In My Wildest Fantasies

Chapter 25

It was nearly two in the morning when the magistrate and local officers dragged Rushton out of his house and shoved him into a coach bound for Newgate. The coroner had been there, too, and had taken charge of the earl's body, which would be delivered to the Manor the following day. Rebecca requested also that the magistrate and coroner locate Serena Fullarton's remains and take the necessary steps to find and notify her family.

Afterward, Rebecca, Devon, and Blake returned to Creighton Manor. They explained to Mary and the other servants what had occurred, and the members of the household were grief-stricken to learn of the earl's demise.

Blake was shown to a guest chamber, while Rebecca and Devon were shown to her former room. The bed was freshly made, and Mary warmed the sheets with the copper bed warmer.

Rebecca looked upon her room with exhaustion and sorrow. She was here with her husband-the man she had dreamed about countless times in this very bed-but everything was different now. She'd learned things she had never suspected about her father, one very terrible thing, and now he was gone.

And tonight she had become the Countess of Creighton, a peeress in her own right.

"Thank you, Mary," she said. "That will be all."

"You won't be needing anything else, my lady?"

Rebecca shook her head. All she wanted was to be alone with her husband.

"I am so sorry," he said, closing the door behind Mary. He took Rebecca into his arms and held her for a long time. She closed her eyes and rested her cheek on his chest.

When she was ready to let go, he helped her unbutton her bodice and folded it with her skirts, and set everything carefully upon a chair. While she stood in somber silence, he removed the pins from her hair and brushed it, smoothing it out with his hands and stroking it away from her face.

When that was done, she went to the wardrobe and opened the doors to find all of her clothes still hanging there, just as she had left them. Her chest of drawers had not been touched either, so she was able to find a favorite nightdress. She put it on while Devon undressed, and a few minutes later, they both slid into the warm bed with a candle burning beside them on the table.

"Are you all right?" he asked, lying on his side, facing her in the dim, golden light. "Is there anything I can do?"

She touched his cheek. "You have done so much for me already. I could not ask for anything more."

"But your father is gone. Perhaps if I had acted sooner…. Or if I had come here alone to face Rushton…"

"No, you must not think that way, Devon. None of us can control how life plays out. Nor can we look back on things and wish we had done them differently. All we can do is our best at any given moment, and risk making mistakes, for the alternative is to sit back, always afraid, and do nothing."

He spoke softly in the quiet room. "But in my desire to avoid being your hero, I left matters alone that should have been attended to. It was wrong of me to work so hard to keep a distance between us."

She gazed into his eyes. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"On our wedding day, you told me you did not want to be my hero because you had failed MaryAnn that day in the woods. Please tell me the truth, Devon-did you love her?"

A shadow of regret passed over his features. "She was my brother's fiancee, and yes, I did."

Rebecca digested the words with a surface calm, while inside she was wishing desperately that the answer had been different. But at least now she understood her husband's emotions surrounding that ordeal, and why he had always exercised restraint when it came to his emotional involvement within their marriage.

Love had not been a friend to him in the past. It had caused him heartache and shame. It had destroyed his relationship with his brother. "What happened between you?"

"It was the letter she wrote," he replied. "Until then, I had denied my feelings for her and buried them as best I could. But the letter was what made me go to see her alone. I had every intention of convincing her to forget me, and that she should be with Vincent. I was not going to reveal how I felt, but she was persistent, and I was weak. I desired her, and we did things I regret."

"Did you make love to her?"

He paused. "I went as far as a man can go before complete ruination, but stopped in the nick of time. Even so, I had never felt more ashamed." He closed his eyes. "I remember telling her harshly to get dressed, while I fastened my breeches with hands that would not stop shaking. It was a nightmare, and it is why I was in such a hurry to return her to the palace. To Vincent. I wanted to erase what I had done, and in my haste, I was grossly incompetent."

She sighed. "You had enough to worry about at Pembroke, after coming home from America to face your brother again, then to learn of your father's illness. Then you suddenly found yourself with a new bride who was pushing for your love-a bride who had kept secrets from you. I should not have expected you to solve all my problems, Devon. It was wrong of me to come to Pembroke assuming you would."

"But thank God you did come," he said, pulling her close. "How I needed you. You will never know how badly I wanted to be your hero tonight. With every inch of my soul, I wanted to protect you and keep you safe, not only from Rushton, but from everything unpleasant in the world."

She snuggled closer. "You were my hero."

