The duchess smiled. “I like that. Well, enjoy the festivities, Miss Birmingham. And since the boys will be up rather late tonight, I have already spoken with Cook. She will have someone else gather the hens’ eggs in the morning. Let the boys sleep longer tomorrow morning. You should do the same.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.”

  The duchess left and Julia couldn’t get over the feeling that the woman had wanted to say more to her. What, she couldn’t guess.

  She sighed. It would be nice to meander through the crowds tonight without having to keep up with two small, active boys. It would also allow her to avoid Lord Devin if she saw him coming. She could merely blend into the crowd.

  Julia wondered if she should even go to the bonfire and feast and decided that some randy ex-soldier wasn’t going to keep her from having a little fun.

  Buttoning the last buttons on her pelisse, she made her way down the servants’ staircase, cutting through the kitchens, then exiting to the outside. She inhaled deeply, the clean, cold air filling her lungs as she ventured around the house. In the drive, dozens of tables were set up, all laden with food. Children ran around, playing tag, as more tenants arrived and placed items upon the tables. She knew Cook had been frantic, preparing dozens of dishes for the celebration.

  “Come along, Miss Birmingham,” a scullery maid encouraged. “Take a plate. We need someone to get this feast started.”

  She did as requested and, suddenly, people fell into line behind her and began lining up at other tables. She tried putting only a spoonful of each item on her plate so she could sample as many items as possible.

  Tables and chairs, usually used for the midnight buffet at a ball, had been scattered about in groups across the lawn. She took a seat and was soon joined by others—groomsmen, farmers, parlor maids. She felt a bit out of place, as always, knowing she wasn’t quite one of them. But tonight, everyone treated her as an equal and she found herself thoroughly enjoying both the food and the company.

  After eating, she wandered about. There was a carving contest, where men carved faces into turnips, potatoes, beets, and gourds. She knew the Celts had done something similar, hoping the faces would scare away any supernatural beings. Once the carving ceased, a lit candle was placed inside each vegetable in order to chase away any darkness and evil spirits lurking about. She heard these referred to as Shifty Jack and Stingy Jack by those gathered, while a few of them called the carved vegetables Jack O’Lantern.

  She saw Mr. Kepler and asked him about the various names.

  “Oh, I know the story behind Stingy Jack,” the steward said. “It comes originally from the Irish. Stingy Jack was a tightfisted drunk who was banned from both Heaven and Hell because he played a dirty trick on the Devil. Satan condemned poor Jack to wander the earth for all eternity. In order to light his way, Jack carved out a turnip and placed a piece of lighted coal inside it to shine light on the path before him.”

  “That is most interesting, Mr. Kepler,” she said.

  The old man eyed her with interest. “I hear you know something of estates, Miss Birmingham.”

  Heat filled her cheeks. “Why do you say that?”

  “I met with Lord Devin today. I believe he will be taking my place as steward at Woodbridge. He asked some incredibly thoughtful questions today, including some about how I keep my records. Said you knew quite a bit about the land and crops and had been tutoring him.”

  “Lord Devin did have a few questions. I was happy to answer them. I spent a great part of each day with my father during my childhood. He was quite active in managing his estate. I learned at his knee.”

  “I had told Lord Devin I would be living in a cottage His Grace is giving me and to come to me if he ever found himself in a bit of a bind.” Kepler chuckled. “I think he would rather bring his problems to a pretty lady than an old codger such as me.”

  Her blush deepened. “I am certain you know far more than I do, Mr. Kepler. If Lord Devin has need of help, I will be happy to send him in your direction.”

  She excused herself and walked some more, coming across a contest where people bobbed for apples. Seeing Cook, she went to stand with her.

  “Don’t know why these fools dunk their heads in barrels of water when it’s so cold out,” the woman complained. “It’s nigh on impossible to capture an apple between your teeth anyway.”

  “Is there some prize being offered?” she asked.

