For the First Time

by Smith, Kathryn

• ISBN13: 9780060527419
• ISBN10: 0060527412
• Format: Paperback
• Copyright: 2003-09-10
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publications

Summary

Readers of Lisa Kleypas and Judith Ivory, and anyone who likes a compelling, emotionally engrossing Regency-set love story will relish this new book from the wonderful Kathryn Smith.

Excerpts

For the First Time

Chapter One

London
July 1817

"You are going.”Devlin Ryland looked up from packing his valise long enough to acknowledge his oldest brother's presence.

"Yes." He took one more shirt from the pile on the bed and placed it in the worn leather bag. His evening clothes werepacked as well as extra trousers, cravats, shirts, and one extracoat. The extra coat was his one concession to fashion. Therewere going to be people at Brixleigh Park who made a pointof never wearing the same thing twice. He should at leasthave a little variety.

Darkly handsome, his features much more chiseled andrugged than Devlin's own, Brahm limped into the inner sanctumof the room. Devlin could tell from the heavy thumps ofhis cane against the thickly varnished floorboards that hisbrother's leg was bothering him.

"I thought you were apprehensive about seeing Carnoveragain."

Buckling the straps on his valise, Devlin shrugged. "We all have our demons we must face. You told me that." And Lordknew that Brahm had his share of demons.

Both hands on the carved, burnished silver head of hiscane, Brahm leaned slightly forward. "But Carny is supposedto be your friend. Not a demon."

"He is both." He didn't have to explain. No doubt Brahmunderstood better than he should.

A kind smile curved Brahm's mouth -- a sight that hadbeen all too rare these few months since their father's death. "What are you going to do?"

Another shrug. He was packed and ready to go, yet hewasn't ready to leave just yet. "I do not know. Perhaps seeing him will be easier this time."

"You mean perhaps the dreams will not come back."

Straightening his shoulders, Devlin met Brahm's concerned gaze evenly. "Yes."

"What if they do?" Obviously Brahm wasn't done withhim yet. Was this simple brotherly concern, or was he worried that Devlin might do something to embarrass the family in Devon? He'd have to come up with something fairly outrageous to top anything Brahm himself had done. Pissing in a punch bowl was hard competition.

And somehow, he couldn't imagine Brahm giving a rat'sass about the family's social standing. His brother was worriedabout him, plain and simple.

"I'll be all right."

Another rare smile. "I do not doubt it."

Silence followed as Devlin turned and picked up the Bakerrifle leaning against a chair near the window. He'd been uptill three in the morning cleaning and oiling it, polishing thescarred wood until it gleamed, scrubbing the barrel insideand out until the cloth came away without a hint of black. Heslipped it into its case and placed it on the cream velvet bedspreadbeside his valise.

"What are you taking that for?" Brahm asked. "Are youplanning to do some shooting in Devon?"

This time Devlin shrugged just one shoulder. "I might."

"You cannot bear to leave it behind, can you?" What botheredhim more, the insight or the compassion in Brahm's tone?It probably seemed foolish to Brahm that his younger brotherwas so dependent on something as inanimate as a gun, but hewouldn't judge him for it. Brahm never judged. Either becauseit wasn't in his nature, or because he knew he had no right.

"It's part of me." That rifle had been his constant companionfor years. It had been there with him when he saw friendsand fellow soldiers shot to bits on the battlefield. He hadslept with it, eaten with it beside him. Hell, the whole time hehad been in the army he didn't even take a piss without theBaker with him. How could he just "leave it behind" now thatthe fighting was over? He couldn't.

The Baker never turned its back on him, never let himdown, and, like Brahm, never judged him.

"You have to forgive yourself for what happened, brother.Forgive and accept."

There it was. As the oldest, Brahm couldn't help but take responsibilityfor his younger brothers. This included trying tosolve all their problems, even when he had more than enoughof his own. He always seemed to know what they "had" to do.Unfortunately, he never seemed to know how to achieve it.

"Have you forgiven yourself?" Devlin asked, slipping thestrap of the rifle case over his head so that the Baker rested atan angle across his back. Its weight was welcome and familiar.

Brahm shifted his weight, still resting against his cane. Nodoubt his leg was aching like the devil. "Not quite. But I'mtrying. You have yet to attempt even that."

"How can I forgive what I did?" Picking up his valise, Devlinstepped around the foot of the bed toward the door. Brahmblocked his path.

"It was war."

He snorted. "Was that what it was?" How easy it was forsomeone who wasn't there to think he knew what it had beenlike. One had to be there to know, and sometimes Devlinwished to God that he had been sensible enough to stay thehell home.

Brahm's russet gaze was shrewd, and saw far more thanDevlin was comfortable with. "Would you rather Carny hadbeen killed?"

"No." But sometimes he wished it had happened differently.

"Of course not. He is damn grateful you did what you did."A thump of Brahm's cane punctuated his pronouncement."So am I, for that matter. If you had not acted you might havebeen killed as well."

"Perhaps that would have been for the best." It wasmaudlin, but sometimes when the dreams got bad ...

If his brother didn't need his cane to remain upright, Devlin had no doubt Brahm would have hit him -- God knewwhere -- with the gleaming heavy oak ...

For the First Time. Copyright © by Kathryn Smith. Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Available now wherever books are sold.

---

Excerpted from For the First Time by Kathryn Smith
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.