Devil Takes A Bride (10 page)

“I was quite terrified, in truth. I tried to think of what Papa would have told you in my place, but of course he was very strict and practical and hardheaded. It seemed logical enough that school was the best place for you—that your life ought to go on in as close to a state of normalcy as possible. Do you remember what I told you?”

He lowered his gaze. “I truly don't see the point in revisiting all this—”

“‘Chin up, lad. Keep a stiff upper lip,' I said. ‘Life must go on. Get good marks in school. That would have made them proud.' Good marks in school! As if that mattered when your whole world had fallen apart. What a fool I was,” she whispered mournfully. “How could any lad concentrate on Greek or calculus when his life had been shattered? I understand now that my thoughtless advice only made you hate yourself more—”

“Stop!” he cried abruptly, an anguished note in his voice which he quickly routed. His heart pounded. “Please, ma'am. All that is ancient history.”

“Is it? If I had been capable then of simply holding you and letting you mend in your own time, I feel sure you would have settled down long ago, taken a wife—”

“God, please, not that again.”

“And seen to the duties of your rank,” she insisted. “Unfortunately, loving-kindness was never my forte. It was not how I was raised, you understand.”

“Aunt Augusta, whatever you are blaming yourself for, do stop,” he said impatiently, withdrawing slightly in his chair. “Really, you gave me the best advice you could at the time, and I am grateful—”

“No, Devlin, it has to be said. I was as hard-nosed as my father, incapable of giving what you really needed. Just simple…love.”

He nearly threw down his napkin and bolted from the room at the mention of the hated term, but since it was Aunt Augusta, he forced himself to remain stiffly seated. “First of all, there is nothing simple about
love
.” He fairly snarled the word. “It's the most bloody complicated, painful thing there is, and I want none of it. Second, you have always loved me, and I have bloody well always known it. Now, stop talking nonsense, and for God's sake, send Miss Carlisle back to London, if she is to blame for this change in you. I want my scaly old fire-breather back. The chit is softening you up to a degree that is downright alarming.”

“I'm old, boy,” she said with a weary smile. “It takes too much strength to breathe fire. The best I can manage these days is a lukewarm snort.” She paused, then shook her head, suddenly turning peevish. “I am tired, Devlin. Go and fetch Lizzie for me. I wish to retire.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Now that she mentioned it, his aunt did look terribly drained. He got up, grateful, in any case, for the reprieve.

“By the way,” she added as he started to walk away, “Miss Carlisle didn't happen to write to you, did she?”

He froze, then turned slowly, unsure how to answer. He did not wish to lie to his aunt, but he certainly did not want to get the girl into trouble. “No, ma'am,” he said cautiously. “Why ever would she write to me?”

“Hmm, never mind,” the old woman answered with a crafty glint in her eyes. “I noticed you mentioned your parents to her at dinner. You realize you have not spoken of them in years?”

Dev did not answer.

She gazed at him for a long moment, then quickly waved him off. “Run along, then. Off you go.”

Dev frowned with uncertainty, hoping she had not seen through his well-intentioned lie, but as he turned to go, something made him hesitate. “I say, is the girl really interested in the good doctor?”

Aunt Augusta chuckled. “Not in the slightest.”

“Ah.” Dev nodded, absorbing this, then sketched a bow to his aunt and went to do her bidding. When he came across Mrs. Rowland near the kitchens and inquired after his aunt's companion, the housekeeper pointed him in the direction of the laundry. “Shall I fetch her for you, Master Dev?”

“It's all right, Mrs. Rowland. I don't mind. By the way, the floating island was—” He kissed his fingertips and said with gusto.
“—magnifique!”

She beamed at him and then bustled on cheerfully about her business. In a more lighthearted mood at the prospect of encountering Miss Carlisle again, Dev continued to the laundry room, which connected through the large, busy kitchens. Approaching the dim space, he heard low-toned voices from within; when he stepped up to the threshold of the dim, flagstone-floored workroom, he observed the fair creature deeply engrossed in conversation with Ben over the large laundry sink.

The nerve of this girl, he thought in idle amusement. Having procured his forgiveness for her ruse, she did not quit while she was ahead. Oh, no. Now it seemed the intrepid E. Carlisle was busy cultivating his valet for information about Dev's past. The fact that she was here, though, asking questions about him, frankly interested, was flattering enough in itself to make his pulse quicken.