  “There is. Also, an old wives’ tale says if you do manage to grab an apple with your teeth on All Hallow’s Eve, you will be gifted with the power to see the days to come.”

  Julia shivered, whether from the breeze of the night air or thinking of knowing what her future held, she didn’t know.

  “You should grab one of the apples, Miss Birmingham,” Cook suggested.

  “You think I wish to dunk?” she said, a bit put off.

  “No, just take one from the stack.” The old woman grinned. “It’s said that if you eat an apple in front of a mirror, you will see your beloved in the mirror’s reflection.”

  She snorted. “I don’t plan on having any beloved, Cook. I am like you—a woman who works for my living and earns my keep. I don’t need a man or even want one.”

  Unless he had hair as black as a raven’s and ice-blue eyes.

  Cook shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

  Once more, Julia moved away, blending into the crowd, returning to the tables and eating a bit more, especially some of the sweets which had been prepared. She had yet to see Lord Devin and was beginning to think he hadn’t attended the All Hallow’s Eve celebration. Having witnessed his determination and single-mindedness, she believed he sat in his bedchamber, practicing his writing.

  Word spread quickly through the crowd that the bonfire would be lit soon. She decided to make her way toward it. Freddie and Charlie ran past her at one point, His Grace racing after them, Her Grace following more slowly.

  Arriving in the area, which was a good distance from the house and all of the food and games, Julia remained on the perimeter as more and more arrived at the site. Once everyone had gathered around in a circle, His Grace spoke a few words, thanking everyone at Woodbridge for their hard work and noting how pleased he was at the recent harvest.

  Then torches appeared and a group of farmers went to stand at the base of the bonfire, lighting it at the count of three. Slowly, the huge stack of wood began to catch on fire. The crowd pressed closer, while Julia stayed back from the others, observing as she usually did.

  Suddenly, an arm snaked about her waist and drew her into someone large and tall. She twisted to see who, in most likely a drunken state, had thought he might take liberties with her.

  But she already knew who it was before she turned.

  A grinning Lord Devin winked at her.

  “You are insufferable,” she said over her shoulder. “Release me at once.”

  “We must talk.”

  “I have nothing to say to you, my lord. I thought I made that perfectly clear.”

  His eyes gleamed at her. “You don’t have to speak, Julia. I have plenty to say to you.”

  Aggravated, she resorted to violence, despite her aversion to it. She lifted her foot and slammed her heel down on top of his booted foot. He grunted but tightened his arm about her waist. Feeling only slightly guilty, she lifted her foot again and swung it back, striking his knee.

  This time, she knew she’d hurt him because he released her. Julia took off, away from the gathered crowd, whose attention was focused on the growing bonfire. His knee would be numb and painful for several minutes. She would make her way back to the house and lock her door. In the morning, she would present Their Graces with her resignation letter. She would not tell them how inappropriate their friend had acted because she didn’t think they would believe her—or even care if he had become fresh with her.

  It didn’t matter. The die had been cast. She had to escape Woodbridge. If she stayed, her heart would overrule her head and she would give in to the handsome devil plaguing her. She refused to do so. She would not ruin her reputation over some rakehell. She certainly couldn’t afford to have a child by him.

  Julia lifted her skirts higher and continued to run, hoping she wouldn’t do something as foolish as twist an ankle.

  Then a hand caught her wrist, halting her progress.

  Lord Devin said, “I hope you notice that I am restraining you with my left hand. Not my right. I have taken your advice and done everything today leading with my left, from putting on my boots to climbing stairs. Forgive me if I use my right hand a moment, however.”

  Still holding her wrist, he reached his three fingers into his pocket, withdrawing a gold pocket watch.

  Holding it up, he said, “This belonged to my mother’s father. It is my most prized possession. I am swearing on it, Julia—on the object that means the most to me—that I will do you no harm. Please, come with me. We must speak.”

