Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels #1)(48)

“Although,” West continued, “she is a little beauty, isn’t she? One could find all kinds of entertaining uses for that sweet mouth. I wouldn’t mind catching her in a dark corner and having some fun. She might resist at first, but soon I’d have her writhing like a cat —”

Devon lunged at him in a blur of motion, seizing West by the lapels. “Touch her and I’ll kill you,” he snarled.

West stared at him in appalled disbelief. “I knew it. Sweet Mother of God! You want her.”

Devon’s visceral fury appeared to fade a few degrees as he realized he had just been outmaneuvered. He released West abruptly.

“You took Theo’s title and his home,” West continued in appalled disbelief, “and now you want his wife.”

“His widow,” Devon muttered.

“Have you seduced her?”

“Not yet.”

West clapped his hand to his forehead. “Christ. Don’t you think she’s suffered enough? Oh, go on and glare. Snap me in pieces like that blasted pencil. It will only confirm that you’re no better than Theo.” Reading the outrage in his brother’s expression, he said, “Your relationships typically last no longer than the contents of the meat larder. You have a devil of a temper, and if the way you just handled her is an example of how you’ll deal with disagreements —”

“That’s enough,” Devon said with dangerous softness.

Rubbing his forehead, West sighed and continued wearily. “Devon, you and I have always overlooked each other’s faults, but that doesn’t mean we’re oblivious to them. This is nothing but blind, stupid lust. Have the decency to leave her alone. Kathleen is a sensitive and compassionate woman who deserves to be loved… and if you have any capacity for that, I’ve never witnessed it. I’ve seen what happens to women who care about you. Nothing cools your lust faster than affection.”

Devon gave him a cold stare. “Are you going to say anything to her?”

“No, I’ll hold my tongue and hope that you’ll come to your senses.”

“There’s no need to worry,” Devon said darkly. “At this point I’ve made her so ill-disposed toward me that it would be a miracle if I ever manage to lure her to my bed.”

After considering the idea of missing dinner for the second night in a row, Kathleen decided in a spirit of defiance to join the family in the dining room. It was Devon’s last evening at Eversby Priory, and she could force herself to endure an hour and a half of sitting at the same table with him. Devon insisted on seating her, his face inscrutable, and she thanked him with a few clipped words. But even with that civilized distance between them, she was in an agony of nerves and anger… most of it directed at herself.

Those kisses… the impossible, terrible pleasure of them… how could he have done that to her? How could she have responded so wantonly? The fault was more hers than Devon’s. He was a London rake; of course he would make advances to her, or to any woman in his proximity. She should have resisted, slapped him, but instead she had stood there and let him… let him…

She couldn’t find the right words for what he had done. He had shown her a side of herself that she had never known existed. She had been raised to believe that lust was a sin, and she had self-righteously considered herself to be above carnal desire… until Devon had proven otherwise. Oh, the shocking heat of his tongue against hers, and the shivery weakness that had made her want to sink to the floor and have him cover her… She could have wept for shame.

Instead, she could only sit there suffocating while the conversation flowed around her. It was a pity she couldn’t enjoy the meal, a succulent partridge pie served with fried oyster patties and a crisp salted salad of celery, radishes, and cucumber. As she forced herself to take a few bites, every mouthful seemed to stick in her throat.

As talk turned to the subject of the approaching holiday, Cassandra asked Devon if he planned to come to Eversby Priory for Christmas.

“Would that please you?” Devon asked.

“Oh, yes!”

“Will you bring presents?” Pandora asked.

“Pandora,” Kathleen chided.

Devon grinned. “What would you like?” he asked the twins.

“Anything from Winterborne’s,” Pandora exclaimed.

“I want people for Christmas,” Cassandra said wistfully. “Pandora, do you remember the Christmas balls that Mama gave when we were little? All the ladies in their finery, and the gentlemen in formal attire… the music and dancing…”

“And the feasting…” Pandora added. “Puddings, cakes, mince pies…”

“Next year we’ll make merry again,” Helen said gently, smiling at the pair of them. She turned to West. “How do you usually celebrate Christmas, cousin?”

He hesitated before replying, seeming to ponder whether to answer truthfully. Honesty won out. “On Christmas Day I visit friends in a parasitical fashion, going from house to house and drinking until I finally fall unconscious in someone’s parlor. Then someone pours me into a carriage and sends me home, and my servants put me to bed.”

“That doesn’t sound very merry,” Cassandra said.

“Beginning this year,” Devon said, “I intend for us all to do the holiday justice. In fact, I’ve invited a friend to share Christmas with us at Eversby Priory.”