Devil Takes A Bride (27 page)

A bridle hung from the nearby post. She bit her lip, glancing back at Devlin in thrumming indecision. Horse-stealing was a hanging offense, but this was different. She was an abducted young lady of good name and connections on the run from a wicked viscount. Right?

“Damn it, girl, I will turn you over my knee when I've got you! Where are you?”

The devil you will—Devil!

She glided out from the shadows of the dovecote and tiptoed toward the pony, greeting it softly so that she would not spook the animal. “Hullo, darling. There's a sweet little pony. I wonder if I might…borrow you….”

She lifted the bridle off the post. The pony picked its head up off the rail and ambled toward her, ears twitching.

She made friends with it at once, feeding it a handful of grass. Her hand trembled as the pony lipped the grass off her palm; then she silently climbed the fence. “There's a good boy.” She stepped down into the earthen paddock, half in dread of getting her bare feet stepped on under the creature's hoofs, but the pony must have been a large child's mount, for it was as gentle as a lamb. It took the bit agreeably into its mouth.

Murmuring gently to the animal all the while, Lizzie led the pony over to the gate and opened it. She stood on the bottom rail to boost her up onto the stout pony's barrel back. Without a saddle, she had no choice but to ride astride, her night rail tucked about her legs, her bare feet hanging down. She gathered the reins and squeezed the pony's satiny sides with her calves, guiding it out of the paddock.

“Lizzie!”

Devlin burst out of the shadows by the dovecote just as the pony lurched into a bouncy trot. He rushed them. “Get back here!”

“Go!” She kicked the pony's sides and clung to the animal in alarm, urging her little mount into a brisk canter.

Devlin tried to grab her right off the pony's back as she swept past him, but he missed, his hands clutching only air. “Damn it, come back here!”

She glanced back and saw him running after them, but even an athletic man like him was no match for her equine ally.

Trailing defiant laughter, Lizzie rode off on the cantering pony, victorious. She had won! She was free—and it felt glorious.

 

Dev chased her for only a few more strides into the field before he gave up, his pumping legs slowing to a halt. Chest heaving with exertion, he bent forward slightly, planting his hands on his thighs as he caught his breath. He let out a curse, but as he heard her nymphlike laughter and glanced in her direction, he caught one last glimpse of her beaming face before she went racing away astride the plump pony, wrapped in his oversize coat, her long hair flying out behind her.

He just stared, his anger melting.

She looked so happy, so blasted proud of herself. How could he be angry when she was so damned adorable? He felt an ache of inexplicable joy swelling in his heart, and as he watched her gallop off, he began laughing wearily. He stood up straight again, laughing harder, raking both his hands through his hair.

“Look at her, Ben,” he said as his servant rushed up beside him, looking frantic. “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful in your entire life? Look at her go. By God, what a fool I've been.”

“Sir?” Ben panted.

“She deserves it. The title. The money. And she shall have it. With God as my witness, I'm going to marry that girl. What spirit. What heart,” he whispered.

Ben did not quite seem to absorb his words. “I'll unhitch the lead horse. If you can ride after her, you can catch her in minutes—”

“No.” Dev shook his head slowly, still smiling. “Let her have her victory.” He could not take his eyes off her, and they shone even after she had disappeared over the moonlit rise. “She bested me fair and square. There's no way I could take that away from her.”

“Are you feeling all right?”

“Never better. Come on.” He gave his trusty valet a manly slap on the back. “Let's get the carriage turned around. She'll keep to the fields to avoid us, but we'll give her an escort back to the school. These roads are not the safest place at night.”

“The Gretna plan is off, then?” Ben asked in confusion as they strode back to the waiting carriage.

“Afraid so,” Dev sighed.

“Well, what now?”

Dev smiled in the direction she had gone. “Now I do it her way.”

