Devil Takes A Bride (29 page)

“Alec, darling! There you are!”

Just then, Lady Campion suddenly flung herself into their midst, sliding her hands up Alec's broad shoulder. Lizzie flinched at the intrusion.

“Where have you been, my pretty fellow? I will not be neglected,” she said with a playful pout. Ignoring Lizzie even more skillfully than Jacinda's haughty Society friends had, Lady Campion tugged Alec down a few inches to whisper something in his ear.

God, how horrendously awkward. Lizzie folded her arms across her waist and looked away, but the glamorous image of the baroness was stamped upon her mind. Rich, beautiful, widowed, and thus, free as a bird, Lady Campion was a slim brunette with a sophisticated tousle of short, dark curls tamed by a silk bandeau. The thick ribbon's long, jaunty ends trailed down one side to skim her alluring shoulder. She was clad in a lemon-striped open-robe with a white muslin underskirt; the skillful fluttering of her fan spoke volumes to every male in her presence.

Feeling slightly ill as she remembered anew how Alec had let this woman come between them, Lizzie looked away, trying to recall why she had even come. Where was Devlin? He had left her standing here like a fool. Jacinda was busy, too, now inundated by the growing knot of her hen-wit acquaintances.

Lizzie glanced again at Alec and saw he was still staring at her even as Lady Campion hung on him and half made love to him right there in the middle of the party. He was unresponsive to his wealthy mistress and her attempts to monopolize him, just gazing at Lizzie with a look of misery in his eyes and deep, deep regret.

As she watched the baroness's sickening display for a second, she realized Lady Campion had sunk her claws into Alec and had no intention of letting him go free.

Not after all she had paid for him.

Just then, Billy, bless him, returned with two goblets of punch. “Well, now, where did that daft of mine run off to? Jas!”

“Good evening, Lord Truro,” Lady Campion purred, regarding Billy with a gleam in her eye as she slid her clasped fingers over the top of Alec's muscular shoulder.

Billy sent the woman a frown of distaste and turned to look for his wife. “Nice of you to run off on Lizzie,” he muttered, and handed Jacinda her drink as she came hurrying over to them.

“I'm so sorry! It couldn't be helped, dearest,” she said apologetically to Lizzie. “You see why I'm desperate for you to come to these things with me?” Jacinda sipped her punch, then furrowed her brow. “Where's Lord Strathmore?”

Billy nodded toward the wine tent. “He said he'd be back in a moment.”

Lizzie followed his glance and spotted Devlin, who she now saw had been detained talking to a large disreputable-looking man with brown hair.

“Did you say Strathmore?” Alec asked in surprise, pulling his face free of Lady Campion's light, possessive hold.

“Indeed. Your old school friend, I understand?” Lizzie challenged him politely.

“Rather,” Alec drawled.

“You don't sound pleased.”

He shrugged. “It's not a friendship I've chosen to renew.”

“Why ever not?” she asked a trifle indignantly.

“I don't particularly care for the company he keeps since his return to England.”

“What do you mean?”

He started to answer, but at that moment, Lady Madison, their hostess of the evening, came bustling by, inquiring if everyone was enjoying themselves. She stopped to chat for only a moment before moving on to continue mingling among her guests. She had just left their group when Devlin rejoined them, bringing Lizzie a glass of champagne punch, which, she discovered the moment she sipped it, had gone warm.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I ran into someone I know and couldn't escape.”

“I noticed.” She wondered if the brawny man he had been talking to was one of the undesirables Alec had been referring to. It had been a strange remark, for Alec rarely had anything bad to say about anyone. She would've liked to have known more, but she was still officially not speaking to Alec. Under the circumstances, she was only glad that it hadn't been one of the high-society harlots like Lady Campion who had tried to divert Devlin's attention.

He bent his head and whispered tenderly in her ear: “Are you all right? I came as soon as I saw.”

She pulled back a small space and glanced up into his eyes. His concerned expression as he searched her face assured her he had guessed who the woman was with Alec, and knew how difficult this moment was for Lizzie.

She had faltered for a moment there, but now that she had her ally by her side again, she succumbed to a reluctant half-smile. Slipping her hand through the crook of his elbow, she nodded and moved closer to his side, drawing strength from his solidity.
I am now.

Alec was watching them intently. “Why, Devil Strathmore,” he drawled, “as I live and breathe.”

