Unlacing Lilly. Gail Ranstrom

The rain had eased somewhat and Devlin slipped his jacket on before he cupped her chin, removed his handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and dabbed at her tears. She sighed and swayed toward him.

      Unable to resist, he bent his head until his lips were mere inches away from hers. “You are too damned tempting, Miss O’Rourke.”

      She did not move, did not even breathe. Then, as powerless to stop himself as he was to fly, he brushed his lips over hers and groaned. A quick jolt of desire shot through him. Damn! He had not meant for this to happen. He could ill afford any sentiment now. He released her and stepped back. “Olney is a lucky man. I hope he knows that.”

      She blinked. “I…I think he would not feel so lucky if he had seen that.” She glanced around, but no one had noticed.

      He cleared his throat. “I apologize for my familiarity. I shouldn’t have done that.”

      “No, you shouldn’t. And I cannot believe…I allowed you that liberty.”

      “Believe me, Miss O’Rourke, I am as surprised as you. Shall we forget it? I swear I shall never mention it again.”

      She bobbed her head in agreement and glanced away. Her embarrassment was painfully obvious. “Where has Nancy got to?”

      That question was concerning him, as well. She would be back soon, and Devlin did not want to give her any chance to ask questions or be able to describe him later. “I think we can safely assume that Nancy will wait for the worst of this to pass before she comes after you. I am afraid you shall have to come with me or wait beneath a dripping tree.”

      “It is not necessary for you to wait with me, sir. There is nothing you can possibly do for me that I cannot do for myself.”

      He could not help but grin at the wide opening she had left him. “Oh, I think there may be a few things.”

      The remark was lost on her and she fussed with the box she’d been holding, straightening it and holding it closer.

      “What do you have in the box that you are protecting so fiercely, Miss O’Rourke?”

      She glanced down at the package she was now crushing against her chest. “My wedding gown.”

      “Ah. I wager it is a stunning creation.”

      She emitted an unladylike snort. “Are you coming to the wedding, Mr. Devlin?”

      He nodded.

      “You must tell me what you think of it.”

      “At the first opportunity.” He glanced over his shoulder and sighed. The maid, still a block away, was returning with an umbrella. One last try. “Are you certain I cannot take you home, Miss O’Rourke? I hate to leave you alone out here in the weather.”

      “I am certain,” she confirmed.

      He put his hat on and took a step back. “Tomorrow, then.”

      “Oh, I had forgot! I owe you for the ribbons, Mr. Devlin. Here, if you will hold my box, I shall get the sum from my reticule.”

      “Never mind, Miss O’Rourke. I shall collect it from your new husband tomorrow. In full.”

      Devlin stared at the piece of paper Jack dropped on his desk. The address, written in scrawled numbers, was vaguely familiar. It was also close to the park where he’d left Lillian O’Rourke earlier today.

      “You’re certain?”

      “No doubt. It appears he is her brother-in-law. Logical for him to take them in, under the circumstances.”

      “Logical, but damned inconvenient,” Devlin murmured. “Too bad. I have no quarrel with the Hunter brothers but this will certainly start one.”

      “This? What? Is it not time you told me what you are up to, Farrell?”

      “It is not. In fact, I think it will be a greater benefit to you if you haven’t any idea what is afoot.”

      “Your game is afoot, that much is clear.” Jack sat back in his chair and rocked on the rear legs. “But it is the nature of the game that troubles me. I begin to regret having any involvement in this at all. The Hunters are not ones a sane man would wish to cross. You’ve said you do not have a grudge with Miss O’Rourke, and that she is merely a means to an end, but I have misgivings as to the way you intend to use her.”

      So did Devlin, but he merely regarded Jack with an even expression. He could not afford to give anything more away. Not that Jack could stop him if he knew the whole plan, but Devlin had no stomach for a quarrel with no purpose. Quite simply, there was no way to turn him back now.

      Jack was studying him and Devlin could almost see the wheels turning in his mind. He was quick and could put clues together faster than anyone Devlin had ever known, but pray he did not put this scheme together.

      Yes, there would be adjustments he would have to make, and consequences to pay, but that was unavoidable. It was the greater risk of failure that troubled him. His original plan had been straightforward, clean and sure to succeed, but now it was fraught with possible disaster. If he failed…well, he’d lose his life. To target so powerful a family as Rutherford’s was foolhardy. He’d known that from the beginning.

      Apparently tired of waiting for Devlin to tell him more, Jack finally rocked forward in his chair and stood. He headed toward the door, shaking his head. “I’d appreciate it if you never mention my name or my involvement with this, Dev.”

      “Done.” But he had one last chore for Jack, and he knew he could persuade him. He reached into his waistcoat pocket and withdrew the scrap of paper that had dropped from Miss O’Rourke’s reticule. Her list of things to do and items to fetch. It would be enough.

      Fricke was a dab hand at such things. “Take this to Fricke, will you? He will know what to do with it.”

      Jack came back for the paper and pushed it in his pocket. “A forger? Deeper and deeper,” he said in mock despair before he closed the door behind him.

      Devlin stood and went to his window to look down on the teeming Whitechapel street. Especially after dark it swarmed with men seeking strong drink and an easy mark, and women seeking the same. This was not a place for the timid, and he wondered how Miss O’Rourke would have fared here. Most likely she’d have hidden in corners and avoided the citizens. She was far too well-bred to even understand the misery in such places.

      He remembered her as she’d been this afternoon, a bit bedraggled from the storm, smelling of starch and wet straw bonnet. Even that could not douse the fire she’d kindled in his groin. She’d been so completely lovely, so blissfully unaware of her appeal, that he’d been tempted to tell her. But she’d have run from him, and rightly so. His intentions were about as far from honorable as they could be.

      He was still a bit bemused by the brush of their lips. He could not call it a kiss, at least none like he’d had before. Their lips had barely met, and yet he’d felt a surge of heat he hadn’t experienced since his first time at fifteen years old when he’d lain with one of the prostitutes who had been a friend of his mother. In the countless encounters and women since, he’d never found anything remotely as exciting.

      And, curse the luck, she was Andrew Hunter’s sister-in-law. Hunter was a man of his word, and he respected that. In fact, Hunter had intervened to keep Devlin out of gaol once. And Devlin had repaid the debt only a month ago by helping Andrew stop the brotherhood of sacrificial killers his brother James was now seeking. If he recalled correctly, Miss O’Rourke’s sister was to have been the last sacrifice, but Hunter had arrived in time to foil their plans and disband the treacherous group.

      What a quagmire of conflicting loyalties he’d fallen into. Honor his friendship? Be the gentleman to Miss O’Rourke? Or achieve the very thing he’d lived for since his mother’s death twenty years ago?

      He experienced a quick flash of sympathy for the O’Rourkes. They deserved a respite. They deserved a bit of peace.

      They