Devil's Bargain (3 page)

But now she began to fear. What scheme had she embarked upon? Risking her entire future on a simple suggestion from a kind old man?

Lynette felt her spirit quail. Her gaze returned to the glass in her hand. She despised spirits. She had seen their effect all too clearly. And yet, even so, she lifted the glass and drained it.

The viscount came into her room that night. It was late, perhaps even close to morning; she could not tell. She merely heard their adjoining door open.

Her eyes flew open, but she did not move. He did not bring a candle, and so she felt his presence more than saw him: a black silhouette, impossibly large, towering over her bed. She meant to scream, but the sound was locked in her throat. And even if she managed to give voice to her terror, who would come to help her? No one in this household, surely.

“Do not fear. I will not touch you tonight.” His voice was low and strange. Not thick with drink, but neither was it a sibilant whisper. It was simply deep and dark, as if the sound came from the blackness surrounding her and not from a man’s lips.

“Breathe, Lynette. I would not have you suffocate ere we even begin.”

She took a shuddering breath because he commanded
it. The bed dipped as he sat down beside her, and her throat froze closed. Oddly enough, her limbs could still move. Without conscious thought, she scooted to the farthest corner of the bed. Her hands clutched the coverlet to her breast, and she felt her eyes widen as she searched the darkness.

It was a ridiculous pose, she knew. He could easily overpower her no matter the corner of the bed or room in which she chose to hide. As for the coverlet, what protection was that? He could do as he willed with her.

And so, with a creeping sense of powerlessness, she allowed her hands to drop away. Her white, high-necked gown more than adequately covered her, even if he could somehow see her through the shadows.

He must have heard the movement, because he acknowledged it with another soft comment. “Feeling resigned, Lynette? I have not come to hurt you.”

It took her three tries before she found her voice. But find it she did, and it came out steady, though pitched too high. “Why are you here, my lord?”

She felt him shrug, the movement rippling through the mattress. “To see if you slept. To accustom you to my visits.” He sighed, a soft whisper in the darkness. “No, that is not true. I came to ask a question.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, wondering if ever there was a more bizarre household. Why would this man come to her bedroom in the middle of the night to talk? Still, she was a clergyman’s daughter. She knew what was required of her. “What do you wish to know?”

He laughed, the sound startlingly rich. “Are you always so polite, even when a strange gentleman enters your bedchamber unannounced?”

“Having never been in this situation before, I cannot answer as to what I would usually do.” Her answer came without thought, her tone, thankfully, dropping into its normal register.

The viscount’s laughter burst forth again, and she felt her fingers curl in annoyance. But then he was speaking, his humor fading quickly. “My question is simple, Lynette. Why are you still here? You were obviously unaware of the nature of this arrangement when you arrived, and yet you have not run screaming from my home. Why?”

She frowned, wishing she could see more than his dark silhouette. “I have come to be married,” she stated. “To a rich man. As the baroness promised.”

She felt more than heard him shake his head. “You are accustomed to living in genteel poverty. With your looks, you could have found some local man to wed you. And yet you have thrown off everything you know to come here, to the home of a libertine. Why?”

She sighed, oddly unsurprised that he was asking the very question she had been struggling with herself. There had been time, earlier in the day; she could have left and found some way to return to her family. The damage to her reputation would not have been so great.

“Is your uncle so very terrible?” he asked, his voice gentle.

She shook her head. “It would have been unpleasant. Difficult even, but I would have survived. Perhaps even been welcomed.”

“Then why?” he pressed, and she bit her lip, struggling to answer.

“Do you know what it is to want, my lord, and not even know the reason?” She didn’t wait for his answer,
but continued, groping blindly for words to express the restlessness that churned within her. “I assisted my father with all his parish tasks. All of them, my lord. I know more than most what awaits a respectable girl from a country village. I have listened to the wives and mothers. I have heard their regrets and their dreams.” She sighed. “They are not all unhappy, but…”

“But what, Lynette? You want more?”

She shook her head. “Not more, my lord, so much as…different. I will not find happiness there. Nor will it come in my uncle’s village.”

“So you sought my services out of boredom?” His voice held an edge of disdain, and she straightened.

“Not boredom, my lord. Simple logic. I will not find joy where I was. I could therefore accept a joyless life or search elsewhere.” She shrugged. “The baroness…or rather, you, are the only
elsewhere
available to me.”

“So you seek joy, then.”

She felt her hands clench in frustration but kept her voice level. “I just told you, my lord. I do not know what I seek. I only know I will not find it at home.”