Devlin turned and greeted him with equally guarded savoir faire. “Why, if it isn't Alexander the Great.”

“I'd heard you were back in Town. How are you?”

“Never better. Yourself?”

“Can't complain.”

The two old friends shook hands, but their reunion was markedly cool, and Lizzie detected a certain suspicious reserve on both sides.

“I did not know that you two were acquainted,” Alec commented, glancing from Devlin to Lizzie.

“Oh, yes, we met in Bath some time ago, didn't we?” he murmured to her, casting Lizzie a purposely besotted smile. “This sweet pearl brought cheer to the last months of my aunt's life, and for that, I shall be eternally grateful to her.” Devlin lifted Lizzie's hand and kissed it.

Lady Campion smirked.

Alec's stare was like ice. After a moment's startled pause, he abruptly remembered his manners. “Yes, I had heard about your aunt's passing, old boy. My condolences.”

Dev gave him a gallant nod of thanks.

“Alec, darling, aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?” Lady Campion stepped forward, fixing her speculative stare on Devlin. “I don't believe we've met.”

Lizzie bristled.

“By all means, my lady.” With a smooth and rather crafty smile, Alec obliged the woman, more than glad, it seemed, to sic her on Dev for a while. “Allow me to present Devlin Kimball, Viscount Strathmore. Strathmore, this is Lady Campion.”

“Ma'am,” Devlin said, bowing to her with frosty restraint.

“I never stand on formalities with handsome gentlemen, Lord Strathmore. Please,” she purred, “call me Eva.” Extending her jeweled hand to Devlin, she waited for him to kiss it like a queen granting favors.

Devlin just looked at her; then he abruptly thrust his wineglass into her waiting hand. “Would you mind holding this while I dance with Miss Carlisle? Thank you so much. Let's go, sweeting. You promised me a waltz.”

With a startled blink, Lizzie hurried after him as he grasped her hand and tugged her away from them with a relentless stride, leaving Alec's haughty mistress holding the half-empty glass and wearing a look of outraged indignation.

Lizzie could barely stifle her hilarity. “I can't believe you just did that!” She glanced back as Jacinda and Billy turned away from the furious woman, hiding their laughter.

“No one treats you like that when I'm around,” he growled. “I am sorry, Lizzie, but I am too vexed to dance. The nerve of that witch!” He turned to her. “Are you sure you're all right?”

“I'm fine!”

When their gazes met—his tempestuous, hers tickled—she was sure the world stopped turning for a moment, that the moon beamed brighter, and the stars danced.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He grumbled and looked away, a little abashed.

“Devlin?” She crooked her finger at him. When he leaned down nearer, she murmured in his ear: “I have a better idea than dancing.”

“You do?” His stormy scowl immediately vanished as he took in the flirtatious smile spreading over her face.

“Mm-hmm.” She sent a frisky glance toward the silken shadows of the moonlit gardens, then raised her eyebrow at him in question.

He smiled wickedly. “ Clever girl. That
is
a better idea. Much better.”

“Let's go.”

They escaped together through the sprawling gardens to a serene spot by the river, a secluded little flagstone terrace with a lichened stone balustrade that overlooked the water. Large stone urns with clouds of showy pinks burgeoning around tall snapdragons and trailing tendrils of fragrant honeysuckle capped the pillared ends of the stone railing, framing the moonlit view of the river in flowers and scenting the night with luxurious perfume.

With the breeze billowing gracefully through Lizzie's white gown and the moonlight glinting on Devlin's gold earring, they crossed the stone landing to the balustrade, gazing out at the rippling water.

Standing side by side, they were silent for a long moment, savoring the night and each other. The river was calm, gently lapping at the banks. A lone swan glided against the current, while, far behind them, the distant orange lights of the house and the lantern-lit garden twinkled. From down by the river's meander, they could hear the charming piece that the string quintet was playing aboard the festooned barge that their host had provided to transport the guests back and forth from the heart of London if they so desired. Then Devlin laid his hand atop hers where it rested on the stone railing. She turned to him slowly, her heart fluttering.

With a tender gaze of ineffable longing, he drew her into his strong embrace; she wrapped her arms around his neck, sighing as he lowered his head and caressed her lips with his own. Leaning into his broad chest, she tilted her head back and parted her lips for his sugar-deep kiss, savoring the taste of his tongue in her mouth. His hands ran slowly up and down her back, her arms. He cupped her face as he plied her with kisses until she felt his marvelous body harden against her.

