Devil's Bargain (2 page)

He raised an eyebrow, neither encouraging nor discouraging her to continue. In the end, she felt compelled to speak. “If your reputation is unsavory, my lord, then I, too, have fallen by association.” She gasped, her gaze once more flying to the door that adjoined their two bedrooms. “My presence in this house has already ruined me!”

She had not meant to sound so dramatic, but if this scheme was doomed from the start, she had best do what was required to rectify the situation. She turned as if to leave, but he blocked her path.

“You are correct,” he said, his tone conversational. “Your reputation suffered the moment you entered this house. However, I will still find you a husband. Indeed, my fortune and yours depend upon it.”

She shook her head, denying everything he said. “But—”

He cut her off with a single raised finger. “Do you know what a courtesan is?”

She bit her lip, trying to decide how to answer. Her father would have flown into a rage if she confessed the full truth: that she had eagerly listened for any drop of gossip about such creatures. So, instead of a full confession she chose a partial truth. “I only know what little I have heard. I am sure none of it could be true.”

“Of course it could be true. That, and a great deal more,” he drawled, his amusement obvious. “No matter. You, my dear, will be educated very much like those wonderful creatures.”

She gaped at him in horror. Her, a courtesan? “But I was told—”

“Listen to the rest, Lynette. You will become a Marlock bride. Like a courtesan, you will be beautiful, accomplished, and knowledgeable in a variety of pleasures. But you will also be loyal, gentle, and, of course, presentable. And for this, some man—likely an older, experienced man—will pay a great deal to wed you. So that you may grace his table by day and his bed at night.”

“But, I don’t understand. Why would he marry me? When a…a courtesan’s pleasures can be had—”

“For a few gems? Until the man becomes bored? Or the woman unpresentable?”

She nodded. That was exactly what she meant. Why would a man wed what could be had for a few pennies?

“Because a smart man knows the value of paying once instead of monthly or at a lady’s whim. Of tying
a woman to him for the rest of his life—assuming she is the
right
woman—rather than for a few months. Of finding a bride who will nurse him kindly in his old age, rather than abandon him to seek her own pleasures.”

“But you cannot promise that—”

“Of course I can!” he snapped. “Because you will. Because I have done it before and my reputation stands on that promise.” He stepped closer, until he was looming over her, his breath hot on her face.

“My lord,” she gasped, wondering what she could say to make him retreat.

“Will you be faithful to your husband?” he asked. “Will you please him at night, care for him in his dotage, even if he is a hundred years old with cold hands and rancid breath?”

She blinked, wondering why tears blurred her vision.

“Will you, Lynette?” he demanded.

“Yes!” she gasped, knowing that was the answer he wanted. Knowing, too, that it was the truth. For whatever reason she wed, she would not dishonor the man she married. “I could not break a vow made before God,” she whispered.

He stepped back, his entire body suddenly relaxed, almost congenial. “Then I believe you shall be my best bride yet.” He reached out, gently stroking her cheek with an almost paternal air. “You will fetch a high price indeed.”

She jerked backward, drawing her face away from him. “I don’t understand—” she began. But he cut her off.

“Enough questions. It is all too new for you.” He
abruptly moved to the door. “There will be time enough after the initial evaluation.”

That drew her up short. “Evaluation?” she asked.

But he was already gone.

For an hour Lynette sat numbly on the bed, staring at the walls. Finally, weary of doing nothing, she unpacked her few belongings and stood in the center of the room, her mind churning uselessly.

Perhaps she should focus on making a good impression. She knew many great houses dressed for dinner, and though this was obviously not a great house, still she donned her best dress: a pearl gray gown with a lace collar. She also did what she could with her light brown hair, brushing it to a fine glossy appearance and despairing over her lack of curls. She had no cosmetics, so she contented herself with pinching her cheeks for color.

Finally, with nothing else to do, she ventured downstairs.

