Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels #1)(42)

Hesitantly Kathleen reached out to fasten one of his loose cuffs. The backs of her knuckles brushed the skin on the inside of his wrist, where the skin was blood-heated and smooth. Acutely aware of the measured sound of his breathing, she fastened the other cuff. Reaching up to the sides of his open shirt collar, she drew them together and proceeded to fasten them with a small gold stud that had been left dangling in the buttonhole. As she slid her fingers beneath the front of the collar, she could feel the ripple of his swallow.

“Thank you,” Devon said. There was a slight rasp in his voice, as if his throat had gone dry.

As he turned to leave, Kathleen said, “Please take care not to be seen when you leave the room.”

Devon paused at the door and glanced back at her. The familiar taunting gleam appeared in his eyes. “Have no fear. I’m accomplished at making a discreet exit from a lady’s bedroom.” He grinned at her scowl, looked out into the hallway, and slipped from the room.

Chapter 12

Devon’s smile vanished as soon as he left the master bedroom. With no destination in mind, he wandered along the hallway until he reached a connecting space with an inset window niche. It led to a cramped circular stair that spiraled upward to servants’ rooms and garrets. The ceiling was so low that he was obliged to duck his head to pass through. A house as old as Eversby Priory had undergone multiple expansions over the decades, the additions creating odd and unexpected nooks. He found the effect less charming than other people might have; eccentricity was not something he valued in architecture.

Lowering to sit on a narrow step, Devon braced his forearms on his knees and bent his head. He let out a shaking breath. It had been the most exquisite torment he had ever suffered, standing there with Kathleen pressed against him. She had trembled like a newborn foal straining to stand. He’d never wanted anything in his life as much as he’d wanted to turn her to face him, and take her mouth with long, searching kisses until she melted against him.

Groaning faintly, he rubbed the inside of one of his wrists, where a glow of heat lingered as if he’d been branded by her touch.

What had his valet started to say about Kathleen? Why had she refused to sleep in the master bedroom after Theo’s death? The memory of her last argument with her husband must have something to do with it… but could it be something more? Perhaps the wedding night had been unpleasant for her. Privileged young women were often kept in ignorance about such matters until they were married.

Devon certainly didn’t care to speculate on his cousin’s prowess in the bedroom… but even Theo would have known to treat a virgin with care and patience… wouldn’t he? Even Theo would have known enough to soothe and seduce a nervous bride, and ease her fears before taking his own pleasure.

The thought of the two of them together… Theo’s hands on Kathleen… It sent an unfamiliar poisonous feeling through him. Holy hell, was it… jealousy?

He’d never been jealous over a woman.

Cursing beneath his breath, Devon stood and raked his hands through his damp hair. Brooding over the past wouldn’t change the fact that Kathleen had belonged to Theo first.

But she would belong to Devon last.

Gathering his wits, he walked through Eversby Priory, investigating the changes that had taken place since his last visit. Activity was rampant in the house, with many rooms in various stages of disrepair and construction. So far, repairs on the estate had required a small fortune, and it would take ten times that before all was said and done.

He ended up in the study, where ledgers and bundled papers had been piled high on the desk. Recognizing his brother’s precise, compact handwriting, he picked up a report of what West had learned about the estate so far.

It took two hours to read the report, which was more thorough than Devon would have ever expected – and it didn’t appear to be finished by half. Apparently West was visiting every tenant farm on the estate, making detailed notes about each family’s problems and concerns, the conditions of their property, their knowledge and views of farming techniques.

Sensing a movement, Devon turned in his chair and saw Kathleen in the doorway.

She was dressed in widow’s weeds again, her hair pinned in a braided coil, her wrists encircled with demure white cuffs. Her cheeks were very pink.

Devon could have devoured her in one bite. Instead, he gave her a neutral glance as he rose to his feet. “Skirts,” he said in a tone of mild surprise, as if it were a novelty to see her in a dress. “Where are you going?”

“To the library for a lesson with the girls. But I noticed that you were in here, and I wondered if you’d read Mr. Ravenel’s report.”

“I have. I’m impressed by his dedication. Also rather astonished, since West advised me to sell the estate, lock, stock, and barrel, just before he left London.”

Kathleen smiled and studied him with those tip-tilted eyes. He could see tiny rays in the light brown irises, like gold threads. “I’m very glad you didn’t,” she said softly. “I think perhaps he might be too.”

All the heat from their earlier encounter came rushing back so fast that it hurt, his flesh rising with a swift ache beneath the layers of his clothes. Devon was profoundly grateful for the concealment of his suit coat.

Kathleen reached for a wood-cased pencil on the desk. The graphite lead had worn down to a dull stub. “Sometimes I wonder…” Picking up a pair of scissors, she began to sharpen the pencil with one blade, scraping off thin layers of wood.