His groan was as soft as the wind in the trees. “God, I'm going out of my mind for you.”

“There, there,” she whispered, and hesitantly reached down to stroke him through his elegant formal trousers.

“You'll drive me insane.” He stopped her after several moments, catching her hand up behind her back, just roughly enough to excite her. Then, giving her a roguish smile, his eyes glittering, he lifted her by her waist, sitting her up on the stone railing.

“Ohhh, Devlin,” she sighed, welcoming him as his lean hips slipped between her thighs, bunching her skirts up a little. Her fine gown would wrinkle, but she didn't care at all. She clung to him, kissing him like she had sold him her soul, moving with him as he rocked her body with a sinuous motion. Her groan was soft as he fondled her breast through the fine white silk of her bodice.

Above them, the moon beamed; the music played on, the charming minuet floating over the water. They hurried to learn each other anew before their absence was noted, their eager hands molding every curve and plane and hollow, their lips mingling kisses with urgent whispers. They touched each other as deeply as they dared and yet still hungered for more.

He suddenly tore his mouth away from hers. “Someone's coming,” he panted.

Startling her out of the haze of passion, she, too, became aware of laughing voices approaching from the direction of the garden. “Don't leave me,” she pleaded, catching the lapels of his coat in a sensuous grasp.

“If I stay, we'll be caught,” he whispered. “Then you'll have to marry me. I said on my honor it would be your choice, darling, and I meant it.” Cradling her cheek in his palm, he slowly lowered his hand. Then he walked away, disappearing into the shadows among the trees as the small knot of revelers approached.

Lizzie quickly pasted on a smile and nodded to them, but she was left to ponder the unselfish thing he'd done. He could have solved his money problems merely by staying and she would have been none the wiser. He could have feigned innocence, for she had not heard the other guests coming in time to take evasive action.

I guess he
is
serious about me.

A soft, vulnerable smile curved her lips as she stared at the garden shadows where Devlin had vanished into the night.

C
HAPTER
F
OURTEEN

Halfway through the week following the Madison ball, Dev walked into White's with his chums from the Horse and Chariot Club. They had just come from a rough bout at Dick Mace's fashionable boxing studio on Bond Street, where Quint had pummeled them all soundly—including Devlin. With a cigar dangling from his mouth and his barrel-chest swelled with pride at having beaten a strong man ten years his junior, Quint strutted ahead of the others into the august male sanctuary.

The oak-paneled walls and dark carpets of the club created a dim atmosphere in sharp contrast to the glaring sunshine of the warm May afternoon, but Dev's eyes adjusted quickly enough to note that the members of the club politely turned away as their party prowled in.

“First round's on Dev, boys! Ha!” Quint slapped him on the back as Dev approached.

“Ow,” he mumbled, wincing.

Quint laughed heartily. “You! Get pouring! Ale here!” he ordered one of the waiters.

“Yes, my lord.” The waiter blanched and hurried to do Quint's bidding.

Dev now had firsthand knowledge of exactly how Quint had earned the nickname Damage Randall. The ring was the one place where the great oaf shone.

The baron had a left hook that could take a man's head off and a two-punch combination that he delivered to his opponent's midsection with fists like the pistons of the newfangled steam engine. Dev's ribs still ached from the blows, but he had not been trying to win.

After a marathon brawl of some twenty-five rounds, Dev had finally thrown the fight, just to keep everyone happy. No one had beaten Quint since 1807, and he did not intend to rouse their suspicions by shattering the baron's record. The waiter returned, and soon the scoundrels of the Horse and Chariot Driving Club were guzzling refreshing tankards of cool golden-brown ale.

Dev put the round on his tab with the house, as ordered, and the next, and the one after that, fully aware that his funds were running out fast, but what else could he do? They had no idea that his inheritance floated in limbo, awaiting Lizzie Carlisle's whim to marry him or not.

Dev had not seen her since the night of the ball, but he had sent her flowers and through an exchange of letters, had procured her agreement to take a drive with him this Sunday. The proper courting had begun. The thought of her kiss brought a private smile to his lips.