No one was about. The staircase deposited her in a dimly lit hallway as deserted as the upper floor. A parlor stood abandoned to the left, the grate cold.
Deeper in was a library with few books and a pockmarked desk. A smaller escritoire pressed against one wall, almost as if it were hiding. She thought to call out but knew that would be ill-bred. And, in truth, she had no wish to disturb the tomblike feel of the house. So she continued to wander.

Farther back she discovered the formal dining room. This was clearly the best room in the house. The table was a huge, gleaming block of mahogany, the chairs were tall and stately with thick cushions, and the linen was a crisp, blinding white. She noted candelabra, chandelier, and silver as well, and yet this room felt as devoid of life as the rest.

In fact, it gave her a chill just standing in it.

She heard a muffled thump. It came through the servants’ door, no doubt originating in the kitchen. The thought that someone was preparing dinner made her stomach rumble hungrily. She had felt too nervous this morning for breakfast, but now she imagined food with great relish. She pushed through the door and rushed down the short, dirty stairway beyond.

The kitchen she entered was large by London standards, but even so it felt cramped. All manner of cooking equipment covered the walls and table space. Unfortunately, Lynette saw nothing that resembled dinner. Despite the prevalence of cooking paraphernalia, the larder was obviously empty. The only food she noticed was a hard loaf of black bread clutched in the fist of a massive man with dark hair and an even darker countenance. He was the same hulking brute of a butler who had opened the door nearly an hour before.

“Mr. Dunwort, isn’t it?” she asked.

The man looked up, surprise lifting the scowl from his expression. “Aye, that be me. Good o’ ye to remember.”

“Please, sir, could you tell me at what time dinner is served?”

His eyes narrowed, as if taking her measure. “It ain’t, miss.”

She frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“The new miss always makes the menus and stocks the larder. There won’t be no food until ye decides wot I’m to buy.”

Lynette shook her head. “But I couldn’t possibly presume. I am sure the baroness—”

“Master’s orders. The young miss plans the food and keeps the accounts. Learning about money is part o’ yer training.” He paused to bite off a hunk of his bread. “Ye won’t eat unless ye works.”

She looked about, clearly seeing the truth in his words. There were indeed no plans for any type of dinner. “Am I to cook it as well?”

Dunwort shook his head. “That be my job. Exceptin’ fer the dinner party after ye be presented. You are to engage a chef.”

“A chef!” Without conscious thought, Lynette sank onto a stool beside Dunwort. “But how—” She cut off her words, her thoughts spinning. At home, her mother performed the cooking and shopping duties. Lynette had always spent her time assisting her father in his many tasks as minister.

Dunwort leaned back, his gaze narrowed onto her face. “If ye asks, we’ll help ye. Otherwise, we’ll leave ye t’ muddle on yer own.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Well, then, I shall most certainly ask.”

He smiled, abruptly softening his entire countenance. Obviously, she’d just passed some sort of test, so she returned his smile uncertainly before walking slowly about the kitchen. Unfortunately, the situation did not improve upon inspection. There was nothing by way of even the basics of eatables. She would have to buy everything.

But what that
everything
consisted of, she could only guess.

“Do you know how much I am able to spend?” she asked.

Dunwort had been watching her every move, his dark eyes frank and assessing. “Wotever ye spend comes out o’ yer marriage portion. Wot you eat now is food out o’ your family’s mouths later.”

She heard the cynicism in his tone and turned to study his expression. Though she did not like being reminded that she was just one of many girls brought into this household, she could not resist asking the question. “The other girls have spent freely,” she guessed, “relying on their marriage portion to be large enough to carry them through.”

Dunwort nodded, a slow, measuring movement that nonetheless conveyed a bit of respect for her deduction. “Some spent. Others pinched.”

Lynette continued to wander about the narrow room, absently looking inside cupboards and poking into drawers as she mentally inventoried their contents. “Well, I am afraid I shall be more of the pinch variety, Mr. Dunwort. This entire day has been like a bizarre dream to me, and I cannot believe that the viscount’s scheme will succeed.”

