Devil Takes A Bride (24 page)

Life the way Lizzie Carlisle lived it.

Mulling over the whole debacle, he marched down the main corridor to his study at the back of the house, needing a place where he could simply sit and think for a moment. Upon striding into the room, however, he suddenly stopped in his tracks.

Pasha sat atop his desk, batting at the feather quill-pen with his front paw, a pool of spilled indigo ink spreading across his papers and dripping on the Wilton carpet.

“Pasha!”

The hellcat instantly leaped off the desk and darted under the wing chair, leaving a trail of indigo paw prints.

“Damn it!” Dev stalked over to inspect the damage. His correspondence was covered in ink. The cat had clearly investigated his silver snuffbox, as well, for it, too, was toppled. Fine loose tobacco floated atop the wet pool of ink like sawdust. “That does it.”

It was bad enough having the little monster here, for every time he looked at the animal, it reminded him painfully of his aunt. But for weeks, Pasha had roamed the house, breaking things, sleeping in Dev's dresser drawers, getting cat hairs all over his neck cloths and shirts, sticking his head in the soup epergne, and making all manner of mischief throughout the house. Enough was enough. Dev reached under the wing chair and pulled the cat out by the scruff of his maned neck.

“Reeer!”

“I don't want to hear it. You had your chance. Tell the driver not to unhitch the horses, Ben,” he ordered as his valet walked in through the front door just then, having made short work of the bill collectors. “We're leaving again. Well done, by the way.”

“Where to?” Ben asked, his eyebrows lifting to see the haughtiest cat in Christendom hanging in such an undignified fashion from Dev's grasp, fluffy tail twitching.

“Knight House. I've got an idea.”

“Knight House?”

“I expect it is where I may find the intrepid E. Carlisle.”

“Actually, she has taken a post at a girls' school in Islington, sir. I got the address from Beecham's clerk. I figured you might need it.”

Dev harrumphed at his valet's cheeky grin. “Get this little monster's cage, would you?”

Ben obeyed. A moment later, Dev dropped the cat into the sturdy cane box.

“The little brute should make a perfect peace offering, don't you think?” he drawled, closing the lid. “Girls love cats.”

Ben eyed him dubiously, but followed Dev as he carried Pasha's cage outside. They got back into the coach.

“What do you mean to do?”

“She's an intelligent woman. I'm sure we can work something out.”

“A bribe?” Ben asked with a worried frown.

Dev smiled cynically. “Everyone's got their price.”

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

Oh, that man.
Lizzie was still fuming when she returned to her duties at Mrs. Hall's.
What a waste of time!
And to think, she had risked her neck driving into the city and had lost pay for requesting the morning off, only to be insulted to her face! The only consolation was the oh-so-satisfying image of Devil Strathmore locked up in one of London's grimmest debtors' prisons. He deserved it!

By noon, the warm April sunshine had routed the chill of morning, so the young ladies were allowed to spend some leisure time outdoors on the parklike commons across from the school. Now it was a pleasant scene of laughing girls in pastel dresses, their sashes and hat ribbons billowing on the playful breeze. Some fed the ducks on the pond; others played a dainty round of pall-mall.

Pleased to note that Daisy Manning had befriended the new student, Sorscha Harris, Lizzie sat on the bench overseeing the girls' activities and enjoying the warm caress of the sun on her face. She had removed her bonnet in disregard of the risk of ruining her complexion with freckles, though she had occasionally been told that her flawless white skin was her best feature. It didn't matter, because she was never caring a whit again what any male thought of her looks.

As she sat in the sun, playing chaperon to her charges, she ignored the observation that the blue-green pond, glittering with sunlight, reminded her of Devlin's eyes. Well, he could rot in Fleet Prison, for all she cared. Perhaps she'd bring him a book to while away the hours of his incarceration—a book of sermons on the virtuous life, a Bible! Something he could study.

Just then, she heard a carriage approaching and glanced toward the black ribbon of the road. The girls at pall-mall stopped their game and paused, holding their mallets, turning to look at the elegant town coach that presently drew up to the commons, drawn by a high-stepping quartet of black Fresian horses.

Lizzie's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. So, he had found her. She rose to her feet, the breeze molding her pale muslin skirts against her legs. She bristled as the grand black coach swept the roundabout and slowed, the Strathmore coat of arms emblazoned on its side. The coach halted; all the girls were watching.

Gracious, when that door opened and the gazetted rake, Devil Strathmore, jumped out, come to harass her, what on earth was Mrs. Hall going to say? she thought. But it seemed she would soon find out, for at that moment, he did just that. Ben climbed out after him, carrying some sort of sturdy square basket with a handle on top.