The practicalities of his financial survival aside, his deepening attachment to her had decided the matter for him: Whatever happened, he would marry her and see her elevated to a station in life more worthy of her many excellences. How amusing it would be for her to find that she outranked even Lady Campion once she became his bride. The drift of his desires where she was concerned had sharpened his restlessness to be through with his revenge, because he was now prepared to consider a life together with her when it was all over. Until now, he had not allowed himself to care about his own fate in the matter, so long as he did his duty, paid the price he owed the stars for drawing his family to their horrible deaths on that fateful night.

He had not cared whether he lived or died when it was all said and done. But a few nights ago, in one of those moments of inspiration that sometimes struck him while he lounged in his bathing tub, it had come to him all of a sudden that Lizzie would hardly be pleased if her newlywed bridegroom ran off and got himself killed. Her feelings for him were growing, as well; he could see it in her smile, taste it in her kiss. Where his foes were concerned, he knew he was unstoppable when he cared nothing for his fate; but if Lizzie fell in love with him, wouldn't throwing caution to the wind and leaving her widowed inflict on her gentle heart a wound of loss similar to the one he himself had suffered so young?

It was a quandary. But it meant he must proceed with even greater shrewdness and control than before. As their courtship progressed, he knew he would also have to take pains to conceal their relationship from his dangerous companions. If they happened to notice his attentions to the pretty girls'-school governess, Dev was thoroughly prepared to say she was nothing to him but a bit o' muslin, a tasty entertainment; and when the time came for them to wed, he could always claim the Knight brothers had caught him in the seduction and had forced him to marry their little quasi-sister. Lizzie would probably be mortified by such a tale, but she need never know. Dev realized in the next moment, however, that there was only one fly in the ointment regarding this particular strategy for keeping her safe: Lord Alec Knight.

His dashing former school chum presently emerged from the famed bow window of White's, where he had been holding court with his usual pack of imitators and hangers-on.

As Dev watched Alec and his dandyish followers sauntering across the room to one of the card tables, he mulled over the fact that if he were to claim in male company that the little miss was naught but a bit of fun to him, word was sure to travel back to Alec. The man, after all, knew everyone, and, adored as he was by females, he was privy to all the gossip in London.

Dev could well imagine the man's reaction to such news. First would come the challenge to duel, not to be taken lightly. He'd heard that Alec had proved himself a dozen times on the field of honor. Worse, Alec would surely warn Lizzie that Dev had admitted he was only trifling with her. He could probably explain his way out of it, but she would be hurt all the same, and it was not a scrape he fancied getting into.

As though sensing his scrutiny, Alec glanced across the large hall and saw Dev studying him.

Neither man reacted.

Alec smoothly turned away, and Dev clenched his jaw.
What the hell? He might not like me courting Lizzie, but he's got no cause to act like that.
The man had practically given him the cut direct, and Dev was surprised to find himself a bit hurt by it. They used to be such good friends. Well, he certainly wasn't going to sit here and take it, he decided. Downing his last swallow of ale, he set his empty tankard on the table and excused himself from present company, strolling over to have a go at Alec.

“Something you want to say to me—old friend?” Dev inquired, bracing his hands on the back of the empty chair across from Alec and leaning on it as he held him in an insolent stare.

Alec eyed him in cool wariness. “Strathmore.” He dismissed his entourage with a glance, then looked again at Dev. “Seems we have a mutual acquaintance.”

“Yes, indeed.”

“What's your interest in her, Strathmore?” he asked bluntly. “I never knew your taste to run toward the bluestocking type.”

“Neither does yours, I'm told, so I can't see how it matters to you.”

“Who told you that?” he asked slowly, staring into his glass of brandy.

“Why, Miss Carlisle did. She told me all about your falling-out. How badly you hurt her.”

“I see. So, you intend to get whatever you can from her under the guise of offering comfort. Is that it?”

“Not even close.”

“Dev, we've known each other for a long time. But I swear to God, if you hurt her—”

“Like you did, Alec?” He paused. “My intentions are pure, as it happens. I've asked Elizabeth to marry me.”

“What?” he breathed, staring at Dev in amazement. “What was her answer?”

“She's thinking about it,” he replied, a faint, possessive gleam in his eyes.

He sat up straighter. “You mean she said no.”

“Merely ‘not yet.' But I can live with that for now. A young lady of her quality deserves all the trappings of a proper courtship.”

Hearing this, Alec forced out a clever laugh, but there was fear in his eyes. “No, no, you see, you've set yourself up for a jilt, old friend. She'll never say yes.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Because all her life, she's wanted me.”