“Oh, it’ll succeed, all right. I seen ’im do it six times afore.”

Now he had her full attention. Closing a cupboard, she returned to her stool. “Six times?” she asked. “Six other girls?”

“Aye. And all bed and wed.”

She noticed that he had the expression backward. Did not one wed first, then bed? But she ignored his error, choosing to voice her deepest concern. “But I am a poor parson’s daughter. All that commended me to marriage was my virtue. And now that I am here, even that…” Her voice trailed away on a sigh.

“Aye, it’s tainted. No doubt about that.”

Lynette winced at his frank tone. She had hoped for something much more reassuring.

“But he’ll get ye a husband nonetheless.”

She turned, studying the servant’s face. In her years of assisting her father on his visits, Lynette had met many people of various walks of life. She had learned to assess not their clothing nor their surroundings but their expressions. In studying Dunwort’s countenance, she realized he had a harsh face only in that it appeared worn and beaten. His brows were as thick as his dark curly hair, but his eyes were steady, and his mouth was neither pinched in disapproval nor pulled wide in a hungry leer. In short, he appeared honest, if a bit reserved. Until he proved otherwise, she would count him a friend.

Having decided that, she pressed her hands flat on the table and stood. “Very well, Mr. Dunwort, for better or worse it appears I am in charge of the larder. Pinchpenny I may be, but even a pinchpenny must eat. Therefore, unless you enjoy that black bread, I propose we find some better fare. Do you have the purse, or shall I get that from the baroness?”

His craggy face split into a grin. “I ’ave the purse,
miss. ’Is lordship sold sheep for it just yesterday. So, do we eat or shop first?”

She glanced about the room. Even the stove was ice cold. If she chose to delay her meal, it would be quite delayed. As if on cue, her stomach growled, reminding her that she was hungry now and had no wish to wait.

“I have had a very trying day, Mr. Dunwort. Though normally I would suggest we shop as best we can at this hour, tonight is different. Tonight, I say we eat. Do you know of an inn with a tolerable stew or meat pie?”

He nodded, even as he was reaching for his cap. “I know just the place.”

“Then buy enough for you, me, his lordship, I suppose, and the baroness—”

“The viscount has chosen to dine at his club,” Dunwort interrupted. “And the baroness will like as not drink her dinner.”

Lynette paused. She knew many of her father’s flock chose to drink themselves to death, but she refused to aid anyone in such an endeavor. “You shall buy meat pies for the three of us, then. I will bring hers to her myself.”

“Very good, miss.”

“Are there any other servants dependent upon this kitchen?”

“No, miss. Just me.” Then he buttoned his cloak and prepared to depart. She stopped him, placing her hand on his arm.

“I could go with you,” she offered. She knew many great houses where the housekeeper went on the shopping expeditions, but then she hesitated. “
Should
I go with you?”

“No, miss, ye can’t. Yer t’ be a lady, and it ain’t smart t’ be seen wit’ me.”

She nodded, understanding his meaning. “Very well,” she said, relieved not to face London after dark. Kent was near enough to London that she had heard many tales of dangers lurking not more than a step outside one’s door. “Perhaps I shall enjoy what is left of your black bread,” she added without enthusiasm.

With a quick nod, Dunwort disappeared, slipping out the back door faster than she thought possible for such a large man.

She did try to eat the black bread, but hungry as she was, she could not stomach the hard crust. So, rather than sit and wait impatiently for Dunwort’s return, she went in search of the baroness.

She found the lady upstairs in a sitting room across from her own. Though the room might once have been inviting, done in shades of blue and a pale yellow, it had fallen victim to the same ravages that haunted her bedroom. The furnishings were shabby, the draperies frayed. Even the fire hissed fitfully. The baroness sat next to the grate. She was wrapped in a thick rug, her hands curled around a glass of sherry as she stared dully into the fire.