“And if you do not find it here? Under my tutelage? What then?”

She sighed. “That is the risk of making any change, is it not? Sometimes it is for the worse.”

“And what then?”

“Then I will live with the consequences, whatever they may be.” She wanted to touch him, as if that could make him understand. “I will not find happiness at my uncle’s. So I might as well find unhappiness with a rich man than with a poor one.”

So saying, she fell silent, awaiting his response. But
he did not answer, and after a time his silence began to weigh on her, making her fidget. She was too uneasy with her choice to feel comfortable with his silent scrutiny. In the end, she stumbled into speech again.

“I intend to follow this course through to the end, my lord. I will not run away out of fear or intemperance.”

He laughed, though there was no humor in the sound. “So you claim, Lynette. But understand this—I have already expended funds upon you, and a great deal more to come before I see any return. My future rests on your success, my girl, as much as yours. And so your course is set. Even if you change your mind, even if you manage to run screaming from this house, I will find you. And I will make you fulfill your commitments—to me and to your bridegroom.”

She bristled at his tone, angry that anyone—especially a self-professed libertine—could so question her honor. “You cannot force me!”

“I can,” he returned, his voice low and ugly. “Do not doubt that.”

She swallowed, not doubting him for a moment. There were things men could do to disgraced, dishonored women. Ugly things, and no one would lift a finger to protect them.

“You made your bargain the moment you stepped into my house, Lynette. Do not think I shall ever let you change your mind.”

She nodded, struggling to fit power into her tone. “I told you, I will not run.” She took a deep breath. “Just do not forget your promise. At the end of all this, I shall have a rich husband and a new life. A man rich enough to sponsor my sister into society and buy
my brother’s commission. That is all I require.” She said the words, but in truth, she quailed at her own bravado. What if her husband were brutal? Violent? Insane? What would she do then?

She was startled out of her thoughts by the touch of a hand—gentle and soothing—as the viscount caressed her cheek. “I shall enjoy the coming months,” he said softly, a trace of admiration in his tone. “By God, I will.”

“And what shall I enjoy, my lord?” She didn’t know why she asked. In truth, she did not expect an answer. And yet he took the question at face value, answering it calmly.

“You shall enjoy whatever you choose to enjoy, Lynette. It is you who will decide if what comes is torture or joy, hateful or wonderful.”

“Sinful?” she prompted, unable to resist lashing out in some small way.

Even through the darkness, she could see him nod. “Yes, sinful. Or”—he leaned closer, so close she could feel his breath lift the fine hairs of her brow—“heavenly.”

She gasped, unable to control the frisson that drew her entire body tight. But he pulled away, standing so that he once again towered over the large bed.

“Enough for tonight, Lynette. I can see you are tired.”

“You can see nothing, my lord. It is too dark.” Why she persisted in fighting him, she could not fathom. But the words came out nonetheless, sparking another of his deep chuckles.

“On the contrary, I see excellently in the dark.” He sketched a short bow and turned to leave. She heard
him open the adjoining door and slip through. But he did not close it.

Instead, she heard his every movement in vivid detail. She caught the rustle of his clothes as he removed them, the soft clink of coins that he set on a table, even the splash of water and the creak of his mattress when he finally settled down.

Then there was nothing. It was silent, and Lynette imagined that he, at last, was falling asleep. It was only then that she consciously willed her body to relax.

“One other thing.”

His voice startled her, filling the darkness so that she once again sat bolt upright, believing he was beside her bed. He was not. His voice came from his bedroom, no doubt from his own bed.

“In the future, Lynette, you shall sleep naked.”

He was pushing too hard.

Adrian peered into the darkness surrounding his bed and chastised himself for moving too quickly. She was a strange creature, this Lynette. A minister’s daughter, and yet she had come to him of her own free will, escaping everything she knew to risk all in London. Merely on the recommendation of a parishioner’s relative.

He pushed up from his bed and began pacing silently about his room as he tried to analyze his latest charge. For the most part, she was no different from any of his other girls—young, pretty, naive—though clearly she possessed unusual strength and courage. Beyond that, she was clean and well-formed.

She would sell well on the marriage mart, assuming she did not lose her nerve.

“I will not run.”

She had spoken the words firmly, loudly, and he believed she meant them. But she had chosen a difficult path. No one—least of all a minister’s daughter—could walk this courtesan’s path without doubts. It was up to him to make sure she did not change her mind, did not ruin both herself and him, for he had staked everything on her success. The price of outfitting her alone was enough to cripple him if she did not marry well.