Warily, Lizzie watched Devlin approaching, then scowled to notice her pupils studying him in wide-eyed admiration, whispering and giggling behind their hands.

His untamed stare was fixed on Lizzie. A cynical twist of a smile curved one corner of his mouth; his earring glinted in the sun. Looking every inch the rogue, he sauntered toward her, swinging his walking stick in a debonair arc. He took an idle swipe at a dandelion globe; white fluff flew. She folded her arms across her chest and braced for the inevitable clash.

“Miss Carlisle!” he called in the most treacherously amiable tone. “I've brought you and your lovely students a present.” With his walking stick, he pointed at the box Ben carried.

A wave of curious excitement rippled through the group of girls. Ben set his burden down on the nearest bench. Devlin unleashed his most Prince Charming–like smile and gave the young ladies a slight bow. Abandoning their games, the girls gathered around Ben and the box, irresistibly intrigued.

“What is it, sir?”

“What could it be?”

Their high voices carried on the breeze. Lizzie joined them, on her guard, as several of the girls bent down and peered into the box. At that moment, a loud, woeful meow arose from within.

“A kitty!” one of the girls exclaimed.

“Oh, look, he's beautiful!”

“Look, Miss Carlisle! The kind gentleman has brought us the most wonderful present!”

Lizzie stared at Devlin in seething ire for this shameless move. She bent down and glanced skeptically into the box. Sure enough, there sat Pasha, caged behind the slatted wicker door, curled unhappily on a velvet pillow.

The dowager's spoiled darling peered back at her, his whiskered face with its dark triangular mask arranged in an expression of great feline angst. Pasha let out a low, plaintive,
“Reeer”
with an occasional hiss at no one in particular.

Lizzie straightened up again and shaded her eyes against the sun as Devlin came toward her, ducking his chin like a contrite schoolboy, while his eyes danced with amusement.

“You are
not
leaving that cat here,” she informed him.

He laughed as though she had said something charming, but the glint in his eyes was slightly smug, for the girls were in ecstasies over the little monster.

“Look how sweet! It's got a jeweled collar!”

“Oh, thank you for bringing him, sir! How I miss my kitty at home!”

“What's his name, please?”

“Pasha,” Ben informed them.

Lizzie pulled Devlin aside by his coat-sleeve and glared at him. “I don't know what you think you're doing here,” Lizzie muttered under her breath, “but I have nothing to say to you, moreover, you are
not
pawning that little hellion off on me. Your aunt gave him to
you
.”

“And I'm giving him to you—as a peace offering, Liz—I mean, Miss Carlisle,” he amended, noticing a few of her students eavesdropping on their exchange.

Others were wheedling Ben: “May we hold him? Please?”

“You know the rule, ladies.” Lizzie turned back to her pupils. “We do not accept presents from strangers.” She shot Devlin a look of reproach. “Pasha is here only for a visit. Mrs. Hall does not allow pets, as you well know.”

“But look how happy he makes the little dears.” Devlin clucked his tongue. “Pasha needs a home.”

This was, apparently, more than Daisy's tender heart could bear. “Poor little thing!” the millionaire coal-factor's daughter exclaimed. “Can't we let him out of there, please, Miss Carlisle?”

No one noticed that Sorscha, beside Daisy, was studying Devlin intently.

“You may pet him through the cage, but do not take him out of there,” Lizzie ordered.

“But Miss Carlisle, he looks so unhappy.”

“He'll only scratch you and run away,” she advised them, shooting Devlin a meaningful look. “He's very spoiled.”

He stared at her, absorbing this. Then he turned to her students. “If you ladies do not mind, I should like a moment of your teacher's time. I must speak to her on—family business. Ben will make sure no one falls in the pond,” he assured her before Lizzie could protest. When her students nodded their consent, he turned to her and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

Lizzie could see no graceful way out of this. Putting up a fuss would only bring Mrs. Hall out to investigate. Ever mindful that it was her duty to set a ladylike example for her girls, she tamped down the tirade she would have liked to unleash, lifted her chin, and walked past him to the stone footpath that wound around the pond.

Its meandering course still allowed her to keep an eye on her charges but would afford the two of them a bit of privacy. Devlin dropped his rejected arm and followed her with a disgruntled sigh.

“How dare you come here? Are you trying to get me fired?” she demanded in a harsh whisper after they had walked a short distance away from the girls.

“Interesting idea. I hadn't considered it, but if you had no other way of putting food in your belly, perhaps you would be more inclined to hear me out.”

