Page 7 of Lady Tempts a Rogue

Though Devin was an only child, he intended to stay away for a lengthy while—long enough for Mother to become a jot repentant. He had no plans to inform her when he returned to England either.

Like delicate eggshells, trust, once broken, was not something easily mended.

Perched on the edge of the lower berth, he unlocked the first trunk and, after lifting the lid, took swift inventory. As Devin did not retain a valet—another disappointment to his class-conscious mother—Shillingford had seen his belongings packed.

Mama was so bent on Devin marrying into the peerage, yet she had married a wealthy merchant. And by all that was sacred and holy, never, never let poor berated and beleaguered Father forget that he was beneath her. She had driven him to drink with her constant harping and complaining. Any love they may have once shared had dissipated after years of haranguing and criticism.

If that was what love and marriage did to a man, Devin wanted no part of matrimony.

Heaving a sigh, he closed the first trunk, the lid clunking shut with a small thunk.

The other trunk stood upright and opened like an armoire but must remain closed except when he required something, or else he could not pass between it and the berth. Falling back onto the thin, hard mattress, he clasped his hands behind his neck and stared at the slats above him.

Zounds.

Imagine if two people shared this inadequate space.

He eyed his large trunks through half-closed eyes.

Those would not be here if he’d had to share, and he made a mental note to thank the captain. The cramped cabin might not be luxurious, but at least Devin had privacy.

The ship’s manifest listed him as Silas Fenby, and he had not yet decided whether to continue using the false name throughout the voyage.

There was no point in doing so now.

A pretty oval face framed by sable curls invaded his musings.

He had seen her before—the woman on the deck—but where or when, he could not recall.

Were her eyes blue?

The muted light made it impossible to tell for certain.

Did she recognize him too?

The gentle motion of the ship revealed they’d set sail, and Devin sat upright. He might as well go above and watch as London disappeared from view. An unexpected sense of anticipation and exhilaration gripped him.

He might’ve taken this course to prove a point and to escape his mother’s machinations, but it was time for him to step into his father’s shoes. At least to the degree that Father had been an astute businessman—not the unsavory, drowning-his-sorrows-in-spirits part.

Besides, the young woman might still be on deck.

Devin quirked his mouth into a sarcastic grin as he eschewed his great coat and wrapped his cloak about his shoulders again. Here he was fleeing England because of a woman, rather because of women, and he was about to go above deck because of a pretty face.

Well, old chap. You aren’t dead.

Just reluctant to enter the parson’s mousetrap.

He’d heard that voyages could be quite tedious—days on end with nothing to do but read, sketch, play cards…

A shipboard flirtation could not cause any harm.

As long as Devin was mindful to keep it just that—a mild, carefree liaison.

The ship pitched slightly, and his stomach followed suit.

Bloody perfect.

Not even out to sea yet, and his innards quaked like a flag buffeted by a stiff breeze.

A hand braced against the doorframe, he drew in a purgative breath.

Surely the fresh air above would help calm his budding nausea.

In hindsight, two bowls of beef stew and apple cobbler for dinner mightn’t have been wise.

Jaw clenched, he retraced his passage of several minutes ago.

He would either improve on deck or disgrace himself.

Would not that give the crew a good laugh?

The Daunting Duchess’s owner casting up his accounts in full view of everyone.