Chapter 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

T he loudest silence Dev ever experienced expanded through the air until he thought it would surely burst from the tension.

The hot flush of high emotion drained from Beatrix’s face. “I’m no one’s…”

The next word— sister —died on her tongue as she stared into Jagger’s eyes?—

his opaque gray eyes…fringed with thick black lashes…

Certainty crept through Dev—the same certainty that would be creeping through Beatrix.

The infamous blackleg, Blaze Jagger, was Lydon’s by-blow—her brother from the other side of the blanket.

“Soon,” she said, her voice a reedy scratch across her throat. “Soon, I’ll have funds.”

Dev’s brow dug trenches into his forehead. “Now, wait a minute.”

Neither sibling heeded him.

“ Funds? ” Jagger looked plainly skeptical.

She swallowed. “I’ll be able to pay off a sizable portion of the debt.”

“ Beatrix. ” Dev attempted to imbue his voice with an authority he didn’t hold. “You’ll do no such thing.”

He might as well have been issuing commands to the four walls, for all the consideration she gave him.

Jagger’s attention remained wholly focused on her. “Now, dear sister Lady Beatrix, what are you thinking to do to secure that amount of blunt?” For the first time since they’d convened in the office, his gaze cut toward Dev. “Maybe marry some chap?”

“That’s none of your concern,” she said, her chin lifting. Dev was relieved to witness a return of her spirit. “I’ll have it by the end of the month. Promise me you’ll continue to hold the note until then.”

“And what would the promise of a bastard like me mean to a lady like you?” asked Jagger. No small amount of bitterness laced the question.

Beatrix held her brother’s gaze. “If you give your word, I’ll believe you.”

With those words, earnestly spoken, Jagger’s pretense, arrogance, and condescension fell away as he stared intently into his sister’s eyes. He would see the truth in there. Tightly, he nodded.

Dev knew a moment for farewell when he met it. “Jagger,” he said, firmly. He glanced down. “Beatrix?”

A beat of time ticked past as brother and sister continued to regard one another. Then she nodded and allowed Dev to lead her out of the office and The Archangel. It was a silent ride through London as she stared out the carriage window. Her mind would’ve been awhirl with all that had transpired tonight.

Dev’s certainly was.

Blaze Jagger …the bastard son of the Marquess of Lydon.

The holder of Lydon’s debt.

None of which were problems of Beatrix’s making.

All of which affected every corner of her life down to the very roof over her head.

It was only when the carriage was rolling to a stop that he realized he’d allowed the coachman to bring them to Mivart’s.

Perhaps it was for the best.

Beatrix needed to give air to what was whizzing through her mind. Otherwise, she might burst from it.

Inside his suite of rooms, he strode to the liquor cart and poured two generous brandies, placing one in Beatrix’s hand before guiding her to the sofa.

She hadn’t yet spoken.

And it was making him nervous.

He sat on one end of the sofa, and she on the other.

She stared into the viscous amber depths of the brandy.

He cleared his throat.

She continued to stare into the brandy.

Slightly frustrated, he unbuttoned his evening jacket.

Her gaze flicked up and followed the movements.

Progress, he supposed.

In the name of progress, and of making himself comfortable, he unbuttoned his waistcoat and shrugged it off along with the jacket.

Her eyes tracked every movement from beneath black lashes.

His fingers wrapped around his cravat and tugged it loose.

Her gaze lifted, at last, and met his. “What are you doing?”

“Well…”

“Are you trying to distract me?”

Was he? “I don’t think so.” Or was he? “But I can continue if you think it will succeed.”

His attempt at levity struck on deaf ears.

Actually, it was worse.

Her eyes went glassy with unshed tears.

“Beatrix,” he said. But he didn’t have any other words for her.

“I was so close.” The tears fell in twin streams down her cheeks in the same instant a sob broke from her throat. “All my dreams,” she cried, pounding a fist on her knee. “Gone… again .”

Dev never felt so ineffectual in his life. He couldn’t simply sit here and watch Beatrix weep over her dashed dreams.

Those good, solid dreams of hers.

Even if those dreams weren’t worthy of her, they were her dreams and he couldn’t bear to see her shedding tears over their loss.

