“That is a wretched story,” Clara said.“Why should wishes be rejected?”
He looked at her, eyes dark as secrets.“Not all wishes are worthy of being granted.”
She considered that, then took the coin he offered.She closed her eyes, whispered her wish to herself, freedom, and the power to stop her own heart from betraying her, and tossed the coin into the basin.There was a brief splash, then the water stilled.
“You did not even try,” Crispin accused.
“Of course not.I have never wished for anything that would survive out in the open.”
He grinned.“That is the most honest thing I have heard all day.”
They circled the fountain together, orbiting in silence, their steps unconsciously aligned.Crispin stopped at a place where the basin bulged slightly, knelt, and examined the crumbling stone.“Did you know,” he said, tracing a faint carving with his finger, “that the Stratmore’s original gardener hid all manner of wicked things in his fountains?He believed water was the best place to keep secrets.”
Clara raised a brow.“You do seem the sort to believe in secret-keeping.”
He looked up at her, the sunlight catching the silver in his eyes.“What is life but a collection of secrets?If one told the whole truth at every moment, one would be dead, or institutionalized, within a week.”
She hesitated.“I should like to see you try it for a day.”
He stood, dusted off his knees, and offered her a crooked smile.“Careful, Lady Clara.If I told you the whole truth, you would find yourself thoroughly ruined.”
She almost laughed again, but the feeling caught in her throat.“You are impossible.”
“And yet, you remain at my side.”
She was about to retort when the fountain, which had been burbling peaceably, let out a sudden, explosive jet of water, dousing Crispin’s sleeve and sending a fine spray over Clara’s bodice.For a moment, she froze, then looked at him.Water ran off his elbow, his hair plastered to his forehead, the astonished look on his face so utterly, perfectly human that she could not help herself.She laughed.
It burst from her before she could stop it.A real, irreverent sound of delight that felt like sunlight inside her chest.It was loud and uncensored, a laugh that startled a blackbird from the hedge and echoed over the lawn.Crispin, drenched, blinked at her, then began to laugh too.A sound so unexpected, so open and free, that it stilled her laughter with the shock of recognition.
He shook his arm, droplets spraying in all directions.“Well,” he managed, “I did say the fountain was a capricious bastard.”
Clara pressed a hand to her mouth, still giggling.“You look like a child caught in the pudding dish.”
“I have never been caught,” he said, voice mock-offended.“This is a first.”
She wrung a bit of water from her sleeve, marveling at the spectacle of Crispin Hallworth, Devil of Oakford, reduced to a sodden, laughing mess.The sight did something strange to her chest.
They found a bench in the shade, a quiet pocket away from the path, and settled there without ceremony.They sat in silence, letting the sun chase away the damp and the awkwardness, a quiet truce settling between them.
Clara broke the silence first.“Is it true?What they say about you?The Devil of Oakford?”
He looked at her sidelong.The laughter gone but not the mischief.“That depends on which story you mean.”
She shrugged.“All of them, I suppose.I have heard you ruined at least three debutantes, started a duel over a bottle of port, and gambled away a whole manor house in a single night.”
He seemed amused.“The first is untrue.The second…well, the duel was over a port, but also over a woman.And the manor house was already in ruins when I wagered it, so I consider that a public service.I have no regrets.”
She shook her head.“You truly are shameless.”
He regarded her, something softer flickering in his expression.“Do you want to know how the name started?The Devil of Oakford?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
“I fear you will be disappointed.”He leaned back, arms stretched along the back of the bench.“It was a masquerade, ironically.I was ten, and my father…very stern, very correct…had invited the entire county for All Hallows Eve.I was not welcome in the ballroom, but there was a separate party for the children.I decided to come as the Devil, red paint, horns, tail and all.I terrorized the other children, of course, but the real coup was hiding in my father’s study and setting off the fireworks he kept for summer celebrations.”
She stifled a laugh.“You did not.”
He grinned.“I did.The room filled with smoke, the house nearly burned down, and for a solid quarter hour, the servants believed Hell had come to claim Oakford.Afterward, no one called me by my given name.Not even my governess.”
