Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels #1)(65)

His brows lifted fractionally. “Do you think that’s possible?”

“Yes, why not?”

“Certain appetites, once awakened, are difficult to ignore.”

“It doesn’t matter; I’m a widow. I can’t do this again.”

Devon caught one of her ankles and tugged her toward him despite the pain it must have caused him. “Stop it,” she whispered sharply, trying to pull down the hem of her nightgown as it rode higher on her hips. “You’ll hurt yourself —”

“Look at me.”

He had taken her shoulders in his hands. Reluctantly Kathleen brought herself to look into his eyes.

“I know that you regret Theo’s death,” Devon said quietly. “I know that you married him with the best of intentions, and you’ve tried to mourn him sincerely. But Kathleen, love… You’re no more his widow than you ever were his wife.”

The words were like a slap in the face. Shocked and offended, she scrambled from the bed and snatched up her shawl. “I should never have confided in you,” she exclaimed.

“I’m only pointing out that – at least in private – you’re not bound by the same obligations as a true widow.”

“I am a true widow!”

Devon looked sardonic. “You barely knew Theo.”

“I loved him,” she insisted.

“Oh? What did you love most about him?”

Angrily Kathleen parted her lips to reply… but not a single word emerged. She pressed the flat of her hand to her stomach as a sickening realization occurred to her. Now that her guilt over Theo’s death had been at least partially assuaged, she couldn’t identify any particular feeling for him except the distant pity she would have had for a complete stranger who had met such a fate.

Despite that, she had taken her place as Theo’s widow, living in his house, befriending his sisters, enjoying all the benefits of being Lady Trenear. Theo had known that she was a sham. He had known that she didn’t love him, even when she herself hadn’t known it. That was why his last words had been an accusation.

Furious and ashamed, Kathleen turned and went to the door. She flung it open without pausing to consider the need for discretion, and ran across the threshold. The breath was nearly knocked from her as she collided with a sturdy form.

“What the —” she heard West say, while he reached out to steady her. “What is it? Can I help?”

“Yes,” she snapped, “you can throw your brother back into that river.” She strode away before he could respond.

West wandered into the master bedroom. “Back to your usual charming self, I see.”

Devon grinned and let out a ragged breath, willing the raging heat of the past several minutes to retreat. Having Kathleen there, in his bed, had been the most exquisite torture imaginable. His body was a mass of aches, stabs, and cravings.

He’d never felt better in his life.

“Why was she angry?” West asked. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.” Picking up the bedside chair with one hand, he turned it around. “You owe me a pair of shoes.” He sat astride the chair and braced his arms on the back of it.

“I owe you more than that.” A few months ago, Devon reflected, it was doubtful that West would have had the physical strength, let alone the presence of mind, to haul him out of the river. “Thank you,” he said simply, holding his brother’s gaze.

“It was wholly self-serving, I assure you. I have no desire to be the Earl of Trenear.”

Devon gave a short laugh. “Nor do I.”

“Oh? Lately the role seems a better fit for you than I would have expected.” West glanced over him speculatively. “How are your ribs?”

“Cracked but not broken.”

“You’ve fared much better than Winterborne.”

“He was seated next to the window.” Remembering the moment when the trains had collided, Devon grimaced. “How is he?”

“Sleeping. Weeks wants to keep him sedated to help with the pain and improve his chances of healing properly. He also advised sending for an oculist from London.”

“Will Winterborne regain his sight?”

“The doctor thinks so, but there’s no way of knowing for certain until he’s tested.”

“And the leg?”

“The break was clean – it will heal well. However, Winterborne will be staying with us for quite a bit longer than we’d planned. At least a month.”

“Good. That will give him more time to become acquainted with Helen.”

West’s face went blank. “You’re back to that idea again? Arranging a match between them? What if Winterborne turns out to be lame and blind?”

“He’ll still be rich.”

Looking sardonic, West said, “Evidently a brush with death hasn’t changed your priorities.”

“Why should it? The marriage would benefit everyone.”

“How exactly would you stand to benefit?”

“I’ll stipulate that Winterborne settle a large dower on Helen, and name me as the trustee of her finances.”

“And then you’ll use the money as you see fit?” West asked incredulously. “Sweet Mother of God, how can you risk your life to save drowning children one day, and plot something so ruthless the next day?”