Dev folded his arms across his chest with a sardonic smile and leaned in the shadowed doorway, eavesdropping, unnoticed. Clad once more in the drab muslin dress—though the silly house cap was mercifully absent—the girl had rested her elbows on the edge of the tub. With her lovely face propped in her hands, she listened in rapt attention as Ben regaled her with tales of their adventures while treating the injured satin of her gown. Dev was taken aback, however, when Ben mentioned his years of bondage in America, for it was not a tale the man often shared. The expert valet preferred to be known for the excellence of his cravats, not for the color of his skin. Dev supposed Ben sensed, as he did, the air of trustworthiness the girl radiated and thus found it possible to open up to her.

“Mama was the midwife on the plantation,” Ben was saying, “and since that's a position of respect, I was set from an early age to attend the master's son as valet. I was treated fairly well, but then, I never was one to make trouble. The mistress even trusted me enough to let me learn how to read and write. Most black folks are kept in ignorance, you see. Most of the time, you have to hide what you know.”

She shook her head sympathetically. “For what it's worth, girls are advised to do the same.”

“I know that's true,” he agreed, his long-buried Southern accent emerging slightly as he spoke about the past. “Mama was the one who taught me the use of the medicinal herbs for healin' and treatin' wounds—and it's a good thing she did, too, the way His Lordship's always gettin' into scrapes.”

Dev raised an eyebrow as they shared a fond chuckle on this point, but then Ben's tone turned ominous.

“That summer, lightnin' set the crops on fire, and the plantation burned. Master was ruined, said he had to sell us all. Those were bad days, Miss Lizzie. Bad days.” He shook his head. Even now, years later, the pain and anger of his ordeal were evident in his kind, scholarly face. “Families were broken up, all of us to be uprooted, and the final humiliation—we were delivered to the slave mart in Charleston to be put on the auction block in the mornin'.”

“How horrible,” she said softly.

“That night, we shared a cell with some poor, wild souls who had just been brought over from Africa. You see, there was a deadline in 1806. After that, no more slaves could be brought into the country. Well, you can bet that terrible business was boomin' right up to the end. Those poor tribesmen—men, women, children, too—they were terrified, just off the ship. Some of them were hurt, sick. Mama and I helped the ones we could, but we couldn't understand a word they said, nor they us.”

“They were to be sold in the morning, too?”

He nodded. “But it didn't work out like that. No, ma'am.” Ben sent her a charming smile. “What we didn't know was that Lord Strathmore was sailin' into the Charleston harbor aboard the
Katie Rose
. You see, he'd been following that slaver all the way up from the West Indies. Just a young captain, barely twenty-two, but ain't nothin' scares him, especially when he's worked up in a temper over somethin'. Fact is, he had seen a terrible thing while crossin' the Caribbean.”

“What was it?” she murmured, visibly engrossed in the tale.

Ben hesitated, uncertain, Dev guessed, about how much to say to a young lady, and then lowered his voice. “When that slaver passed off the bow of the
Katie Rose
, he saw them throw a man overboard—still alive. Shackled in chains. Probably caught a fever and the crew didn't want it to spread. Master Dev and his men tried to reach the poor fellow to save him, but they were too late. It affected him somethin' fierce.” Ben paused, musing. “That's when he made up his mind to follow that slave ship and find a way to rescue those poor wild Africans.”

“Ohh,” she murmured in a dreamy tone, her eyes wide.

“That night,” Ben continued, “in the wee hours, he took his twelve-man crew and stormed the slave mart in Charleston, breakin' the lot of us out of there—forty in all! We didn't know what was happenin' at first. We thought they were pirates.”

“With the earring, I can understand your error,” she agreed earnestly.

Dev smirked.

“He and his sailors rushed us into the jolly boats, then rowed us out to the ship, but, lo and behold, he sailed us way on up north to New York, where no bounty hunters could ever find us. Instead of stealin' us and sellin' us off for his own profit, as Mama and I both expected, he took us by canal to Philadelphia, where we were taken in by the free black community there. You see, the slave laws in Pennsylvania are a good deal less cruel than the rest, on account of the Quakers in the state congress. Lord Strathmore gave us money to start a new life. He made us free.”

“What a beautiful gesture,” she whispered. “It's more than that—heroic.”

“Yes, ma'am, it was.” Ben nodded solemnly, but Lizzie's admiring words had sent a frisson of pleasure through Dev's veins—and embarrassed him a little, truth be told. He was sure any feeling man would have done the same. Besides, after his family had been broken up by the cruelty of fate, helping Ben keep his mother, brothers, and sisters together had been reward enough in itself.

