Page 10 of Miss Devon’s Choice

“You had better go around back to the stables,” he told his valet. “Take Ajax.” He whistled and gave the dog a command in Italian. Ajax raised his head and Christian spoke to Dowding. “He’ll go with you.”

“I will return to wait on you, my lord,” Dowding promised, his teeth chattering.

“Make it quick, then,” Christian said. “I have a feeling we might be in time for dinner.”

He dismounted at the door and handed the horse’s lead to Dowding, who took it and went in the direction of the stables.

Christian turned and faced the set of double doors, knowing his bride-to-be was behind them. Not for the first time that day, Christian stamped down on his fears. What if she hated him on sight? What if he disgusted her? Worse, what if she was the same as all the English ladies his grandfather had attempted to match him with four seasons ago? Snobbish, fixated on their own importance, and lacking any show of intelligence? Then he would be the one disgusted.

It shouldn’t matter what she thought. This wasn’t a marriage built on anything other than what his grandfather had contracted it to be.

His best course of action, Christian had determined that very morning, was to remain as stoic and calm as he could, outwardly. The more he kept to himself, the safer he would be. Give no one a thing to comment upon, to whisper about. He must keep above the frivolous behavior of the ton. Protect himself from the fate his mother had experienced at their hands.

His armor in place once more, Christian knocked on the door at last.

It swung open sooner than he expected, a liveried footman ready to greet him. The butler was doubtless overseeing preparations for the evening meal.

“Lord Easton,” Christian said, his voice low so it wouldn’t carry through the large entryway.

“Of course, my lord. Welcome.” The footman’s wide eyes took in Christian’s dripping appearance before he stepped back. He looked around the door, where Christian knew he would not see a carriage, horse, or servants.

Christian started to explain. “My coach is damaged five miles down the road. My valet has taken our horses and things around to the stables. I need a carriage sent back, and men to help my servants.”

The footman was nodding. “I will inform the earl at once, my lord.”

Christian turned to take in the entry hall, his eyes going to the stairs.

A woman stood halfway between floors, her hand on the rail, her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted. She wore a gown of pale green, a forgettable garment, but Christian knew at once he would never forget her face. She was one of the loveliest women he had ever seen. Dark brown ringlets framed her oval-shaped face, her features were soft and fair, and her cheeks were turning a becoming shade of pink as he stared at her.

Her lips parted as she stared at him, a soft gasp escaping as she stared.

She had seen his scars. The shock was evident on her face; no doubt disgust would soon follow.

His already knotted stomach experienced greater hardship when his heart sank into it. He knew, without any logical way to know, that this beautiful woman on the stairs must be Rebecca Devon. His future bride.

He swallowed, going cold and numb. Why in the blazes was she standing on the stairs at the very moment he’d walked in the door, likely looking like a soaked mongrel, half-drowned and unfit for company?

He curled his hands into fists, not breaking eye contact with her. Let her stare, then. He lifted his chin, daring her to pass judgment upon him.

“Miss Devon,” the footman said from behind, jolting Christian from his thoughts and confirming his natural-born intuition of the woman’s identity. “May I present Lord Easton. His carriage has been damaged and he’s only just arrived.”

“I can see that,” she said, her voice lilting slightly, the words neither coy nor cold. “You had better see him to his room. I will inform Lord Annesbury.” Then she turned, moving too quickly to call it graceful, nearly running back up the stairs.

One look at you would send any gently bred girl running. Christian took in a deep, fortifying breath. He didn’t care. He hadn’t cared what society thought of him for years.

But Rebecca Devon isn’t society, is she?

He buried what little hope he’d held onto deeper, determined to keep it where it belonged—dead in a grave. He didn’t want her favor. He didn’t need it.

The footman bowed. “If you would follow me, my lord.” He led Christian to the stairs; as he passed the place where she had stood, gaping at him, Christian hardened his heart. He would not be hurt by Miss Devon.

*

Rebecca’s world wouldn’t fall back into place. The pieces were scattered and had been since the moment she saw Lord Easton. She barely managed to stumble up the stairs to find Lucas. She went directly to the earl and countess’s suite of rooms but didn’t immediately knock. Instead she leaned against the door, placing a hand against her cheek to feel the heat of her blush.

Every bit of sense she possessed had fled her when Lord Easton walked through the door. She’d paused on the stair when she heard the knock, half-hoping it would be him. The other guests had all arrived hours ago, and Virginia assured her that Lord Easton was meant to arrive that afternoon as well. But as she’d dressed for dinner, she told herself he might not arrive until the morrow, if he ever arrived. Perhaps he’d changed his mind and didn’t care to come and meet her after all.

She almost wished he hadn’t. Rebecca had never seen such an imposing man in her life. He had to be at least as tall as the earl, and Lucas stood six foot high. But he was shaped differently, with broader shoulders. His black clothes, soaking wet, had not hidden his build. His dark hair hung down in long waves, just past his ears. It wasn’t a common style, but she knew at once it suited him, nearly hanging into his eyes.