But when she at last spoke her vows, his share of the marriage portion would free him from debt, free him of the burden his father had so casually dropped upon his shoulders. He ought to be thrilled, ought to be gleefully anticipating her wedding. And yet he wasn’t. Why?

“Do you know what it is to want, my lord, and not even know the reason?”

Her words echoed back at him, filling the darkness with the very hunger she’d named. Yes, he knew want, the crippling need for something—he did not know what. He felt it eat at him late at night when a beautiful woman meant for someone else slept in the next room. He felt it when he looked at his barren fields and mangy flocks of sheep. He felt it chip away at his strength at the worst possible moments, and yet he did not know what he searched for. Only that he did not have it.

And neither would Lynette. He knew—as she did not—that her answer would not be found in her wealthy marriage. It would not come in London any more than in Kent. But at least she had a hope. In ten or fifteen years, after her husband died, she would have all she needed to search for her answer: wealth, status, freedom. The very things he had longed for
while rotting away in debtor’s prison. The very things he worked for now with the training and marketing of young girls.

So why was the thought so distasteful? Why did it leave him with an aching hunger for something unnamed, something out of reach?

He did not know. And without an answer, he could only persevere. He had to plan and think, manage and train, make sure Lynette became his best bride yet. And when he was done, she would embark on a wealthy future, and he could, at last, forge his own peace. He would leave London forever, devoting himself to establishing his own wealth, his own future.

And then, maybe one day he would find the answer. He would discover what he needed and fill the emptiness that gnawed at his soul. But until then, he would devote himself to training and selling Lynette.

Lynette woke early out of habit. Her father had been an early riser, and she had always joined him at breakfast, enjoying the sound of his voice as he struggled with his sermon. This morning, however, found the viscount’s house in silence.

She opened her eyes, missing the soft snores of her brother and sister. She heard nothing but the morning sounds of London. She might have gone back to sleep. Indeed, she had slept poorly after the viscount’s nocturnal visit and was quite tired. But she could not close her eyes knowing the yawning black doorway was just a few feet from her head. That
he
was a bare few steps away.

As silently as possible, she eased out of bed on the far side, away from the opening. She grabbed her clothing and dressed quickly, her eyes trained on the dark entrance to his lordship’s bedroom for fear he
would appear. Then she tiptoed from her bedroom, barely daring to breathe for fear she would wake him.

No one was about on the main floor, not even Dunwort. Lynette slipped down into the kitchen, hoping the servant had thought to buy something for breakfast, as she had not told him to, or asked him about it last night when he’d returned with the meat pies. As she pushed open the kitchen door, she found the baroness sitting at the table, a hot bun in her hand. The room was pleasantly warm, and a kettle was heating on the stove.

“Good morning, Baroness. I trust you slept well.” It was the customary greeting she gave her father. He just as religiously responded that he had slept the rest of the holy, and he hoped she had as well. Lynette wondered for a brief moment how she would have answered her father today, as her sleep had neither been restful nor holy. Fortunately, she had no time to ponder as the baroness glared at her through red-rimmed eyes.

“All the other girls slept late,” the woman accused.

Lynette hesitated, suddenly missing her father desperately. “I have always risen at this hour,” she said carefully.

“Morning is my time,” snapped the baroness. “It’s when
he’s
asleep.”

Normally, Lynette would have departed simply out of politeness. But she could not pass up an opportunity to learn more about her mysterious host. “The viscount? Does he usually sleep late?”

The baroness did not answer at first, taking refuge in her breakfast instead. But eventually she spoke, every word filled with sullen anger. “His time is at
night. You will not see him before noon, and even then it shall be to growl. Best remember that, girl.”

Lynette nodded. “Of course—”

“He leaves notes,” interrupted the baroness. She dragged an envelope out of her pocket and shoved it across the table. “Orders that he writes the night before. These are yours.”

Lynette stared at the pristine white envelope. For a moment, she felt an overwhelming sense of dread; if she so much as touched the missive, she would be irrevocably stained. But she threw off the feeling as ridiculous. She was already stained. The moment she’d walked into this household her reputation had been sullied. Had not everyone said as much? Touching an envelope could do no more harm.

Still, she delayed reading it with the only excuse at hand. She stood and pulled the kettle from the stove just as it began to sing. “Is there any tea?”

“None.”

Surprised, Lynette glanced back. It was obvious the woman was lying. Why else would she have put the water on to boil if not for tea? But one glance at the lady’s pinched expression stopped any comment within Lynette’s throat. She had learned from watching her father that sometimes things, even tea, were not worth the unpleasantness of an argument.