“He saved our lives,” Ben continued. “Not just mine, but my whole family, as well. That's why Mama said, ‘Bennett, my boy, that plantation was always too small a place for you. You done gave yourself the name Freeman, so go on, be free. Go with that crazy Englishman and see the world.' So, I went.”

She smiled at him.

“Clear on through the wide state of Pennsylvania, to the high forests where it's still wild,” Ben went on, his tone brightening. “Into the mountains of the Iroquois tribes, who rule the northern lakes, and south to the realm of the Cherokees. Why, once, goin' over the Appalachians, Master Dev even fought a mountain lion! It was stalkin' us for days before it sprang. You should have seen that battle—”

“But the savages, Mr. Freeman?” she asked in amazement. “Did you actually get to see these primitive peoples?”

“See any?” Ben exclaimed. “Why, we wintered with the Cherokees when we came to the Cumberland Pass and found it snowed over. We would have frozen to death, but they saved our lives, taught us their customs. They're kind folk, hardly savages at all once you get to know 'em—unless, of course, you join them on a raiding party—but I should think young ladies don't want to hear about that.”

“Oh, Mr. Freeman, did you go on an Indian raid?” she whispered, wide eyed.

“Not me, ma'am, certainly! But one time His Lordship went—”

“Ahem,” Dev interrupted before his servant related anything too incriminating.

“Well, uh, ahem, good evenin', sir,” Ben coughed, turning sheepish. “I was just, er, helpin' Miss Lizzie get the wine marks out of this fine gown. That cat is quite a devil, I hear.”

“Indeed,” he said dryly. “Miss Carlisle?”

“Yes, my lord?” She tucked her chin in demure mortification, knowing she was caught at her prying, but when she peeked bashfully at him from beneath her lashes, Dev noticed at once that she looked at him differently. A newfound respect glimmered in the morning-gray depths of her eyes.

He was pleased.

He clasped his hands politely behind his back. “My aunt requests your presence, Miss Carlisle. She wishes to retire.”

“Oh—yes, of course.” She lowered her gaze, then sent Ben a nervous glance. “Thank you very much for your help, Mr. Freeman. If you have everything you need, then?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Ben said quickly, giving her a polite bow.

“Very well. Good evening, Mr. Freeman.” As she hurried past him on her way out, Dev cocked his eyebrow dubiously at his servant.

Ben shrugged. “Well, it's all true, ain't it? You're welcome,” he called after him with a mirthful grin as Dev pivoted and followed his quarry.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

Her skirts swishing in her haste to flee him, Lizzie whisked through the adjoining kitchens, red-faced at having been caught snooping into Devil Strathmore's past with an all-too-avid interest. Coming out the other side, she sped down the corridor while his footfalls echoed a few paces behind hers.

“Oh, Miss Carlisle…”

She ignored his beguiling call with its hint of amusement in the vain hope that if she pretended not to hear him, maybe he would go away. Ugh, she felt like such a cake! If only she had heard him come into the laundry room! But the man moved with the stealth of a hunter—a fact he proved yet again by suddenly capturing her wrist, stopping her forward momentum.

“Elizabeth, wait.”

She turned to him reluctantly, fighting the feverish thrill that traveled all the way up her arm from his light grasp.

“Don't be embarrassed,
chérie,
” he murmured so gently that she quivered.

Her cheeks turned redder at his silken endearment and at the way his crystalline blue-green eyes glowed with pleasure at his discovery of her interest.

She looked away, struggling to lay hold of any remaining shred of her dignity. “Er, Lord Strathmore—”

“Devlin,” he corrected in a tone like a caress. He made no move to release her hand.

She cleared her throat a bit. “Please do not be angry at Mr. Freeman for telling me about your travels, my lord. It was my fault. I was curious. Y-you've had an exciting life. Unlike mine.”

“Well, you needn't go to Ben if there's aught you want to know,” he offered in an intimate tone. “I'd be happy to answer all of your questions…personally. Why don't you meet me in the library after you attend my aunt, and I'll tell you all about it?”

She looked up quickly, wide-eyed.

He smiled. “We'll open a bottle of champagne. Say, ten o'clock?”

Her heart quaked. “I don't know….”

“Yes, you do,” he whispered.

She stared at him, tongue-tied and taken off guard. Lord, he was bold! Lady Strathmore had been right—there was probably nothing he would not dare. The fact was a trifle worrisome now that his single-minded gaze was fixed on her, full of amorous intent. Utterly confounded, she just yanked her hand from his velvety hold and sped away again on legs that shook beneath her. Good gracious, she was out of her depth!