"Perhaps a better word is 'ally.' You were very brave tonight. You've always been brave."

She managed a small smile. "I had the strength and courage to confront Rushton because you were at my side, and if not for that, my father would still be living in fear and shame. And perhaps your family might have been in danger."

"I am so sorry about what happened to your father."

"I am, too. But it was his choice to confront his enemy. I believe he needed to do it, and now I understand that it was his guilt and fear that changed him in recent years. He was no longer the father I remembered from my childhood."

Devon kissed the tip of her nose. "But he was brave tonight."

She nodded.

"As for you and me," Devon said, "we shall share the heroics by agreeing to be comrades, because when we are together, Rebecca, you rescue me from all the madness of my life, and I suspect you are going to be a great comfort to me in the coming months-when I will no doubt need your support in dealing with my father, and possibly a few spur-of-the-moment weddings."

Rebecca wet her lips. "I will do whatever I can to ease your burdens."

He inched a little closer. "And may I have permission to envision you riding to my rescue on a magnificent white horse?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Why would you need my permission to envision that?"

"Because you are naked on the horse." He squinted with humor, then laid a light, tender kiss on her lips.

"In that case, you have my consent."

He continued to gaze at her in the candlelight, then his expression became serious again. "Will you be able to forgive your father," he asked, "now that you know what really happened?"

"I am devastated to know what he did, but I shall have to find a way to forgive. I only wish I had known the whole story sooner. Perhaps I could have helped him do the right thing, and Rushton would never have had the power to bully him for so many years."

"Your father found his courage in the end. And none of it is your fault. You didn't know."

She felt a painful lump in her throat. "Everything you say is a help to me, Devon. You do ease my pain with your kindness. I am a lucky woman."

He ran a finger down her cheek, then kissed her again. "I am the lucky one. The most exciting, exquisite woman in the world fell straight into my lap. I will be forever grateful that I traveled through the forest that night four years ago, and that I was able to be your hero. I love you, wife."

He pressed his lips gently to hers and held her close in his arms all night long, until sunlight shone through the window in the morning. A clear, new day beckoned to them, and when they rose from bed and pulled the drapes open, there was not a cloud in the sky, nor a single drop of rain.

Rebecca, Devon, and Blake remained at Creighton Manor for a few days, long enough to see to the earl's funeral, which was a private family affair. He was entombed in the mausoleum on the hill, where all the Creighton earls had gone before him.

As for Creighton Manor, it belonged to Rebecca now, and she and Devon decided they would spend their summers in residence after the close of the London Season, and enjoy the autumn hunting season there as well. And when-God willing-they brought their children, they would deliver life and laughter back to those quiet, empty rooms.

Promising to return soon, Rebecca and Devon said goodbye to the servants and stepped into the Pembroke coach with Blake.

The journey back to Pembroke passed quickly, for the sun was shining through the coach windows and both Devon and Blake were in high spirits. The sky had been clear for three days straight, and the weather, they believed, was sure to alleviate some of their father's anxieties regarding the family curse. Perhaps in time, he would realize they were not in danger of being swept away by raging floodwaters, and the hasty weddings could be put off.

Perhaps also a grandchild would bring him some peace of mind, Devon thought, feeling hopeful as he gazed at his lovely wife sitting next to him in the coach. He wondered how soon they would be able to call themselves expectant parents. He had never in a hundred years imagined he would anticipate such an event with joy. He supposed anything was possible-and that very simple notion boosted his spirits further as they drew closer to the palace and waved at the villagers in the fields. Everyone was in high spirits it seemed. Sunshine, he supposed, had a way of spreading cheer.

By the time they arrived at the palace, the sun was low in the sky and the whole estate was twilight-pink.

"It is good to be home," Devon said, feeling a sense of warmth and completeness he had never known before. He had his wife with him and his brother, and he would soon see his sister, Charlotte, and their mother.

He wanted to see his father, too. He wanted to hear that he was no longer fearful of a flood and a family curse, for the sun was shining.

All at once the yearning to see the man, who had once callously turned him out, affected something in Devon's heart. He remembered his cautious return to the palace not long ago. He had not believed the shattered pieces of his life could ever be put back together and mended. But they had been mended, in some ways, at least, for he felt a deep, soulful compassion toward his father, and a genuine desire to ensure that he was well cared for, no matter what the future held.

The coach pulled to a smooth stop and a footman lowered the step and opened the door. Charlotte and their mother came down the stairs to greet them.

