Goddess, sylph, dryad… nothing he could imagine could accurately describe what he was seeing. But there was one word that he wanted to say when it came to her.
Mine.
He didn’t trust himself to try to speak any more, as his throat still ached with the work it had taken to say a single syllable. So, he just watched, which is something he could do all day when it came to her. She was beauty personified, exquisite.
And he still didn’t know her name.
When her soft green eyes returned to him, he felt as though he’d been granted a second chance at life. Nothing else mattered but her gaze. As long as she was here, he was a new man, born again without the destruction of his past to haunt his every step, reminding him of all that he’d done wrong.
She tentatively walked over to the bedside. Standing there, with her golden hair falling over her shoulders, with just the slightest hint of strawberry woven through the strands, he was looking at perfection itself. “My name is Mrs. Constance Hartford.” Her lips twitched and if he hadn’t been a broken man with a hole in his chest, he would have leapt from the bed and taken her into his arms right then. “I thought it was time I introduced myself, Mr. Blackmore.”
Devin! He wanted to shout it out, to hear his name cross her lips where he could actually enjoy the feeling of it ringing in his ears, instead of relying on a hazy state of memory when he didn’t even know if he was alive or dead.
“You might be wondering where you are,” she began, but he wanted to shake his head and tell her that the only thing he cared about was her. Nothing else mattered ever again. “I prevailed upon your friend, Mr. House, to bring you somewhere a bit more… comfortable, so I let a house in Marylebone.” She held up a hand. “And I wouldn’t worry that Granelli and his gang of miscreants will cause either of you any trouble here. Count d’Orsay has ordered personal protection for the entire household.”
Devin did nothing. He just continued to stare at her, absorbing everything about her. From the slight lift of her eyebrow to the smooth skin of her face, and even the way the pulse beat at her neck—he intended to memorize it all. And when he was recovered, explore every single part. There was not one inch of her that would not know his touch, or his tongue.
When her hands suddenly fluttered at her sides, he wondered if she could see what he was thinking, the torrid thoughts that he should do his best to withhold, and yet, he didn’t want to. He yearned for her to know everything.
“I’ll leave ye alone t’ chat a while.”
Luke took his leave and Devin admitted that he’d never known his friend to be so respectful of anyone but him. This woman—Constance—must have made a decided impression on him for her to gain so much consideration.
Once the door was shut and they were alone together, she walked forward and sat down in a chair by the bed. He watched her, waiting for her to speak. But she could sit there all night and not have to utter a single word and he would be content.
“We’ve certainly had an odd acquaintance thus far, haven’t we?” She laughed lightly and even though he was weak and his chest hurt like the devil, his cock stirred with interest. The damned thing certainly had a mind of its own. “One minute you’re trying to coerce me into being your particular… friend, and the next, I’m dragging you out of a filthy boarding house praying that you’ll live through the night. I suppose that’s what you would call irony?”
He didn’t reply but gave a light snort in agreement. For two people who barely knew each other, they had definitely gone off on an oddly strange path. However, if he was confined to a bed, he would have liked for her to be there with him, and preferably under him, or on top, he wasn’t particular.
“Needless to say,” she continued. “I thought these surroundings would be more agreeable. I’ve invited Luke to stay here as well, as he told me what Granelli threatened. But, as I said, we have ample protection from Count d’Orsay, so you can continue to recover in peace.”
Devin frowned lightly, wondering if she had some sort of understanding with the man.
“I daresay I’m curious about that expression,” she murmured. “This would undoubtedly be easier if you could try to speak. Or perhaps…” She stood and walked over to a nearby desk and held up a sheet of paper and a quill. “Are you able to write?”
His lips quirked, because he knew what she was really asking – can you write?
Thankfully, his father had made sure that he learned his letters and how to read long ago, so he nodded his head.
With a decided smile on her face, she returned with the items, along with a pot of ink and a small, wooden writing desk that she lightly placed on his lap.
It wasn’t until he picked up the quill and dipped it in the black ink that she said, “You’re left-handed?”
He glanced at her, as the way she said it sounded almost anxious. He was just thankful that the feeling had returned to the previously useless limb. He scribbled on the paper. I’m afraid it’s too late to change me.
She laughed at his statement and explained, “I apologize. It’s just that I’ve always heard that the devil was left-handed, and I don’t know if you are aware, but in Latin the word for left means sinister.”
He wrote another line and turned it where she could see it. Then I suppose you should beware.
All teasing was suddenly gone from her expression. “I might be, if I hadn’t already danced with the devil myself on occasion.”
Constance turned away from Devin.
Correction, Mr. Blackmore. She had to quit referring to him in such an intimate manner, as all of the promises that she’d made herself would be for naught if she allowed his dark, handsome looks to overrule her common sense. When he’d cautioned her to beware, he might have meant it in jest, but the truth was, she couldn’t allow herself to embark on anything more than a mild flirtation. As soon as he was able to move about and get along well enough to defend himself, she would give up the lease on this place and return to Lady Blessington’s. The countess had already said that the door was open anytime should she ever wish to come back, but that wouldn’t be until she could send Mr. Blackmore on his way with a clear conscience.
Although she was thankful that Mr. Blackmore would survive, there was no place in her life for another liaison. She had safeguarded her heart from being broken all of these years, but she had the feeling it could easily be torn apart by this man. Already, he had some sort of invisible hold over her, because why else did she have the desire to see that he lived at all costs? With the generous stipend that she’d received from Alessandro, she didn’t have any concern for the future. Leasing a townhouse in London wasn’t particularly what she would call wise, but she told herself it was merely temporary, that in a couple months, at most, she would be parting ways with her guests.
She blinked as the pen was tapped against the wooden desk. She looked back at Mr. Blackmore to see that he was watching her curiously. What’s wrong?
