Harry reached into the inside pocket of his coat and handed him a scrap of paper. “Here you go. I cut it out for you.”
Dev frowned as he read.
Dear Reader,
It’s been several years since D—H—returned from heroically defending his country against Bonaparte, and he’sbeen dashing the hopes of matchmaking mammas ever since. Now the D—of D—, this aristocratic bachelor seems determined to defend his HEART from the ravages of LOVE with the same fervor.
Blessed with a face and form that could make a Mother Superior regret her vows, an enviable fortune, and no shortage of wit, London’s eligible ladies have all vied for his affections, to no avail.
When one considers the disastrous example of his parents’ union, perhaps his reluctance to wed is no surprise. (His mother, after dutifully providing three male heirs and a daughter, ran off to Italy with her lover.)
But perhaps her example should be seen less as a cautionary tale against marrying for duty, and more as a reminder to follow one’s heart?
Let us hope, Dear Reader, that our handsome bachelor has a heart to give. . .
Yours, as ever,
The Brazen Belle.
“Cheeky wench,” Devlin grumbled, tossing the paper aside. “I have a heart. I just also have a bloody good reason for not getting married.”
Lucien sent him a commiserating look. “You’re still having . . . episodes?”
Dev nodded. “There’s been some improvement. I’m not as affected by sudden noises as I used to be, like when someone drops a glass, but it’s still too unpredictable. I’ve been testing myself with different triggers, but I still react to bigger things like fireworks, and thunderstorms.”
Harry scrunched up his face in an expression of pity. “You’re not alone. I’ve met several other veterans at the Traveler’s Restwho suffer from the same kind of thing. One poor chap flinches every time he hears a dog bark.”
“Do you remember the first time it happened, Justin?” Dev asked. “It was at your house, the night of the celebration fireworks, and I thought you were a Frenchman, about to bayonet me.”
“I remember,” Justin said. “I had to knock you out to stop you from fighting.” He flexed his fist in memory. “I think I broke my little finger on your jaw.”
“Clearly not an ideal solution.” Dev raked his fingers through his hair. “It’s so stupid. Logically I know I’m not in the heat of a battle, but my body doesn’t seem to understand. One minute I’m here, the next I’m back at Waterloo. Every crack of thunder becomes a cannonball landing too close, or a rifle shot, and I can smell the smoke, hear the screams in my head. Everything gets jumbled.”
He shook his head. “If I’m alone, and there’s a thunderstorm, I lock myself in my room and tell the servants not to bother me, even if they hear me shout.” He gave a wry shrug. “I’ve become an expert at predicting the weather.”
“And when you can’t lock yourself away?” Harry asked.
“Then I take Lucien’s suggestion and distract myself with something guaranteed to hold my attention.”
“Boxing?” Harry asked. “Drinking?”
“Fucking,” Lucien provided succinctly. “I told him to go find his mistress, if he had one, or visit a professional, and direct all that pent-up energy into passion of a different kind.”
“It works,” Dev admitted. “If I concentrate. I can lose myself so thoroughly that the roof could fall in and I wouldn’t notice.”
“That’s good then, isn’t it?” Justin frowned. “You’ve found a way to deal with it.”
“Yes, but it’s hardly compatible with marriage, is it?” Devlin sighed. “The widows and courtesans I visit are experiencedenough to deal with the . . .intensityof it. Hell, they seem toenjoyit. But how could I subject an innocent girl from theTonto something like that? What if scared her, or I hurt her without meaning to? And if I kept going to professionals after I wed, I’d be breaking my vows of fidelity.”
“You wouldn’t be the first man to be unfaithful to his wife,” Lucien said cynically. “Half theTon’sat it.”
“If you’d only be marrying to provide the dukedom with an heir, then I don’t see why it matters,” Justin said, equally pragmatic. “That’s what marriages of convenience are all about. Provided you set expectations up front, the lady would have nothing to complain about. I can think of a dozen women who’d jump at the chance to be a duchess, even knowing they’d have to turn a blind eye to your ‘indiscretions’.”
“I wouldn’t be marrying for heirs.” Dev said truthfully. “I don’t care about that. Dom or Damien can inherit the title after me, if it comes to it.”
“You don’t need to marry for money, either,” Harry pointed out. “No heiress required to restore your leaky roof or fill your empty coffers.” He sent Devlin a shrewd, assessing look. “Which means the onlyotherreason to marry would be because you’re head over heels in love.”
“It happened to the three of us,” Lucien shrugged, shooting a wry glance at Harry and Justin. “So miraclescanhappen.”