Lynette stopped at the door, taking her time to study the room’s occupant. When she had first met this baroness, Lynette had disliked the woman immediately. She had felt small enough in that huge church, and the baroness had made her feel even smaller.

But now Lynette wondered if she had been wrong. The person she saw now seemed old and frail, her slumped posture indicating a depressed spirit. And though the woman held a glass of sherry, she was not
drinking it. The bottle that sat on a small table beside her was nearly full.

In fact, this particular sight suggested the baroness truly was the viscount’s pawn. Certainly Lynette could not see this broken woman as being strong enough to countermand anything the viscount dictated.

“If you want food, you shall have to find it yourself.” The baroness’s voice was not so much cold as it was weary.

“I have already sent Dunwort for meat pies. He shall bring us ours directly.”

The baroness’s eyes flickered, lifting for a moment from the fading coals. “You bade him bring me food?”

“Naturally. I will leave no one to starve when there is money available.”

This time the woman’s gaze did rise, coming to rest on Lynette’s face. “You understand that whatever you spend comes from your marriage portion?”

Lynette nodded. She was beginning to dislike everyone’s calm assurance that some gentleman would pay a rich price for her. They made it sound as if a wealthy man would suddenly appear like magic. Lynette wanted a plan, and without one, she was prone to creating anxious questions. What would happen if no groom presented himself? Would her mother have to pay for what was spent? She didn’t have the money. Would Lynette be sent to her uncle’s home? She would be disgraced, possibly outcast.

Fortunately, she was not given time to dwell upon such thoughts, for the baroness continued, her gaze returning to the grate. “I am sure Dunwort informed you that I prefer to drink my meal tonight.”

Again, Lynette nodded. She crossed to the coals,
warming herself as best she could. “He told me, but I am sure you know meat is better sustenance for mind and body.” The words came without thought, because she had said them so often to her father’s parishioners. Then, when she looked up from the grate, she was startled to see the older woman’s watery gaze was steady on her. “Baroness?”

“You do not hate me.” It was a statement, not a question, and it caught Lynette off guard.

“Why would you expect hatred from me?”

The woman’s laughter was startling in the silent house. “You mean from a minister’s daughter? I assure you, every girl he has brought here has hated me.”

Slowly, Lynette settled into the chair opposite, understanding the meaning beneath the words. “Then it is true; you have only done as he bid.”

The baroness chose to drink rather than respond, draining her glass with one swift motion.

Lynette looked away, seeing that as confirmation enough. “
You
are not my enemy, Baroness,” she said softly.

“Have we drawn battle lines already?” came the harsh response.

Lynette shrugged. She had not intended to wage a war, but if she was honest, she had already begun to view the viscount as her enemy. He alone seemed to rule this household, and from all appearances ruled it to no good effect.

“You will lose, you know. You cannot fight him. He will not allow it.”

Lynette chose her words carefully. She was new to this household. She could not afford the luxury of thoughtless speech. “I do not wish to create disharmony, Baroness.”

“Ha!” Again, that high crack of laughter. “You are a minister’s daughter. There isn’t a soul on Earth more disharmonious to him than you.” The baroness poured herself another drink. “You will fight him, and you will lose. Then he will marry you off, never to think of you again.” The woman abruptly shoved her sherry glass into Lynette’s hand. “Drink, girl. You need it more than I.”

Lynette stared at her, then at the glass, finally letting her gaze slip to the fire. Nothing made sense. Nothing felt right. But one glance at the baroness told Lynette she would get no more information tonight. The woman was already folding into herself, shutting her eyes as if preparing to sleep.

Still, questions pounded at Lynette. What was happening? When she’d left Kent, she had been filled with hope, the Earl of Songshire’s recommendation the only security she needed. If he’d recommended this woman, it must be safe. After all, wasn’t he an earl? Didn’t he know the ways of the world? Certainly better than Lynette.