  “About what?” she demanded, her heart racing, her legs trembling at his touch.

  Lord Devin gazed at her steadily. “About why I wish to marry you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Devin hadn’t wanted to lead with that statement—but it had certainly stunned Julia. She remained quiet the entire way back to the house. No questions. No demands.

  What the bloody hell was he going to say when they arrived?

  He hadn’t the foggiest notion where to begin.

  At least she still seemed bemused. He had loosened his grip on her wrist and entwined their fingers together. Nothing had ever seemed so right in his world as their joined hands at this moment. Somehow, he had to convince her they were meant to be together. That she was meant for him and he for her. She was so logical, though. So practical. He could imagine her throwing up barricades left and right, testing any reason he might toss out.

  His friends were right. He would kiss her first. Hopefully, into submission. Then he would ask her to become his wife.

  Nerves filled him at the thought. He had never supposed he would wed, much less once Corporal Kerley sliced off his fingers and scarred his face for life. Yet here he was, dragging this woman he couldn’t seem to live without, hoping she would agree to wed him.

  They entered the house, which felt as silent as a tomb. Everyone from the duke himself to the lowest scullery maid was at the bonfire. Still, Devin wanted privacy for his proposal. He took Julia to his bedchamber.

  When they arrived and he opened the door, she stopped moving.

  “I am not going to enter this room with you,” she stated.

  “Yes, you are,” he said simply, releasing her hand so he could scoop her up and carry her inside.

  She was startled into a brief silence by his action. Devin closed the door with his foot and thought he would never make it to the bed with her. Instead, he turned to face the door and deposited her on her feet, her back pressed against the door.

  Before she could protest, he kissed her. Hard. Her hands came up and pushed at him, trying to move him away. Devin didn’t budge. Taking her wrists, he raised her arms high, pinning them against the door even as he pressed his body into hers.

  She squirmed. “Let me go.”

  “I will not,” he said firmly.

  She bit her lip, causing his blood to boil. “You said you wouldn’t harm me.”

  “Kissing never harmed anyone,” he said huskily.

  Her eyes widened. “You said . . . we were going to talk.”

  “With our lips first. Words later.”

  With that, he kissed her again. This time, his kiss was soft. Tender. He wanted this woman to see that he cherished her. He continued until he wore her down and she began responding to his kiss. Softly, he bit into her bottom lip and heard her gasp. The blood rushed in his ears, his body heating. Devin swept his tongue into her mouth, tasting a bit of the lemon tart and mulled wine she must have had at the festivities. She mumbled something and he silenced her, deepening the kiss.

  He wanted to touch her. He shifted, bringing her wrists together, directly above her head, and capturing them in his left hand. He trusted it more, with its five fingers, than he did his right. It would mean he would have to touch her with his crippled one.

  But it only took a finger or two to rouse a woman to pleasure.

  Holding her arms in place, Devin ravished her mouth with his, even as his right hand stroked her cheek. Her throat. Her breast. He sensed her quick intake of breath. Felt her breast swell against his palm. He kneaded it and she began to moan. He wanted more than a moan. He wanted his name on her lips. He wanted her to know how he felt about her.

  He tweaked her nipple and she gasped, breaking their kiss. Her breathing was ragged, shallow.

  “Do you like that, Julia?” he asked seductively, tweaking it again.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Good.”

  Devin used the pad of his thumb to slowly circle her nipple, brushing against it as she wriggled against him. Then he took the nail and dragged it across the raised nipple, back and forth, causing her to whimper.

  “How about that?”

  “Yes,” she managed with more urgency.

  “I love your breasts. They are full. They are beautiful. They want my hands on them.”

  She nodded, her eyes glazed in desire.

  Slowly, he released her wrists, knowing she would offer no resistance now. He unbuttoned the thing she wore that women did when the weather turned chilly. Opening it, he saw the scooped neckline of her dress, the rounded globes of her breasts crying out for his touch. He ran his tongue along the curve of each, hearing her sigh, which made him feel strong and powerful.

