Page 66 of Miss Devon’s Choice

He couldn’t have been very old. Six or seven. The scars were still new.

“Christian, these marks you bear, they are marks of a life your mother fought for, sacrificed for. They are testament to your strength and to her love. I could never call them ugly, nor could anyone who loves you.” Then his father had gathered Christian up in his arms and held him, singing a lullaby Christian’s mother had sung, in soft Italian.

Why the memory came to him now, Christian didn’t know. But it lit a fire within him. Christian lifted his head and flung the door to the study open, keeping his expression calm. After all, an Englishman ought not to lose his temper.

He strode into the room, straight to Rebecca’s side. She was standing where he’d left her, pale and trembling. Christian ignored her father, taking up her hands and raising them to his lips. “Rebecca, carina, come. Here is the book. Let us go.” He kept her hand and turned, shielding her from her father’s eyes with his body.

Mr. Devon stared at him, his eyes blazing and his jaw taut.

“Sir, you will have to excuse us. My Rebecca must rest before her performance tonight. But perhaps we will not see you there after all. I know how busy you must be.” Christian could hear his accent slip, hear the roll to his R’s and the lilt in his voice, but he didn’t care. It was taking enough of his concentration to veil his command as a suggestion without taking the gentleman to task.

“Good day, Mr. Devon. It may be our next meeting will be at the wedding.” Christian executed the shallowest of bows, then sailed from the room, keeping Rebecca at his side and himself between her and her father.

“Christian,” she whispered when they were to the stairs. “What have you done?”

He glanced down at her, his blood still running hot. “Your father—lui è una persona terribile. I am sorry if I distressed you, cuore mio. But I couldn’t allow him to treat you in such a manner.”

She fell silent until they stepped out the front door. Harry was standing there with their gig, stroking the horse’s neck. He didn’t seem surprised to see them.

“I ordered your gig. The maid should be here shortly.”

Christian nodded his thanks and gave Rebecca his hand to assist her into the vehicle.

She hesitated, looked between them both, then her eyes settled on Christian. “How much did you hear?” There was a note of pleading in her voice, a look of sorrow in her eyes.

Though what he’d heard angered him, it had also torn away a piece of his heart. How could he help but sorrow for what she had been put through? He understood, clearer than before, why she wished to love him. She must’ve expected the very worst sort of misery in a marriage arranged by a man like her father.

“I heard enough to know I do not wish you to be left alone with him again.” Christian tossed the book he still held onto the seat, then put his hands on her waist and lifted her into the gig. “You are mine, Rebecca. Mine to care for and defend. It is only a matter of weeks until the Church of England recognizes my rights officially. No one will hurt you, or threaten you, ever again.”

He moved to climb up beside her, but Harry stopped him. “Lord Easton.”

Christian faced the boy, who wore an expression more solemn than Christian had seen on his face yet. The young man stuck out his hand, respect in his eyes. “I could not hope for a better man for Rebecca. It might not count for anything, but I give you my blessing to marry her.”

Christian smiled tightly. He shook Harry’s hand firmly. “It counts a great deal, Harry.”

Rebecca said nothing when he settled in the seat beside her. He was ready to leave, without the maid, when she came running up behind them, panting and holding her bonnet to her head. Harry was gentleman enough to help her up, then Christian flicked the reins.

They didn’t speak on the way back. Christian was too lost in thought. But Rebecca kept her hand tucked through the crook of his arm. For that, he was grateful. Marrying her, seeing to her needs, would be his greatest honor.

The surety of that knowledge filled him with a confidence he’d never experienced before.

Christian would spend his life doing all he could to ensure she didn’t regret their arrangement. He could not end it and leave her subject to her father’s displeasure.

As her husband, he would allow her to have what her father and aunt had withheld. Freedom. And perhaps, someday, she would love him in truth, not in a desperate bid to find happiness where she expected none.

After all, despite his early misgivings, he was coming to care for her deeply.

Chapter Twenty-five

By the time they’d returned from her father’s house, Rebecca had exhausted herself with anxiety and shame. Whatever Christian had heard, it inspired him to act against her father. His compassion was something of a relief, though bitter-sweet.

He obviously intended to wed her, but because he wanted to rescue her. The nobleness of the gesture fell short of her desire.

I will be safe. I will stay in England, near my sisters, near Harry. That must be enough.

When Christian suggested she take a nap, expressing genuine concern for her well-being, she agreed, promising to help him search out a depiction of Hestia when she woke. But sleep came, and it took her completely, until Hettie came to prepare for dinner.

The meal was light, and early, to make more time for the concert. Though Christian escorted her into the dining room, and from there to the music room, they didn’t have the ability to have a private word. They were talked at from every side by the members of the house party, and he was all solicitude.