Rescued by the Rakish Lord
A man of such dubious reputation…
that he was called Devil Blackbourne!
When Lord Deveril Blackbourne meets Selina Wynter, he is intrigued. For she has all the accomplishments of a lady, but the fiery temper and spirit of a tavern maid! Then she is abducted by a dastardly suitor, and Deveril—for all his roguish reputation— can’t stand idly by…
Lord Deveril is Selina’s least likely rescuer, but when they’re stranded together in a snowstorm and her reputation is at risk, he surprises her with a gallant proposal! Deveril’s no honourable suitor, yet his actions say otherwise…
Just who is the real Devil Blackbourne? Selina’s determined to find out!
Excerpt
Selina playing the piano
Despite an argument, Deveril finds himself even more intrigued by Selina…
Like all the young ladies of her acquaintance, music was one of Selina’s accomplishments. She enjoyed playing, but knew herself to be a competent, rather than a brilliant pianist. She was therefore happy to perform at the end of the evening, when almost everyone was engaged in cards or conversation and paying scant attention to the music.
She sorted through the sheets of music beside the pianoforte and began with pieces that she knew Papa would enjoy before moving onto a Mozart sonata that was a particular favourite of her own. She was so engrossed in her playing that she had finished the first movement before she realised someone had come up and was watching her. She looked up, fingers lingering on the last chord.
‘I beg your pardon, please go on,’ said Deveril quickly.
She looked so startled to find him there that he thought for a moment she would jump up and run away. He leaned forward to turn the page, saying,
‘There are two more movements yet.’
She took a breath, composing herself before she continued to play. Deveril studied her, noting the moment she began to relax and lose herself in the music again. She had removed her gloves and, in the candlelight, he could see faint cuts and scratches on her hands. Evidence that she did not “sit on a cushion and sew a fine seam,” as the nursery rhyme went.
He watched her fingers flying over the keys and remembered those same bare hands gripping the broom when she confronted the drunkards at the White Horse. What a strange creature she was. All the breeding and accomplishments of a lady, but the temper and spirit of a tavern wench.
He felt again that tug of interest, but he quickly squashed it. This was Richard’s doing, blast him, reminding him of his dead fiancée and wanting him to find another woman to love. That certainly would not be Selina Wynter. She bore no comparison with Belinda, who had been a gentle soul, softly-spoken and sweet-natured. She had died so young, before they had had a chance to do more than share a few chaste kisses.
His eyes were drawn to Selina’s lips. He remembered how they had felt beneath his when he kissed her. Soft, warm, the slight hesitation before she responded, albeit briefly. He felt his pulse quicken at the memory. It had hardly been a kiss at all but it had ignited a fire that still smouldered within. It meant nothing, no more than attraction for a pretty woman. A damned nuisance, but it would pass, given time. It always did. Better to think of the cold way she had received him at Reigney Abbey. How she had looked at him as if he was not fit to clean her boots and dismissed him forthwith.
Deveril turned and walked away. Of all the females he had met, Selina Wynter was the very last woman who would ever capture his heart.
*
The final notes of the sonata died away and was greeted with warm applause.
‘Brava, Miss Wynter,’ cried the Squire, clapping loudly. ‘You will delight us with another piece, will you not?’
Selina’s smile was perfunctory. Lord Deveril had walked off before she had finished the second movement and he was now the centre of a lively group standing by one of the windows, paying no heed at all to the music. He must consider her performance very mediocre after the London salons.
Sarah Mallory
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