  Boldly, he pushed a hand into her gown, lifting and freeing her breast. Immediately, his mouth went to it and he feasted as a man starved. He heard the sounds she made, the little gasps and sighs, and he knew he wanted more. Always more with this woman.

  He stopped, his gaze meeting hers. Gently, he slipped the spencer—that’s what it was called—from her shoulders and she helped him remove it, wriggly against him, feeding into his desire. Then he kissed her again, long and leisurely, taking his time to explore every crevice in her mouth. Her arms went about his neck and she played with the hair at his nape, sending a sizzle of desire racing through him.

  Somehow, he swept her up again, never breaking the kiss, stumbling to the bed and placing her upon it. He would not take her virginity.

  But he would give her something to remember.

  He pushed her gown down again, exposing both breasts now, their rounded perfection a sight of beauty. Devin kneaded and pulled and kissed and nipped and made them his. By now, Julia’s face was flushed with heat and desire. Their mouths met again and she kissed him, taking the lead, repeating back to him the lessons he had taught her.

  He thought if he kissed her until eternity came, it would still not be enough.

  She needed more convincing, though, and he knew exactly what to do. His mouth stayed on hers, his tongue exploring and teasing, as he lifted the hem of her skirts. His hands glided along her legs, up and down, going higher each time until he brushed her core.

  Then he committed to using his left hand to pleasure her. He might not be as skilled with it but it was important to him that he do this. For her. For him. For them.

  Ever so slowly, he ran his finger along her slit. She trembled in response. Encouraged by that, he slipped a finger inside her, stroking her deeply. She nearly came off the bed, breaking the kiss and gasping.

  “Devin! What are you doing?”

  “Making you happy,” he replied. “And making you mine, Julia.”

  His finger caressed her and she began meeting it, moaning, her breath ragged. Sliding another inside her, she whimpered and he stroked her, finding the sweet bud and toying with it.

  “What . . . is this?” she managed to say.

  “This is called an orgasm. Or it will be when it happens. Do you feel something building? Some immense pressure that wants to break through to the surface and spill forth from you?”

  “Yes. Yes!”

  “Then let it flow through, my love. Let it wash over you,” he said, as her hips kept rising and meeting him.

  A sound came from her, half-strangled, half-growling. Then she was crying out, calling his name over and over, crying and laughing as her body shuddered.

  She stilled and he lay beside her, taking her into his arms and kissing her. Then he broke the kiss, content to simply hold her close, feeling her heart pounding violently, subsiding until it returned to its usual rhythm.

  Julia looked at him pensively and he knew it was time to speak.

  “I have fallen in love with you,” he began. “I will admit I thought love a fairy tale. Something made up for fools to believe in. When I saw how much in love Win and Sera—and even Percy and Minta—are, I was happy for my friends. But I never saw myself ever falling in love, much less marrying.”

  He kissed her softly, needing to do so before he continued.

  “And then I met you. Bright, beautiful, compassionate Miss Birmingham. You may be kind to your charges but you do not suffer fools. I was curious about you. Then fascinated. Finally, spellbound. I was afraid to attach a name to what I felt about you, Julia, but I know what it is now. Love.”

  He brushed his lips against her cheek. “You are a remarkable woman. I am an unremarkable man.”

  “That’s not true, Devin,” she told him.

  “I feel quite ordinary, especially now that I no longer command troops.” He paused. “I also know I am not a whole man, Julia. My hand is crippled. Mutilated by an angry man who also disfigured my face.”

  Her finger touched his lips, silencing him. “It is a beautiful face. One I have grown to love.”

  Love. She said love. It swelled within him.

  “I didn’t dare dream I could ever find love,” she said softly. “I will admit that you irritated me to no end at first.” She paused, pursing her lips. “You probably will continue to do so.”