Devon stepped out, into the fresh air. His mother wrapped her arms around him. "Welcome home," she said.

He hugged Charlotte as well, then turned to assist Rebecca out of the coach. The duchess embraced her and held her close for a long moment. "My dear, I am so sorry about your father."

"As am I," she said solemnly. "But he is at peace now."

Just then, the duke appeared at the open palace doors waving a letter over his head.

"What is that?" Blake asked, looking suspiciously up at their father.

Adelaide sighed heavily. "It is a letter from Vincent. It arrived yesterday."

"And what about Garrett?" Devon asked. "Has there been any word from him?"

"No, nothing, but your father sent a man to Greece two days ago to hunt him down and bring him home."

"Garrett won't be pleased," Blake said. "He's likely to toss the messenger into the Mediterranean."

The duke came hopping down the steps in his slippers.

"Has Dr. Thomas been back yet?" Devon whispered discreetly to his mother.

"No," she replied. "But he is coming tomorrow, thank goodness."

"Devon!" the duke called out. "How wonderful that you have returned! And your beautiful wife. You are a work of art, dear girl."

"Thank you, Your Grace," she replied with a smile.

"I see you have a letter from Vincent," Devon said.

"Indeed I do." The duke handed the letter over. "And just look at the sunset, will you? I dare say, we are doing well."

Devon exchanged a curious look with Blake, then read the letter. A knot tightened in his gut, and he ran a hand down over his face.

"Surely not," he said, holding the letter out to Blake.

Blake read it, too. "Good God. No, he can't be serious. He's engaged?"

"Yes!" the duke said, dancing about on the steps. "Oh, Vincent, I am so proud. I shall give him my best shotgun for hunting. Or maybe that pair of boots he sometimes borrowed without asking. And look at the weather, would you, please?"

They all turned and looked at the colorful sunset on the horizon.

"Who is the lady?" Rebecca asked, while Devon was still unable to speak, for he was in shock.

Blake handed her the letter.

"Good heavens," she said. "It is Lady Letitia, the Duke of Swinburne's daughter." She looked at Charlotte, who was biting her lip. "She will be our sister-in-law."

"Vincent has acted too hastily," Devon said. "He has not given it adequate thought."

"When did adequate thought ever get a man to the altar?" his father asked. "A young, robust man needs to listen to his John Thomas. Eh? Eh?"

Blake sighed. "She is a handsome woman. That was probably enough for Vincent, under the circumstances."

"She is the perfect young gel," the duke said cheerfully. "I shall adore her. He is bringing her home tomorrow."

Devon inhaled deeply and looked back toward the sunset. Rebecca laid a gloved hand on his arm, expressing her understanding.

"So it appears the curse has been thwarted again," he said, with a notable sense of defeat as he looked into his wife's lovely, knowing eyes.

"Indeed, thwarted again!" his father shouted triumphantly. "Now, do tell me, what time is supper? I'm hungry for beef."

"Shall we enjoy the diary tonight?" Devon asked, pushing through the large portrait on the wall in Rebecca's bedchamber and closing it behind him. He stopped and turned around, however, to swing the portrait open and closed a few times. "These hinges need to be greased."

Suddenly his wife leaped onto his back and wrapped her legs around his waist. He laughed, and she dropped to her feet on the floor, pulled him around to face her, and crushed his lips with hers.

"Where were you?" she asked, after a deep and tantalizing kiss. "I thought you would never get here."

He somehow managed to get an apology out between laughter and more kisses. "I'm sorry-Blake kept me late in the library."

Rebecca pulled his shirt out from inside his breeches and lifted it up to his chest, then went down on her knees, kissing his bare stomach along the way, probing his navel with her hot, wet tongue. He was instantly, overwhelmingly aroused.

She looked up at him with a wicked smile as she unfastened his trousers. "I shall read to you from the diary tonight," she told him, "but this will be the last time."

"Why the last?"

"Because after tonight, we shall contrive our own fantasies and write our own future." She pulled his breeches down to his ankles and rose to her feet, while he ripped his shirt off over his head.

"But before we put it away for good," she added, "I thought you might like to know what happens to Lydie and Jess." She pulled off her nightdress, tossed it to the floor, and climbed onto the bed.

"I admit I've been curious."

She rested her cheek on a hand and beckoned him with a smile. "Come here, then." She patted the spot beside her and pulled the book out from beneath her pillow. "Now, where did we leave off?"