“Drink your brandy,” he said, firmly—more firmly than he had a right to.

“I don’t…want… brandy ,” she wailed.

An object on the table caught his attention. Of course . He had the box of chocolates open two seconds later. “Have a truffle.”

Her bottom lip trembled as her gaze lifted. Sadness, anger, frustration, and annoyance shone out at him. But the tears didn’t stop. “I don’t want chocolate.”

Again, his gaze cast about, and he grabbed the nearest moveable object—a blanket of the softest East Asian cashmere. “Are you cold?”

She huffed in bemusement. “Have you never comforted someone in distress?”

Actually… “I don’t think I have.”

“Well, you’re not great at it.” The words came on a wet hiccough.

“Tell me what I’m supposed to do.”

“You’re supposed to ask the other person what’s happened.”

“But I know what’s happened. I was there.”

She heaved a trembly sigh. “I suppose you were.” She shook her head, utter disbelief in the movement. “What a family I have.”

Dev judged it best to hold his tongue.

“But I was so close this time.”

“None of it has to affect you.” It had to be said.

“ That ,” she said, “is not true. If I ignore it, say, and buy a modest house in a less fashionable part of London with my money from you, I’ll have to sit by while my scandalous half-brother ruins my father for the entertainment of all London. In which case, I won’t be left with a good name, and what self-respecting, decent man would have me then?”

Dev wished she wouldn’t speak of herself thusly—as if she were chattel. It diminished all she was.

“Or,” she continued, “I buy some time.”

“With the money from our arrangement?”

She gave a tight nod. “Of course, it won’t be enough.”

“Beatrix—” She needed to hear this. “It will never be enough. Lydon won’t change his ways.”

She threw frustrated hands into the air. “What choice do I have?” She appeared to be working herself into another bout of tears. “I’ll be penniless, but I’ll have my name. Nothing new in that.” Misery edged her voice. “Destined for spinsterhood either way.”

Dev was tired of this. “Has it never occurred to you that a man would want you as… you ?”

Her brow gathered as if he’d begun speaking German. “One hasn’t yet.”

“Your eyes,” Dev found himself saying. “They are remarkable.”

She blinked. “My eyes are… remarkable? ”

“Arresting.”

“ Arresting? ”

“Beautiful.”

She touched light fingertips to her mouth.

He couldn’t tell if her reaction indicated distress or utter befuddlement, so he continued for some reason absolutely due to a fleeting madness. “And your figure is lissome.”

“ Lissome? ”

“Comely.”

“ Comely? ”

“Desirable.”

It was as if all the air had vacated the room.

Dev wasn’t pleased with himself. These qualities of Beatrix’s… They were the superficial.

“Your spirit…” Oh, he was entering some uncharted territory here… “Your spirit is fierce and bold.” And yet he kept speaking… “And your intelligence is without equal.” And on, he went… “And when you give over to an endeavor, it’s with focus and passion.”

“ Passion? ”

Dev nodded—and swallowed.

He might be in trouble.

Her pupils flared.

Her breath had become quick and shallow.

He was noticing the flare of her pupils and the quickness of her breath.

He was definitely in trouble.

Her gaze remained steady on him. “Are you telling me all this as my friend?”

No , Dev didn’t— couldn’t —say.

So, he nodded.

The safer option.

“Here’s the thing.” Her voice had become throaty and slightly breathless, and she’d shifted position on the sofa—closing the distance between them by half, in fact.

Dev remained very, very still.

“Yes?” he uttered. He couldn’t understand why his heart thundered in his chest like a stampede of racehorses.

“I don’t think I want to be your friend.”

It was incredibly dramatic how it felt as if his stomach had dropped entirely out of his body. “You don’t?”

She halved the distance between them again.

Again, he remained stone still.

“I don’t think I can be only your friend.”

Before his heart could perform more dramatics in his chest, his ear caught upon a word.

Only.

That only implied… more .

“What would you like to be?”

Now who had gone breathless?

“I don’t want to define it.”

There was much she was saying below the surface of those words, and he would give it air… “Would you like to be my something more?”

It was only they two in the wide world now.

“Yes.”