He was right behind her, striding fast. “I didn't catch your answer, sweet.”

“No! No, no, no.”

“Why not?” he asked in amusement, no doubt thinking her a typical nervous virgin. “My aunt told me of your interest in languages. I could teach you some words in Arabic or Algonquian—a few useful curses, at least.”

“No, thank you.”

“Spoilsport.”

She stopped and turned to him, her chin coming up a notch. Alec used to call her that on occasion. “Am not.”

“Good. Then I'll see you there.” A wicked smile crept over his lips—it seemed to suggest if she went to the library to meet him, talking was the last thing they'd be doing.

In any language.

“No, thank you,” she forced out a tad breathlessly. Heart pounding, she spun around and whisked off to carry out her nightly duties.

“I'll be waiting in the library if you should change your mind,” he called after her, but she dared not look back.

Going through the entrance hall, Lizzie found Lady Strathmore waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase in her Bath chair. She masked her confusion from that rogue's advances and assisted the frail old woman to her feet, letting her lean on her. Together they began the slow and painstaking nightly journey of climbing the stairs. They had gone up only three of the steps, however, when Devlin ambled into the entrance below.

“May I be of assistance?”

Lizzie glanced back as he sprang up the stairs. In another moment, he swept the dowager off her feet with a jolly grin.

“At your service, my lovely.”

His aunt let out a peal of girlish laughter.

“Oh, Devlin, you rogue, put me down this instant!”

“Absolutely not.”

“Careful!” Lizzie warned him, fearful for the old woman's frail bones, but she saw that she needn't have worried.

He was all protective tenderness, conveying the dowager to the upper hallway, where he very gently set her down on her feet. While Lizzie steadied her, he dashed back down and carried up her Bath chair.

“Anything else?” he asked, directing the question to Lizzie.

She shook her head.

“Good night, darling,” his aunt murmured as he bent to kiss her cheek. “However long you stay, I'm glad you came.”

“Me, too,” he said softly, and sent Lizzie a meaningful stare over her shoulder.

 

Augusta did not miss the look that passed between them. Oh, yes, there was definitely something
there
.

Heavens, this night had been the best entertainment she'd had in a year, what with her nephew's jealousy of Dr. Bell, and Lizzie's sly stunt of pouring wine on herself to escape the table when Dev's conversation had wandered into dangerous territory. What a lark!

Her heart was light as her young companion helped her into her bedchamber down the hallway and patiently assisted her in changing into her nightclothes. All the while, Augusta mused on how to proceed. Dev and Lizzie were both such cagey creatures when it came to affairs of the heart, she knew that she would have to use caution.

Margaret brought in the hot-water bottles for her bed, then bobbed a curtsy and hurried out, mumbling good night. Before long, Lizzie had helped her into her large, canopied bed.

“There you are, ma'am.” The girl snugged the coverlet around Augusta. “Shall I read you a few verses from your Bible before you nod off?”

“Sit with me for a moment, dear.” Augusta patted the edge of the bed. “There is something I wish to say to you.”

Lizzie sent her a look of guilty alarm, but ever obedient, sat down on the edge of her bed and waited.

Augusta fought the urge to smile and instead gave the girl her most dragonly glower. “Miss Carlisle, am I amiss in my suspicions that my nephew's presence here tonight is no coincidence?”

She lowered her chin and shook her head. “No, my lady. It is not.” The girl sent her a contrite look from under her lashes. “I wrote to him.”

“And what exactly did you say?”

“I did not lie. I only implied that…if he did not come immediately, he might regret it,” she confessed in dismay.

“You mean you led him to believe I was about to turn up my toes, eh?”

“Oh, I know it was dishonest and very improper, but I've been so worried about you, ma'am! It's not fair, the way he neglects you. If you were my aunt, I would not leave you to sit here alone for months at a time—”

“I am not alone, child,” she interrupted gently. “I have you.”

The girl gave a doe-eyed blink of uncertainty.

“You do count, you know.”

Lizzie searched her face, at a loss.

Augusta smiled and took her companion's youthful hand between her own in a light, grandmotherly hold. “I have a new tale for you tonight, child. Of all the stories I've told you of my nephew's exploits, there is one chapter about Devlin's life that I have never shared with you. But something tells me that it's time you knew.”

Lizzie tilted her head attentively.