He slipped under the covers, naked and stiff as a post, and faced her.

"I'm happy to listen to anything you wish to read to me."

She flipped through the pages, then settled on an entry toward the end. "In that case, lie back and listen."

He obeyed her command-all ears as she began to read.

"Dear Diary,

"Today I learned an important lesson, the most important of my life.

"He came, as I hoped and dreamed he would. I had only just finished writing my last words to you, when I heard a commotion downstairs at the inn. It was my love, Jess, who had followed my father's coach and found us in London. He came bursting through my door like a white knight. He faced my father with a sword and demanded my hand in marriage, and my father could do nothing but submit. He let me go, and Jess took me away. My brave hero, Jess, who did it because he loves me."

Devon laid a hand on Rebecca's arm, touching her with his own love. She continued reading.

"That was one week ago, and we were married today. I love him more than life itself, and I know we will be happy. We will have children together and raise them in a happy home, and I will forever be thankful for the day we met.

"So my lesson, Diary, is this: One must always believe in what the heart knows, and never give up on it. Jess is the world to me, as I am the world to him. We are everything to each other. This is bliss."

Rebecca closed the diary and placed it on the bedside table, then faced Devon without a word.

For a long time he looked at her, then he inched closer and wrapped his arms around her waist. "I am glad they found their bliss," he said. "I have found mine, too."

"Oh, Devon." She took his face in her hands and kissed him.

"I would not have understood those words a month ago," he told her, "for I did not know what bliss was until you entered my life. But now everything is perfect."

"But what about the pain you once knew, Devon? You had not forgiven yourself for what happened between you and Vincent four years ago, and you used your guilt to put distance between us. Are you able to truly let go of that now?"

He touched her soft face and ran a finger over her hair. "I will always regret what happened, and I will always feel pain when I think of it, but I will not continue to feel dead inside, as I have for the past three years. I have come home and my heart has come back to life. I have found happiness again, thanks to you. And perhaps someday, I will earn Vincent's forgiveness, though it will not be easy with Letitia as his wife. The woman despises me for choosing you. She will encourage his bitterness."

She kissed him in the lamplight, and he rolled her over onto her back, using his lips and mouth to express his love for her with tireless devotion to both her emotional and erotic pleasures. For an hour he delighted her senses, sent passionate jolts of excitement to her core, and filled her with a yearning he had every intention of fulfilling.

When he finally entered her in the darkness, she cried out and pulled him close, and he made love to her gently and tenderly, looking into her eyes the entire time, moving with great care and attention to detail. He used every skill he possessed as a man to work her up to a powerful climax, and the instant he felt her body tremble and shudder beneath his own, he, too, surrendered to his own orgasmic pleasures, feeling the shimmering heat of absolute love fill his whole being.

They fell asleep for a short time with his body still inside hers, then they woke to make love again, when he grew hard within her.

It was almost dawn when they finally surrendered to sleep, their bodies drained and sated, and if not for the knocking at their door at daybreak, Devon would have slept until noon.

But it was not to be that morning. He was forced to rise and pull on his trousers. He left Rebecca sleeping and crossed the room to answer the persistent caller. When he opened the door, there stood his mother with a sleeping infant in her arms.

"What is this?" he whispered, not sure if he might in fact be dreaming.

"We have a problem," she said flatly, in a quiet voice so as not to wake Rebecca. "A woman just left this child on the doorstep. A few of the footmen are out searching the grounds at this very moment, hoping to catch her."

"There is no indication who the woman was?"

"We have this." She handed him a note, and he blinked sleepily, willing his eyes to focus on the elegant penmanship. It was too dark to read any of it in the corridor, so he carried the note to the bed and lit the lamp, then read what it said.

He turned to face his mother, who was still standing in the doorway.

Rebecca sat up, clutching the covers to her neck. "What is going on?"

"We don't quite know," the duchess said. "This baby was just left here, and I do not think Lady Letitia is going to be happy about it when she arrives to have her engagement announced later today."

Rebecca squinted drowsily at the baby. "It's Vincent's?"

"So the letter writer claims," Adelaide said.

Devon sank down into a chair. "If that is true, this is his bed. He made it. He will have to lie in it."

At that moment, the baby began to babble in the sweetest, most adorable manner, and Rebecca leaped out of bed with the sheet wrapped around her, and joined the duchess in the doorway to indulge in a very maternal round of doting, coddling, and cooing.