Dev bristled, hating to admit it, but he knew from the girl's own lips that what Alec said was true. “Well, what do you expect her to do, live on hope? Wait for your convenience? That was a very foolish oversight on your part. For your information, I have reason to believe that my affections are returned.”

Alec stared at him for a long moment, weighing this; then he shook his head and lifted his eyebrows with an arrogant look. “Tell yourself that if it makes you feel better, but Lizzie has always been mine.”

“People change, Alec.”

Alec glanced at Quint and the other members of the Horse and Chariot Club seated at the far end of the room, then looked meaningfully at Dev. “Yes,” he murmured with a slight nod of reproach. “Apparently they do.”

 

That evening, the girls were eating supper in the dining hall when one of the maids came and whispered to Lizzie that a gentleman caller had asked to see her and was waiting for her on the front porch of the school. With a frisson of happiness, she hurried to meet Devlin, glancing at her reflection in the foyer's pier glass. She quickly smoothed her hair, took a deep breath, and tried to restrain her eagerness to see him. But when she walked out onto the porch, it was not Devlin who stood, hat in hand, to greet her.

It was Alec.

“Hullo, Bits.” He cast her a smile full of rueful affection, the slanted sun burnishing his golden hair.

“Alec.” She was unable to help the slight stiffening of her manner, but gave him a cordial nod and hoped she somewhat hid her disappointment. “Do you, er, care for refreshments?” Her tone was polite. “I could send for lemonade.”

Alec declined with a distracted shake of his head. “Is there someplace we could talk?”

“For a few minutes, I suppose.” She gestured toward the stone path that led around the building to the garden. He was silent as they walked—no cocky jokes, no teasing, none of his outlandish charm.

He seemed troubled.

“So, this is where you've been hiding,” he remarked as they strolled under the arched trellis.

She glanced sharply at him. “I'm not hiding.”

“It's just a figure of speech.” He swallowed hard. “Seems pleasant here. Peaceful.”

“
Boring
is the word I think you mean.”

“No. Not boring at all, with you here.” He smiled again and walked on down the flagstone path in slow graceful strides.

Her suspicion deepening, she said nothing and followed him. In the garden, the mellow light of the gathering sunset stretched long emerald shadows across the grass. A haze of yellow pollen gilded everything—the irregular slate flags beneath their feet, the birdbath, and the bench beneath the pear tree.

Tiny bits of dandelion fluff drifted slowly on the air while insects flitted past them, their swift gossamer wings catching the light.

“Did you and Jas like going to school here?”

She stopped walking and turned to him in frank inquiry. “Why are you here?”

Mute distress filled his big, blue, heartbreaking eyes, then he glanced away.

She immediately wondered if he'd lost badly again at the tables. “Alec, is something wrong?”

“No,
everything
is wrong, Lizzie. Everything is just—damned—awful and has been for months. You hate me, and I can't take it anymore.”

“I don't hate you,” she conceded, recovering from her surprise.

“Well, you should. I hate myself for what I did, and God knows I deserve it.”

“Oh, Alec.”

“I came to say I'm sorry.” Again, the lost-puppy stare.

She dropped her forehead into her hand and fought exasperation. “Very well—I accept your apology.”

“No.” He shook his head. “That was too easy.”

She sighed and looked away. “You never made me any promises, Alec. You were free to do as you wished. I forgive you. It's in the past; it doesn't matter anymore.”

She walked on, but he caught up and stopped her, quickly blocking her path.

“Don't say it doesn't matter, Lizzie. That's the worst thing you could say.” She glanced at him in confusion. “Look, I've worked up my nerve for this, so at least let me speak my piece before you throw me out.”

“I'm not going to throw you out.”

“I think you already have.” His lonely stare would have surely made her swoon a year ago, but now there was Devlin. “My life's not right without you, Lizzie. I'm so lost.”

She dropped her gaze, scarcely able to believe what she was hearing.

“I never meant to hurt you. I saw no other way out. Bits, you've got to understand.” He took her hand imploringly. “I couldn't use your dowry to pay my gaming debts. Not even I could sink so low.” He paused. “I know I hurt you, but it's nearly a year now, so I was wondering if you might let me back into your life.”

She passed a wary glance over his face.

“I know now I took you for granted, but if you'll give me another chance, I swear I won't let you down again. I'm ready to change now. I need you, Lizzie. Everyone's entitled to a few mistakes, aren't they?”