Suddenly You(40)

Her unblinking stare had made him uncomfortable, Amanda thought with a flicker of remorse. She had a way of doing that sometimes, staring at people as if she were stripping away layers to reach the inside. She never meant to do it—it was simply a writer’s habit.

“You won’t take coffee?” Amanda asked. “Or a glass of port?” When he shook his head, Amanda stood, and made to ring for Sukey. “I’ll have your hat and coat brought to the entrance hall, then—”

“Wait.” Devlin stood also, and came around the table to her. He wore a curious expression, both absorbed and wary, like a wild animal that was being lured to take food from the hand of a stranger it did not trust. Amanda returned his intent stare with a politely inquiring smile, trying to appear composed when her heart had begun to thump in a mad rhythm.

“Yes, Mr. Devlin?”

“You have the strangest effect on me,” he murmured. “You make me want to tell the truth—which is damned unusual, not to mention inconvenient.”

She wasn’t aware of backing away from him until she felt the brocaded wall panel press against her shoulder blades. Devlin followed her, bracing one hand near her shoulder, the other hanging loosely at his side. His pose was casual, but she felt surrounded, embraced by his nearness.

Amanda moistened her damp lips with the tip of her tongue. “What do you wish to tell me the truth about, Mr. Devlin?” she managed to ask.

The bristly fans of his lashes shrouded his expression, and he paused for a very long time, until she thought that he might not answer. Then he stared into her eyes. As they stood this close, the concentrated depths of blue were shockingly intense. “The loan,” he muttered. The velvety timbre of his voice had become spare and flat, as if it were difficult for him to force the words out. “The loan I got to start my business. It wasn’t from a bank or any other institution. It was from my father.”

“I see,” she said quietly, although they both knew that she didn’t understand at all.

The large hand against the wall compacted into a fist, the knuckles pressed hard into the brocaded surface. “I’d never met him before, but I hated him. He’s a peer, a wealthy man, and my mother was one of the housemaids. He either raped or seduced her, and when I was born, he tossed her out with a pittance. I wasn’t the first bastard he’d sired out of wedlock, and God knows I wasn’t the last. An illegitimate child has no meaning or interest for him. He has seven legal children by his wife.” Devlin’s upper lip curled with disgust. “From what I’ve seen, they’re a litter of pampered, lazy good-for-nothings.”

“You’ve met them?” Amanda asked carefully. “Your half brothers and sisters?”

“I’ve seen them, yes,” he said in a bitter voice. “But they have no desire to become acquainted with one of their father’s many bastard offspring.”

Amanda nodded, staring at his proud, hard face as he continued.

“When my mother died and no one volunteered to take me in, my father had me sent to Knatchford Heath. It was…not a good place. A boy who had been sent there could hardly be blamed for thinking that his father wished him dead. And I was well aware that it would have been no great loss to the world if I died. It was that thought that kept me alive.” He gave a short, grating laugh. “I survived on pure stubbornness. I lived purely to spite my father. I—” He broke off as he gazed into her calm face, and shook his head as if to clear it. “I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he muttered.

Amanda touched the front of his coat lightly, holding the edge between her fingers. “Go on,” she murmured. She was very still, her body alive with the electric awareness that for some reason, he was opening to her, trusting her, in a way that he did with no one. She wanted his confidences…she wanted to understand him.

Devlin stayed with her, his gaze locked on her face. “When I graduated,” he said gruffly, “I had nothing to borrow on, no name, no collateral, no family. And I knew I could never make something of myself without money to start with. So I went to my father, the man I hated most in the world, and I asked him to loan it to me, at any rate of interest he chose. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“That must have been difficult,” Amanda whispered.

“The moment I saw him, I felt like I had been dipped in a vat of poison. I suppose until then I had a vague idea that he owed me something. But I knew from the way he looked at me, that I was not a son to him, or anything close to it. I was only a mistake.”

A mistake. Amanda recalled that Oscar Fretwell had used the same word to describe himself and the other boys who had attended the school. “You were his son,” she said. “He did owe you something.”

Devlin seemed not to hear her. “The ironic thing is,” he went on softly, “I look exactly like him. I resemble him more than any of his legitimate sons do…all of them are blond and fair, like their mother. I think it amused him that I bore his stamp so obviously. And it seemed to please him that I would admit nothing about the school I had attended. He gave me every opportunity to complain about what a hell it had been, but I didn’t say a word. I told him of my plans to become a publisher, and he asked how much money I wanted from him. I knew it would be a devil’s bargain. Taking money from him would be a betrayal of my mother. But I needed it too damned badly to care. And I took it.”