Devil's Daughter (The Ravenels #5) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,40

but I thought saying that might make you feel better.”

A laugh trembled in her throat, and her eyes stopped watering.

“You sat down to dinner with me,” Mr. Ravenel said, “knowing what a brute I was to Henry, and you said nothing. Why?”

“I thought it would be kinder to keep silent.”

Something relaxed in his expression. “Phoebe,” he said softly. The way he said her name, like an endearment, made her insides feel pleasantly weighted. “I don’t deserve such kindness. I was born wicked, and I only grew worse after that.”

“No one is born wicked,” she said. “There were reasons why you fell into mischief. Had your parents lived, they would have loved you and taught you right from wrong—”

“Sweetheart . . . no.” His smile was edged with bitterness. “My father was usually too far in the drink to remember he had children. My mother was half mad and had fewer morals than the barn cat we brought back today. Since none of our relations wanted custody of a pair of impoverished brats, Devon and I were sent to boarding school. We stayed there most holidays. I became a bully. I hated everyone. Henry was especially irritating—skinny, odd, fussy about his food. Always reading. I stole that book from the box under his bed because it seemed to be his favorite.”

Pausing uncomfortably, Mr. Ravenel raked a hand through his disordered hair, and it promptly fell back into the same gleaming, untidy layers. “I didn’t plan to keep it. I was going to embarrass him by reading parts of it aloud in front of him. And when I saw what you’d written on the inside cover, I could hardly wait to torture him about it. But then I read the first page.”

“In which Stephen Armstrong is sinking in a pit of quicksand,” Phoebe said with a tremulous smile.

“Exactly. I had to find out what happened next.”

“After escaping the quicksand, he has to save his true love, Catriona, from the crocodiles.”

A husky sound of amusement. “You marked x’s all over those pages.”

“I secretly longed for a hero to rescue me from crocodiles someday.”

“I secretly longed to be a hero. Despite having far more in common with the crocodiles.” Mr. Ravenel’s gaze focused inward as he sorted through long-ago memories. “I didn’t know reading could be like that,” he eventually said. “A ride on a magic carpet. I stopped bullying Henry after that. I couldn’t jeer at him for loving that book. In fact, I wished I could talk to him about it.”

“He would have adored that. Why didn’t you?”

“I was embarrassed that I’d stolen it. And I wanted to keep it just a little longer. I’d never had a book of my own.” He paused, still remembering. “I loved finding the marks you put on your favorite scenes. Forty-seven kisses, all totaled. I pretended they were for me.”

It had never occurred to Phoebe that the book might have meant just as much to West Ravenel—more, even—than it had to her and Henry. Oh, how strange life was. She would never have dreamed she would someday feel such sympathy for him.

“There were times when that book kept me from despair,” Mr. Ravenel said. “It was one of the best things about my childhood.” A self-mocking smile touched his lips. “Naturally, it was something I’d stolen. Henry left school for good before I could bring myself to return it. I’ve always felt badly about that.”

Phoebe didn’t want him to feel badly. Not anymore. “I gave Henry my copy after his went missing,” she said. “He was able to read Stephen Armstrong’s adventures whenever he wanted.”

“That doesn’t excuse what I did.”

“You were a boy of nine or ten. Henry would understand now. He would forgive you, as I have.”

Instead of reacting with gratitude, Mr. Ravenel seemed annoyed. “Don’t waste forgiveness on me. I’m a lost cause. Believe me, compared to my other sins this was a drop in the bucket. Just take the book and know that I’m sorry.”

“I want you to keep it,” Phoebe said earnestly. “As a gift from Henry and me.”

“God, no.”

“Please, you must take it back.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Phoebe . . . no . . . damn it . . .”

They had started to grapple, pushing the book back and forth, each trying to compel the other to accept it. The novel fell to the floor as Phoebe swayed off balance and staggered back a step. Mr. Ravenel snatched her reflexively and pulled her back, and momentum brought her against