So she dropped into her chair and stared at the viscount’s message. Without another ready excuse, she had no choice but to open it.

You have this day to set the kitchen to order. I shall dine at home tonight.

M

She looked up to see the baroness’s smug face over her shoulder. “He writes the same thing every time,” she said with her sharp cackle of laughter. “Of course, you’re the first girl to get it when there was still time to do aught about it.”

Lynette looked around the bare kitchen, struggling with an overwhelming sense of panic. Where was Dunwort? “But what am I to do? I know nothing of setting a kitchen to rights.” The baroness did not respond to her question, and in time the silence stretched between them. Mindful of Dunwort’s stricture to ask for help, she turned and said, “Would you assist me, please? I have not the slightest idea.”

“You asked for my help!” the baroness exclaimed, a smile beginning to spread across her face. Lynette watched the transformation in a state of shock, startled to see how handsome the woman could appear. Her straight brown hair perfectly complemented her tall frame and high cheekbones. It was only the baroness’s red-rimmed eyes and sour expression that made her seem ugly. When she smiled, as she did now, she was beautiful.

Lynette was still reeling from this observation when Dunwort burst into the room, booming, “ ’Ere she is. She’ll be awake, I says as I blew out me candle last night. I best sleep quick ’cause she’ll be ready, and then it’ll be my ears that’ll be ringing.”

“We have been waiting a long time for a new girl,” explained the baroness. “Now that you are here, we shall have food aplenty.”

Dunwort hefted a large purse. “I ’ave the blunt.” Then both of them turned to stare at Lynette, waiting on her orders. She could only blink, her head spinning.

“H-how much may I spend?” she stammered.

The large man handed the purse to her. “You best count it. His lordship will want a clear reckoning.”

“She has already asked for my assistance!” said the baroness, her glee apparent.

Dunwort clapped his hands. “I knew she was a smart ’un.” He leaned forward and opened the purse for Lynette, lifting out a pound note. “We always starts with the menu first. Shall I find us breakfast?”

Slightly dazed, Lynette could only nod. Dunwort pulled respectfully at his cap and disappeared out the back door. Meanwhile, the baroness pulled out a tea tin she had hidden within the folds of her gown and calmly dispensed tea for them both. She produced paper and ink and settled in as if they were the best of friends.

And yet, moments before, the lady had acted as though Lynette were the most hideous of intruders, unwanted and reviled. She had even lied about having tea! What sort of household made guests an enemy first, then later mysteriously accepted them as friends? And how would Lynette manage in such a strange home? It was so different than all she knew.

“The future will watch itself. For now, do as he says and be content.”

Lynette started at the baroness’s words. Had her thoughts been so obvious? Flustered, she took recourse in a half-truth. “I’m sorry. I was thinking about my family and how I shall miss them.”

The baroness’s sharp cackle startled her. “Don’t ever lie. We know what you are thinking. We have seen six other girls go through it.”

“Then why are you suddenly so friendly?” Lynette blurted.

The baroness took her time responding, reaching for her tea and taking a long sip before she spoke. “Because you asked for my help. Remember, you are a lady now. No one will
offer
to assist you with these types of tasks.”

Lynette could not restrain her laughter. “I assure you, Baroness, asking for help has never been difficult for me. In fact, given my responsibilities in the parish, it was most definitely a requirement.”

The other woman nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Then perhaps there is an advantage to being the daughter of a clergyman.” She cast a baleful eye at Lynette. “Though, somehow, I doubt you will think so.”

The day flew by as if on wings. There was so much to learn! The baroness, it turned out, was a wealth of information. Add to that Dunwort’s sometimes coarse but always amusing commentary, and Lynette found herself wishing the day would never end.

Together, they seemed to traverse all of London and bought all manner of foods. Lynette knew her eyes were the size of saucers, but she could not help it. She was fascinated by everything and tried to see and learn and remember it all. Better yet, her companions were friendly, helpful, and filled with mirth.

Until they returned to the house. Abruptly the other two sobered, and Lynette’s laughter was not returned. They worked together to put the food away, but moved in silence, their occasional comments delivered in a hushed whisper. Frustrated and saddened, Lynette dropped her hands onto her hips and turned to her two companions.

“Does he hate laughter so much?” she demanded.

Both Dunwort and the baroness raised their gazes to her, their expressions a mixture of shock and wariness. But neither spoke.

“Lord Marlock,” Lynette pressed. “Does he hate to hear laughter?”

