrey had recognized Leah. She was the Season’s Reigning Beauty and Sir Godfrey was not as oblivious to a pretty woman as Devon had suspected or as cloistered. He had seen her from afar at numerous parties. So Sir Godfrey mentioned her standing on Devon’s shoulders to several members of his club, who repeated the words. Soon the gossip spread.
Scandal always traveled fast in London. McDermott was the one who told Devon of the gossip later that very same day.
Devon hurried to repair any damage that might be done to Leah’s reputation. He made up some cock-and-bull story about not recognizing her and helping a damsel in distress. It all sounded silly, but there were enough gentlemen interested in pursuing her who were willing to forgive anything.
She had that sort of impact on men, he realized. It was a gift. Some women had it; some didn’t.
He wondered if it was love he felt, or was he, too, a victim of her spell? He planned on finding out when next he saw her at Whitney’s.
Of course, that never happened. That evening, when he returned home, he found Julian Carrollton waiting to call him out.
Part Two
Yorkshire, 1815
Chapter 4
Devon’s long legs ate up the distance to the cottage. He had to find help. Halfway there Leah’s body trembled, but not from the cold. A spasm gripped her. It took hold of her like a giant hand pulling the strings of a marionette.
The only birth Devon had ever witnessed had been that of a horse. He remembered the animal’s struggle to push a life out into the world. Leah was so petite that he couldn’t imagine her surviving such an effort.
Gallant nickered a greeting as he passed. Devon didn’t pause but shoved the cottage door open with one shoulder. Entering, he spied a bed in a room off to the side. He headed for it.
He had just started to lay her down when she whispered, “No, I can’t.” She started to make as if to rise from the bed, but he gently pushed her down.
“Leah, rest. I have to get help.”
Now panic set in. Her fingers dug into his coat. “Can’t leave. Too late. Don’t leave.”
He covered her hands with his own, trying to calm her. Her hands were no longer lotion soft but callused by work. Hard work. “Where is your husband, Leah? He will want to be here.”
“Oh, Devon.” Her voice sounded sad. She released her hold, turned her head away from him. “I have no husband.”
She said the words so softly that he almost hadn’t heard them. No husband. He nodded, concern mixing with a strange, elated relief.
“I’ll get help.” He started to leave.
Her hand gripped his. “No! Stay.”
“Leah—”
“Please—” Her protest was cut short by the next contraction. It doubled her up. Her knees bent, and she cried out in pain.
He couldn’t panic, he warned himself. Women had been having babies for centuries. It was natural, a force of nature. It was also damn scary.
And in spite of his fear, he couldn’t help but wonder who the father was.
A middle-aged woman with an ample bosom, dressed in black from head to toe, wandered in the front door. “Good heavens, why did she leave the door wide open?” Her apple cheeks flushed with indignation. “Where’s Leah? Has she no sense?”
She was talking to a young man who shared her same fair coloring. “Mother, I wish you’d leave her alone—”
His words were interrupted by his mother’s sharp cry of surprise upon seeing Devon. She raised her prayer book protectively in front of her.
Her
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