Page 62 of So Wild A Heart

“Oh my.” She remembered the old man who had ranted at her in her house in London and the sad tale he had told. Obviously he was not the only one who was haunted by the incident. “What happened?”

“I seduced her,” Devin said, his voice filled with self-loathing. “I was in Brighton—avoiding my creditors, I believe. And I met Constance. I thought she was an experienced woman. She was a friend of Leona’s, older than most of the other girls. I assumed—well, I never realized she was a maiden. She was pretty, and I wanted her. Leona was keeping me dancing on a string at the time—teasing and baiting and not giving in.”

He paused and looked at her a little guiltily. “I apologize. Hardly the sort of thing I should be saying to you.”

“Why not? I am your wife.”

“Not fit conversation for a lady.”

“Ah, but you forget that I am not really a lady. Please, go on. I want to hear about it.”

He nodded and started again, his gaze shifting away from her. “I was frustrated, and she was there and attractive. And I wanted her. I gave up on Leona. I thought that I would never have her. Oh, hell, my motives were even lower—I hoped, deep down, that if I chose another it would make Leona notice me, make her realize that she was missing her chance. So I paid court to Constance. I charmed her. I thought—I thought she understood the game, that she had done it before. Until she lay with me. Then, of course, I realized what a mistake I had made. I should have stopped then, but I did not.” His mouth twisted grimly. “It was far easier to take my pleasure. Then Leona came to me. My scheme had worked, I suppose. She wanted me, and I stopped seeing Constance. Another evidence of my weakness. An honorable man would have asked her to marry him, having taken the virginity of a virtuous girl. But I did not. All I could think or see or feel was Leona.”

Miranda’s heart twisted at the recital of his passion for Leona, but she pushed the feeling aside. Devin’s pain was more important right now.

“Then one morning Leona brought me a letter. She had been to call on Constance and found her gone. She had left me a letter.” He paused, drawing a shaky breath, and his eyes came up to meet Miranda’s, laced with agony. “She said that she was carrying my child, that she could not bear to live with the shame. She wrote that she was going to throw herself into the ocean and spare both herself and the baby the shame of its being born out of wedlock.”

“Oh, no!” Miranda’s hand tightened around his. “How awful.”

He nodded, his face drawn. “I went running over there like a fool, but of course she was gone, just as Leona had said. They searched for her, but they could never find the body, only the spot on the rocks where she had discarded her shawl and shoes. Her grandfather was devastated. He nearly went mad with grief. He blamed me, of course. Everyone did. Leona was the only one who stood by me. I don’t know what I would have done without her. That was the scandal over which my father finally broke with me. He had forgiven many sins of mine before, he said, but he could not forgive that—that I had seduced an innocent girl and driven her to her death.”

“How could he have blamed you alone?” Miranda asked, bringing his hand up to her chest and cradling it against her. “You were not the only person involved. Constance was responsible for what happened, as well.”

“Why did she not come to me?” The words were torn out of him, soaked with the pain of years. “I would not have turned her away. I did not love her, but I would have done my duty if I had known she was pregnant. I would have married her. I swear I would have.”

“Of course you would have,” Miranda agreed staunchly. “Your father could not have known you very well, or he would have known that.”

“He was only one of many who believed it,” Devin said flatly. “The things I had done, the manner of man I was…everyone found it easy to believe I would have played the cad. Obviously Constance never thought for a moment that I would have done the honorable thing.” The corner of his mouth quirked up in an attempt at a smile. “Now you know what sort of man you married.”

“I already knew what sort of man I married,” Miranda replied. “This does not change my opinion. You have made mistakes—who among us has not? But you are not wicked.”

“I don’t know how you can even bear to look at me. Sometimes I cannot bear to look at myself.”

Impulsively Miranda leaned forward and took Devin in her arms, resting her head against his and holding him close. “There is no need to keep grinding yourself into the ground about this. What you did was wrong, no doubt, but you were not alone in it. You did not force her. Constance was a grown woman, older than most of the girls, you said. She knew what she was doing and what could happen. She also could have told you. She did not even give you the chance to make it right. She should have come to you. She owed that to her child, if nothing else. There was her grandfather, too. She could have gone to him for help. Instead she chose to kill herself and her child. That is not the action of a fully sane woman. You cannot blame yourself because she was unbalanced. You do not deserve the entire burden of guilt.”

Devin wrapped his arms around her tightly, burying his face in her hair. “You are an unusual woman, Miranda. Few would be so forgiving.”

“What do I have to forgive you for?” Miranda pointed out reasonably. “It did not concern me. It is between you and God, and I think that you have punished yourself for it more than enough over the years.”

They sat like that for a long time, holding each other, and Miranda could feel his taut body relax as the pain drained out of him. Gradually she realized the intimacy of their position, pressed tightly against each other, sitting in his bed. She wore only a nightgown, a flimsy barrier between his bare chest and her own skin. The warmth between them began to change and become more heated, and suddenly what had been only comfort and sympathy was now charged with sexuality.

Miranda released Devin and scooted back awkwardly. She looked at him and saw reflected in his face the same awareness of their position. Her cheeks flamed. She had scarcely noticed before how little Devin wore. Above the sheet his chest was bare. Miranda was unaccustomed to seeing a man’s naked chest, and her eyes could not help running over his tanned skin, padded with muscle. She had to curl her fingers into her palm to resist the urge to reach out and touch the bony outcropping of his shoulders and collarbone, the rounded muscle of his upper arms.

She cleared her throat. “Well, ah…I should get back to bed now.”

“Miranda…” He reached for her, laying his hand on her arm. He rubbed his thumb over her skin, searching for words. With a sigh, he released her and shook his head. “Never mind. Thank you. It was good of you to come help me.”

“You’re welcome. Good night.”

Miranda slipped off the bed and walked across the room and through the connecting door to her room. But when she closed the door behind her, she did not lock it.

15

Miranda and Devin were in the library the next day, Miranda poring over old maps of the estate and Devin contemplating the way her dress fell over her hips as she stretched across the table, when one of the footmen entered.

“My lady, a package has arrived for you. A rather large one, from London. You had said to notify you—”

“Yes, of course.” Miranda straightened up, her eyes bright and a wide smile curving her mouth. “Bring it in.”