Devil's Daughter (The Ravenels #5) - Lisa Kleypas Page 0,53
given West whenever he’d had been caught bullying or cheating back in their school days. “For our entire lives, West, I’ve always taken your side. You’ve nothing to lose by telling me the truth.”
Folding his arms on the table, West rested his chin on them and glowered at the bookshelves. “I think I’m in love with her. Either that, or I have a stomach disease with a side effect of uncontrollable sweating. But there’s no doubt about one thing: I have no business marrying and reproducing. Somehow, you’ve managed to rise above our upbringing. You’re a good husband, and by some miracle you’re a good father. I won’t tempt fate by trying to follow suit.”
“What’s stopping you? The fact that you used to be a rake?”
“You were a rake. I was a wreck. Two years of moderately decent behavior doesn’t wipe away an entire personal history.”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
“It will. Imagine Justin a few years from now, meeting another boy whose family was ruined because I once had an affair with his mother. Or when someone tells him about a formal party at which I turned up too drunk to walk straight. Or the charming fact that I was booted out of Oxford because I set fire to my room. Or how about this?—Imagine the moment I have to tell him that his father hated me to his dying day for bullying him at boarding school.”
“If his mother forgave you, don’t you think he’ll be able to?”
“Forgiveness be damned. It doesn’t make any of it go away.”
“I think you’re missing the point of forgiveness.”
Lifting his head, West said bleakly, “We have to stop talking about this; Phoebe will be here soon to look at the farm account ledgers.” He sorely regretted inviting her. It had been a stupid impulse.
Sighing, Devon stood. “Before I leave, let me share a piece of hard-won wisdom about women.”
“God, must you?”
“It’s not all about what you want. It’s also about what she wants. No matter what your intentions, most women don’t like it when you make their decisions for them.”
Phoebe came to the door of the study, which had been left partially ajar, and knocked on the doorjamb. It reminded her of when she’d walked into West’s bedroom and found him half naked, and she felt a pang of nerves.
“Lady Clare.” West appeared at the threshold, looking polished and handsome in a dark suit of clothes and a conservative striped necktie. His hair was neatly brushed back and his face close-shaven. One would never suspect what was beneath all those civilized layers, Phoebe thought, and blushed because she knew there were stitches above his left hip, and a bruise left by a sheep’s hoof on his right forearm, and a tan line below the waist, and a hairy chest that intrigued her more every time she thought about it.
After welcoming her into the study, West seated her at a table pilled with books.
“What a refreshing change to see you fully dressed,” Phoebe said lightly.
West turned and leaned back against the table, smiling down at her. “Are we going to start by flirting?”
“I wasn’t flirting.”
“Let’s not deceive ourselves, madam: your allusion to my clothing and my previous lack thereof was definitely flirting.”
Phoebe laughed. There was something different in his manner with her today, a friendliness accompanied by a slight distance. She was relieved; it would make everything easier. “It was accidental flirting,” she said.
“It could happen to anyone,” he allowed graciously.
As Phoebe’s gaze moved to a towering stack of ledgers, she winced. “My goodness.”
“We keep a separate book for every department of the estate. Household, crops, dairy and poultry, livestock, pay list, inventory, and so forth.” West gave her a questioning glance. “That’s not how they do it at the Clare estate?”
“I’ve never actually seen the Clare account books,” Phoebe admitted. “Only the household ledger, which the housekeeper and I used to oversee together. Edward Larson has handled the rest of the bookkeeping ever since Henry’s health declined.”
“Why didn’t you have an estate manager handle it?”
“He was quite old and wanted to retire. It was a great relief when Edward offered to step in and manage things. Henry trusted him completely.”
“They were first cousins?”
“Yes, but they were more like brothers. Henry didn’t like to mix with people outside of his family or mine. He preferred to keep his world small and safe.”
West’s head tilted slightly, the light sliding over the rich chocolate luster of his hair. “And therefore, so was yours,” he said in a neutral