The Devil's Own by Liana LeFey

Author:Liana LeFey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Romance; British Historical Literature; Women's Historical Fiction; Regency Romances; Historical European Fiction; Reverend; Vicar; Steamy Historical Romance; Late Regency Romance; Twins; Brothers; Mistaken Identity; Hidden Identity; The Devil’s Own; Liana LeFey; Entangled Publishing; Amara; Single Title Romance; Stand Alone Romance
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2021-05-12T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eleven

That evening, he missed her face during the service. When he inquired, he was told by her mother that she’d come in from their outing complaining of the bitter cold and a headache. She was at home, indisposed.

That night, he tried to put nib to paper and relate to Daniel all that had transpired, his frustrations, guilt, and dissatisfaction with his management of the matter. The crumpled-up page was in the fire before the ink had dried on the last sentence. Half a dozen sheets of parchment later, he realized it was hopeless. In the end, he wrote only that he was making fine progress, and inquired as to Daniel’s luck with the deal and Miss St. Peters. Sealing the note, he laid it aside to post in the morning.

I’ll give it a couple of weeks before declaring the matter closed. Just to make certain. After all, Miss Tomblin was a particularly stubborn specimen, and women were known to change their minds. He had to be sure. For Daniel’s sake.

Despite Devlin’s weariness, sleep evaded him. And not just because of the giant new bruise on his leg where the gate had hit him. For a long while he lay in the dark, reliving the last conversation he’d had with Mary, picking it apart. What might have happened had he spoken differently? Their almost-kiss haunted him and made him restless.

He awakened to a cheerless gray morning that did nothing to improve his mood. Taking his letter to the inn, he was pleased to receive one in return from Daniel. He skimmed over the grousing about his excessive lifestyle and the questionable company he kept, his only real concern being that no one suspected anything was amiss, and was informed that his brother had succeeded in fooling his London acquaintances.

There was no mention of Miss St. Peters, and Devlin couldn’t help wondering if his brother had done the same as he and simply neglected to mention any female-related complications. It was an uncharitable thought, and he dismissed it at once. Unlike himself, Daniel had always been the sort to want to talk about it whenever things went pear-shaped. It’s what made him an excellent vicar and a complete disaster at cards.

The days following managed only to further sink his spirits. Time maintained a steady march at a snail’s pace, and though he tried to busy himself, nothing he did made it go by any faster. With every outing, he found himself hoping to catch a glimpse of Mary in passing.

At the mercantile, he searched every nook for her familiar profile. Nothing.

Remembering what she’d said about scheduling visits to her newfound friends during the week, he paid call on Mrs. Stone that Wednesday to check on the progress of the repairs, thinking Mary might be there. She wasn’t.

He visited the patisserie, the village’s tiny bookstore, even the milliner. But Mary Tomblin was nowhere to be found.

On the fourth day of his fruitless efforts to “accidentally” encounter her, he spied her friend, Miss Augusta Benfield, coming out of the apothecary.

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