She washuggingDevlin Hamilton. Her breasts pressed so tightly against his back that she could feel the ripple and flex of his muscles as he moved with the horse’s gait. Her thighs bracketed his, spread in a most scandalous manner, and the delicious scent of him was in her nose as she pressed her cheek against his riding coat. He smelled of vetiver and leather. It made heat curl low in her belly.
He'd always had this effect on her, ever since she was sixteen. All three of Daisy’s older brothers had the same dark curls and chocolate brown eyes, but it was Devlin’s wicked, taunting smile had been the one to haunt her dreams.
Livvy had done her best to hide her foolish infatuation, of course, but she’d always suspected he’d known. He’d made a point of seeking her out at every mutual function, of asking her to dance and flirting with her shamelessly. By the time she’d turned eighteen, she’d been sure the spark of attraction between them wasn’t one-sided, that he saw her as more than just hislittle sister’s friend, but he’d never once strayed beyond the bounds of propriety, however much she’d hoped he would.
And then he’d gone to war and faced the horrors of Waterloo, and when he’d come back, he’d been . . . different.
Oh, he’d still looked the same. If anything, he’d become even more handsome, more rugged, but there was a cynical darkness about him that hadn’t been there before. A dangerous, mocking edge that both fascinated and repelled her. His gaze still seemed to devour her when he saw her across the room, but he’d turn his head and look away whenever they made eye contact.
When they did come face to face, he’d be cool and barely polite, as if he was deliberately keeping his distance. And despite showering attendance on scores of other women, he hadn’t once asked her to dance, not even when Daisy tried to goad him into it.
Livvy had been first confused, then mortified. She told herself she’d misconstrued the warmth in his gaze, the heat and amusement in his face when they’d conversed before. He’d barely acknowledged her presence in the last couple of years, but that hadn’t been enough to stop her foolish heart from wanting him. The fact that he still hadn’t married kept a stubborn spark of hope burning inside her. She was a fool.
A deep sound from Dev’s chest pulled her out of her reverie and her heart gave a jolt as one of his hands covered hers, repositioning them a little higher on his stomach.
“Hands a up a bit, sweetheart.”
She frowned against his back, both at the request and his casual use of the endearment. He’d never called her ‘sweetheart’ before, and it held a mocking edge.
“I’m sorry. Was I hurting you?”
She felt his dark chuckle in the tensing of his muscles, even through his riding jacket.
“Something like that.”
She was missing the joke, she was sure, but being so close to him was playing havoc with her nerves. “If you’ll drop me off at the King’s Head, I’ll get a room and catch the stagecoach to London in the morning.”
He barely turned his head to acknowledge the question. “Do you have money to pay for the room or the coach?”
Heat rose to her cheeks as she realized her coin purse was still in the pocket of her cloak, back at the house. Hubert would probably try to make her return home, if she sent for it from the inn. Damnation.
“Not on my person,” she admitted begrudgingly. “But if you’ll lend me the money, I’ll?—”
“Forgive me if I hesitate to give coin to someone whose family history of repayment is quite so erratic. Once bitten, twice shy, as they say.”
Livvy gasped. “I can’t believe you just—” she struggled to speak, briefly at a loss for words.
“—made a joke about your father’s disgraceful behavior?” Devlin finished, amusement rich in his tone. “It’s easy. You should try it. Although it might be a bit soon, I’ll admit. The man’s barely in the ground.”
“I’ll have you know I amnothinglike my father.” Her voice shook with vehemence.
“You’re certainly prettier,” he quipped. “But you might be equally bad with money.”
She ground her teeth at his flippancy. “I am not. I have the means to pay you, Your Grace. Just not here.”
His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Maybe you do, but I’m not leaving you alone at a pub with no chaperone.”
Livvy suppressed a growl of irritation. “Fine. Then perhaps you’ll take me to Lilford Hall. I’m sure the Duchess of Wansford will give me a room for the night.”
Of the three founders of King & Co, Tess was the one Livvy knew the least – she’d had far more interactions with Dev’s sister Daisy, and Ellie, the countess of Cobham, but she knew Tess wouldn’t hesitate to help her if she explained her predicament.
“I’m not doing that either,” Devlin said. “Tess and Justin are in London for another couple of days.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because they’re coming up for my Twelfth Night party on the fifth—in three days’ time.”
Livvy bit her lip as another avenue of escape was cut off.