The Baroness frowned. “Of course not. Whatever would make you say that?”

“You.” Lynette crossed her arms on her chest. “We have been having such a gay day of it. Why must it end merely because we have come back to this house?”

“My dear,” exclaimed the baroness, “that has nothing to do with Lord Marlock.”

“Then what is it? Why do we suddenly speak in whispers with one another?”

It was Dunwort who explained, though he rubbed the back of his hands in nervousness as he spoke. “It ain’t seemly, miss. I be a servant, she be a baroness, and you be a minister’s miss.” Then he stopped, as if that was all she needed to know.

But it was not enough. Not enough by half. “I know these things, but—”

“It simply is not proper,” put in the baroness. “You and I should not associate with the servants.”

“That be me, miss,” inserted Dunwort.

Lynette sighed. “But we have been associating all day. And quite enjoying it.”

“Aye, and right bad that was of us,” said Dunwort. He cast a reproachful glance at the baroness. She returned it in equal measure before focusing back on Lynette.

“If you are to wed as a lady, you must act as a lady.” Lynette would have protested further, but the baroness raised her hand, effectively cutting off all
comment. “You became a lady the moment you entered this house. From now on, we absolutely must treat you as one.”

“Best learn it now, miss,” said Dunwort firmly. And with that he pulled on his forelock and stepped out of the kitchen through the back door. The baroness, too, headed out of the kitchen, but through the upper staircase.

“Come along, Lynette,” she called over her shoulder. “You will need to dress before dinner.”

Lynette did not move. She stood there, staring about the suddenly empty room with a feeling of dismay. Her father had always warned her that she was too familiar by half, but in the end he’d seemed to appreciate it. Especially as she spent most of her time consoling the poor who liked her easy manners.

Now, suddenly, she was supposed to transform herself into a lady? She wasn’t sure she liked the idea. Yet it appeared she had little choice in the matter.

Lynette did not need to “dress for dinner.” She had precious little to dress in, and certainly nothing that required hours to don before sitting down to table. So, after pulling on the same gray dress she had worn the night before, she left her room to wander.

He was downstairs; she knew it the moment she took the steps. The house seemed to convey his tangible presence when he was home, as if even the furnishings were waiting, anxious to find out what he would do. Or was it her imagination? Likely she had heard the rustle of papers in the library, or perhaps seen the flicker of his candle flame. But whatever the reason, she stood at the base of the stairs, her breathing suspended as she waited, not knowing what to do.

And then she was caught. He stepped out of the library and saw her. He held some papers in his hand, but he ignored them, choosing instead to smile lazily at her.

“Lynette.” His voice was soft, his tone mellow, but she felt a shiver travel down her spine at the sound. She was not precisely afraid of him. She did not know what she felt, except that she had a sudden urge to run.

She did not. She squared her shoulders and gave him a steady regard. “My lord,” she responded as coolly as she could.

“You do not seem to be dressed for dinner. Could it be that things are not quite prepared in the kitchen?” He had a slight sneer on his face. Apparently he had not expected her to accomplish her task.

“On the contrary, my lord, Dunwort is even now performing his culinary arts. Dinner will be served on schedule.”

It was a good thing she did not expect any great show of surprise. Not by so much as a raised eyebrow did he betray his thoughts. He merely nodded, his gaze returning to her gown. “Then you should change. A lady is expected to wear her best for dinner.”

“This lady is,” she responded curtly.

This time, he did react. His lips pulled down in disgust, and he stepped away from the wall to inspect her. “A governess could not look more prim.”

She lifted her chin, stung by his dismissal of a dress she had labored long hours creating. “I had thought to apply for a post as a governess.”

“And why did you not?”

She bit her lip, wondering if she should tell him the truth. One look at his face told her that she would
have to confess, for she truly believed he would spot any lie. She sighed, giving in with what she knew was ill grace.

“Understand, sir, that I have been assisting my father since I was very young. I am accounted most helpful in a sickroom.” Her gaze slipped away from his face as she confessed her greatest shame. “But the truth is, my lord, that I am a most unnatural girl. I do not like children.” She lifted her chin, anxious to explain. “I don’t hate them as a general rule. If only they would behave. Children are always running about, getting into things that were just set to rights, always making noise or needing something. And whenever I scold them, the mothers are quite furious with me. But truly, how can they allow their little ones to behave so wildly? Yet they do, and the very thought of caring all day, every day, for someone else’s children, of trying to make them mind when they have no reason to…” She swallowed, overcome by the horror of her strange feelings. “I could not do it. I simply could not force myself to do it.”