“I daresay I've heard quite enough from you for one day. Your accusations in Mr. Beecham's office were—”

“Inexcusable. I know.” His quick concession startled her. But a man would say anything, she guessed, when half a million pounds hung in the balance. “I'm sorry, Lizzie. I spoke in anger. Well, you must admit my aunt's scheme came as a shock to us both. Besides, you have made sport of me before, if you'll recall. You can't blame me for having a few momentary suspicions that you might have had something to do with it. Still, I ought not to have said those things. You didn't deserve that.”

“What about the things you said to me the day of your aunt's funeral? Do you remember that—how you told me to just go away? Why, Devlin? How did I possibly offend you? What did I do wrong?”

He stared at her, paling. “Nothing.”

“I was grieving that day, too, you know.” She searched his stark face, then shook her head at him. “After what we had done together…you made me feel like such a fool.”

He dropped his gaze and stood there mute for a long moment. “That was a—bad day.”

“Yes, I know, but I only wanted to help. You didn't have to shut me out. In truth, I could have overlooked your cruelty to me at the funeral, but it wasn't just
that
day. Even this morning, when I walked into Mr. Beecham's office, you stared at me so coldly, and then accused me of the most despicable scheming, insulted me to my face—”

“I'm sorry.”

“No doubt—now that your fortune depends on my favor. I'm not stupid, Devlin. I know why you're here, but I'm afraid you're wasting your time.”

“Why is that?”

“Because your motives toward me are about as sincere as Alec's are toward Lady Campion, that's why!” she exclaimed. “Frankly, under the circumstances, I'd rather see the money go to charity than to you. Send a few of your treasures to the auction house if you wish to avoid spending time in the Fleet. Learn to live within your means. It won't kill you.”

He scratched his temple with his thumb, diplomatically searching the ground at his feet. “Do you have any idea how much money five hundred thousand pounds really is?”

“Not enough to buy my pride,” she declared. “You would never have chosen this—or me—of your own accord. Your insults today made that fact abundantly clear, and for my part, I would not in a million years inflict myself on a husband who has no wish to be married to me.”

He clenched his jaw. “You want to see me grovel, is that it? Will that make you happy?”

“You can grovel if it suits you, I am sure, but it won't make the slightest difference on my decision. You and I could never suit. It would be hell on earth for someone like me to be wed to a man incapable of love.”

“Who ever told you I'm incapable of love?”

“Your actions, your demeanor, everything about you warns the whole world to stay back, though God knows you're as lonely a man as I ever met. You kept your distance from your aunt, you've pushed me away—you won't even let yourself care for a silly cat!” She threw an impatient gesture toward the park bench where the girls still clamored around Pasha's basket. “Shut me out if you must, Devlin, but you can't go on living your life this way.”

“It wasn't a real marriage I was suggesting, if you'd give me half a chance to talk!” he retorted, his cheeks flushing. “There's a far simpler solution than that, and I am prepared to make it worth your while if you'll go along with it.”

She lifted her eyebrows with a defiant look of inquiry, and then folded her arms across her chest. “This should be interesting.”

“It's quite elementary. We marry, as instructed, take possession of the money—a week later, we have the match annulled. Go our separate ways. You can name your price.”

“Ah, so now you would bribe me. And pray tell, on what grounds, my noble lord, would we have our match annulled? That I was forced into marriage? You'd need only choose in what order you'd like to duel against all five of the Knight brothers if they caught wind of such a rumor. Or would you prefer an annulment on the grounds of your failure to consummate our union? Wouldn't that cause a stir in the ton? A lover of your reputation, unable to perform! But, no. You would carry it off somehow. Your kind always does—no doubt at my expense. Somehow I can't help feeling I'm the one who would inevitably end up looking the fool. No thanks.”

She heard him curse under his breath as she walked on.

“All right then—forget the annulment.” He caught up to her again with swift, businesslike strides. “We'll marry, split the money, then petition for a divorce.”

“And both become pariahs for the rest of our lives? An annulment is better than that,” she scoffed.

“Very well.” He came around the front of her, blocking her path. “Here is my final offer. We marry and just—keep to ourselves. Live separate lives.”

“Stay married?” she clarified.

He shrugged, his face unreadable. “You need a husband. I need an heir.”

“An heir?” Oh, what a talent he had for infuriating her! She stared at the man, amazed. “I do not
need
a husband, I'll have you know, and as for your heir, I cannot fathom how you mean to accomplish it, for I have no intention of ever letting you touch me again!” Cheeks burning, she started to march away, but he captured her elbow.