“When my dear, departed Jacob died, his brother, Stephen, Devlin's father, inherited the title. What a lovely man. As the younger son, Stephen would have been quite content to live out his days as plain Mr. Kimball, reading his books, happily peering through his microscope, and walking in the country with his dogs. But the viscountcy fell to him after my husband's death, and through him, passed to Devlin all too soon. You see, Stephen and his wife, Katherine, perished in a terrible hotel fire when Dev was seventeen.”

“Oh, how horribly awful,” she breathed, lifting her fingers to her mouth in shock.

Augusta nodded. “We also lost his little sister in that fire. Sarah. She was only four years old. Such a beautiful, happy child. Long black ringlets, big blue eyes. They were one of those rarest of finds: a genuinely happy family. His parents wed for love, you see…. ” Her voice trailed off wistfully as she remembered her own marriage, by contrast, to advance her father's ambitions and to replenish Joshua's fortunes.

“Devlin was at Oxford when it happened, and I will tell you in confidence that he has never fully recovered. In addition to myself, two of his uncles were also appointed as his legal guardians and trustees, but as the only female, it fell to me to provide what motherly influence I could. He became my ward until his twenty-first birthday. The truth is, I knew nothing of raising a young lad, especially not one faced with a tragedy.” She let out a heavy sigh. “Devlin flunked out of Oxford within a year, ran wild in London for another, and finally, after a stern talking-to, set out to travel the world. Letting him go was the hardest thing I've ever done, but a change of scenery seemed the only way to jar him off his self-destructive path. It seemed to work. He was gone for nearly three years to the West Indies and America, came back only long enough to visit with me, then sailed off again, that time to India.

“I scarcely know where all he went on that second trip,” she continued, “but he said he journeyed north into the Asian deserts and wound up at Moscow in time to see Napoléon's retreat.” Augusta's gaze turned faraway. “He has been to the wild and empty places of the world…and has brought them back in his eyes. You see, my dear, he has never let anyone close to him again since his family was destroyed. That's why he doesn't come here very often—not because he doesn't care, but because he does, and he is so frightened of the fact that I must leave this earth sometime.”

“But, my lady, what you're telling me—that letter I sent, threatening him with a—a change in your condition—oh, what have I done?” the girl whispered with a stricken stare. “Surely there was nothing I could have done to hurt him worse. I did not know!”

“Now you do.” Augusta smiled fondly at her distress and patted her hand. “Take heart, my dear. You are made of stern stuff, and for that, I like you well. But whatever heartache you came here hiding from, do not take it out on Dev. As you now know, he is not as invulnerable as he seems. In fact, I would ask a favor of you.”

“Of course, ma'am, what is it?” she murmured. Not yet recovered from her attack of conscience, Lizzie looked startled at the request, for Augusta Strathmore was not one to ask a favor of anybody.

The dowager stared shrewdly into the girl's open, honest face. “Will you look in on him from time to time when I am gone? Make sure he's all right?”

“My lady, you mustn't talk like that—”

“Will you, yay or nay?”

She cast about helplessly. “But—how can I? It isn't proper. And with his reputation—? Ma'am, I am sorry—I truly am—but I'm sure I cannot promise any such thing.”

“Does his story not move you?”

“Of course it does—”

“He has no one else.”

“He has you.”

“I will not last long. Surely, Miss Carlisle, you would not deny an old woman her dying wish?”

“Gracious, you are not dying! I forbid it.” She jumped up from Augusta's bedside, looking shaken. “Of course it pains me to refuse you, my lady. You know how grateful I am for the position you have given me. I'm happier here than I ever expected to feel again, but I will have no more of this grim talk. By my troth, no one around here is dying for a very long time, and that is final!”

Augusta studied the girl intently, but did not press her. “You are a very stubborn creature, aren't you?”

“Yes, but I am not one to make promises I cannot keep. Now, you need your rest, ma'am. I will see you in the morning.” She crossed the bedchamber with an anxious little hurry in her step, but stopped at the door and turned around in guilty hesitation, her drab skirts swirling around her. “It's not that I don't
want
to help. It's just that…he would never listen to someone like me, you do understand? If I were pretty or highborn or rich, he might, but I'm me and he's him, and there's an end to it.”

The dowager smiled.
Not quite an end, my dear.
The scoundrel would listen—given the proper motive. Aye, throw them together and let Nature do the rest.

“Take no thought of it, Miss Carlisle. I understand perfectly.”
You'll change your mind,
she thought shrewdly.
I know you, my girl. Your conscience will give you no choice.

“Thank you, ma'am. I
am
sorry,” she added, looking rather cast down.

“Good night, Miss Carlisle.”

“Ma'am.” The girl curtsied and withdrew respectfully from the room.