Cold-Hearted Rake (The Ravenels 1)

His mind registered a tug at the child in his arms. Another stronger pull, as he resisted briefly. The child was being gathered up by strangers, while others had come forward to help the woman through the sludge of reeds and mud.

Losing his balance, Devon staggered back, his muscles no longer obeying his commands. The water snatched him instantly, closing over his head and dragging him away.

As he felt himself carried by the current, his brain hovered over the scene, observing the slowly spinning form – his own – in the inky water. He couldn’t save himself, he realized with dazed surprise. No one was going to save him. He had met the same untimely fate as all the Ravenel men, leaving far too much unfinished, and he couldn’t even bring himself to care. Somewhere in the rubble of his thoughts, he knew that West would manage without him. West would survive.

But Kathleen…

She would never know what she had meant to him.

That pierced his failing awareness. Dear God, why had he waited, assuming he had time at his disposal? If he could have had five minutes to tell her… bloody hell, one minute… but it was too late.

Kathleen would go on without him. Some other man would marry her… grow old with her… and Devon would be nothing but a faded memory.

If she remembered him at all.

He struggled and flailed, a silent howl trapped inside. Kathleen was his fate, his. He would defy all the hells that ever were to stay with her. But it was no use; the river bore him steadily away into the darkness.

Something caught at him. Tough, sinewed bands twined around his arm and chest like some monster from the deep. An inexorable force wrenched him painfully backward. He felt himself gripped and held fast against the current.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” a man growled close to his ear, gasping with effort. The secure grip tightened around his midriff, and he began to cough, spikes of agony driving through him as the voice continued. “You’re not leaving me to manage that bloody estate on my own.”

Chapter 17

“The train must have been late,” Pandora said crossly, playing with the dogs on the receiving room floor. “I hate waiting.”

“You could occupy yourself with a useful task,” Cassandra said, poking away at her needlework. “That makes waiting go faster.”

“People always say that, and it’s not true. Waiting takes just as long whether one is being useful or not.”

“Perhaps the gentlemen have stopped for refreshments on the way from Alton,” Helen suggested, leaning over her embroidery hoop as she executed a complicated stitch.

Kathleen looked up from an agricultural book that West had recommended to her. “If that’s the case, they had better be famished when they arrive,” she said with mock indignation. “After the feast Cook has prepared, nothing less than gluttony will suffice.” She grimaced as she saw Napoleon settling into the billowing folds of Pandora’s dress. “Darling, you’ll be covered with dog hair by the time the gentlemen arrive.”

“They won’t notice,” Pandora assured her. “My dress is black, and so is the dog.”

“Perhaps, but still —” Kathleen broke off as Hamlet trotted into the receiving room with his perpetual grin. In all the bustle of holiday preparations for that evening, she had forgotten about the pig. She had become so accustomed to the sight of him following Napoleon and Josephine everywhere that she had begun to think of him as a third dog. “Oh, dear,” she said, “something must be done with Hamlet. We can’t have him wandering about while Mr. Winterborne is here.”

“Hamlet is very clean,” Cassandra said, reaching down to pet the pig as he came up to her and grunted affectionately. “Cleaner than the dogs, actually.”

It was true. Hamlet was so well-behaved that it seemed unjust to banish him from the house. “There’s no choice,” Kathleen said regretfully. “I’m afraid that Mr. Winterborne can’t be expected to share our enlightened view of pigs. Hamlet will have to sleep in the barn. You can make him a nice bed of straw and blankets.”

The twins were aghast, both of them protesting at once.

“But that will hurt his feelings —”

“He’ll think he’s being punished!”

“He’ll be perfectly comfortable —” Kathleen began, but broke off as she noticed that both dogs, alerted by a noise, had hurried from the room with their tails wagging. Hamlet rushed after them with a determined squeak.

“Someone is at the front door,” Helen said, setting aside her embroidery. She went to the window for a glimpse of the front drive and portico.

It had to be Devon and his guest. Jumping to her feet, Kathleen told the twins urgently, “Take the pig to the cellars! Hurry!”

She suppressed a grin as they ran to obey.

Smoothing her skirts and tugging her sleeves into place, Kathleen went to stand beside Helen at the window. To her surprise, there was no carriage or team of horses on the drive, only a sturdy pony, its sides sweat-streaked and heaving.

She recognized the pony: It belonged to the postmaster’s young son, Nate, who was often sent to deliver telegraph dispatches. But Nate didn’t usually ride pell-mell on his deliveries.

Uneasiness slithered down her spine.

The elderly butler came to the doorway. “Milady.”

A breath caught in Kathleen’s throat as she saw that he held a telegram in his hand. In the time she had known him, Sims had never given her a letter or telegram directly from his own hand, but had always brought it on a small silver tray.

“The boy says it’s a matter of great urgency,” Sims said, his face tense with repressed emotion as he gave the telegram to her. “A news dispatch was sent to the postmaster. It seems there was a train accident at Alton.”

Kathleen felt the color drain from her face. A sharp hum crackled in her ears. Clumsy with haste, she snatched the telegram from him and opened it.

DERAILMENT NEAR ALTON STATION. TRENEAR AND WINTERBORNE BOTH INJURED. HAVE DOCTOR READY FOR THEIR ARRIVAL. I WILL RETURN BY HIRED COACH.

SUTTON

Devon… injured.

Kathleen found herself clenching her fists as if the terrifying thought were something she could physically bat away. Her heart had begun to hammer.

“Sims, send a footman to fetch the doctor.” She had to force words through a smothering layer of panic. “He must come without delay – both Lord Trenear and Mr. Winterborne will require his attention.”