 

Moving happily through the moonlight, Lizzie followed the Great North Road as her guide home, but stayed off it, keeping to the fields and woods as the pony swung along at a comfortable walk. As it became clear that she had successfully evaded her handsome captor, exhilaration crested through her, an almost giddy triumph after her brash escape.

At last, an adventure of her very own! She felt gloriously alive, free.

The pony swiveled its tapered ears, listening to her as she hummed to pass the time and to allay her nervousness as she ventured onward through the dark. There was plenty of time to reflect on what they had shared inside the coach. Her wonder at it all made the whole moonlit world seem to shimmer as the pony trotted down a small gully, crossed a shallow rivulet, and scrambled up the other side.

She rode on.

Before long, an arrowed road sign pointed her toward Islington. She guided the pony across the road, kicking him into a canter. They hurried into the field across the way, and in another quarter hour, she recognized the sweep of the countryside and knew exactly where she was.

She would have to hurry, she realized. The staff and teachers rose at six.

Sunrise had just begun to tinge the eastern horizon with a pink blush when Lizzie reined the pony to a halt in the same stand of trees where Dev had hidden the coach several hours ago. The ladder still lay there, vaguely outlined in the tall grasses.

Across the green, all the school windows were still dark. Her heart hammered, for she knew it would cost her her position if Mrs. Hall found out what had happened. She slid down off the trusty pony's back, then hugged the gentle creature, slipped off its bridle, and freed it. She threw the bridle atop the ladder, then shrugged off Dev's coat and left it there, as well.

The gray dawn air glided coolly against her bare arms as she stole away from the grove, running silently toward the school. Glancing up, she saw her bedroom window still hanging wide open, just as Dev had left it when he had carried her off. She vaulted the fence, her chemise flying up about her knees, and darted around the back of the building, her heart pounding madly.

Oh, Jacinda was going to die of laughter when she told her about this. If she managed to get through this alive, she would write to her at once and suggest they have tea. She was eager to tell her best friend everything about Devlin and the madcap conditions surrounding Lady Strathmore's will.

Her light humor plunged into dread, however, when she rushed through the garden to the back door only to find it locked. Good Lord, she couldn't get back inside!

Then she remembered the mulberry tree.

Her heart sank as she realized it was her only hope. She hurried back around to the front of the building and approached the towering tree. Even as a child, she had never been a tomboy. Tree-climbing was hardly her forte.

She tilted her head back, dubiously planning her ascent, but when light suddenly shone through the curtains on one of the first-floor rooms, she gasped, flinging herself behind the trunk. Her pulse pounding, she knew there was not a moment to lose. Time to give it a go. Grabbing a sturdy branch, she swung up and thrust a bare foot carefully into the tree's barky groin.

 

Dev's coach rolled past the green just in time to glimpse a fair white foot disappearing into her bedroom window. Relief poured through him now that her safety was assured. His eyes beamed with some newfound emotion, a narrow smile twisting his lips. The pony grazed on the commons; a few lights burned in the school's windows.

“Should we bring the animal back?” Ben called in a loud whisper from the driver's box.

“Not yet,” Dev answered in worldly amusement. “We wouldn't want to make it too easy on our little horse-thief, now, would we? Drive on.”

Ben obeyed, slapping the horses' rumps with the reins. The coach glided quietly into motion.

Dev watched her bedroom window until the curve of the road pulled it out of sight, then, smiling to himself in thoughtful amusement, he looked forward again, stroking his jaw.

It appeared he had best start planning his apology.

C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN

The next morning, despite her brush with ruin and a serious lack of sleep, Lizzie taught her classes in a thoroughly cheerful mood, still filled with the glow of her triumph.

Not even Mrs. Hall's disapproving remarks about Devlin's unauthorized visit on the green yesterday had dampened her spirits. Fortunately, when she had explained that he was merely the late Lady Strathmore's nephew, come on “family business” pertaining to his aunt's will, the headmistress had been mollified. Then at midday, a gift arrived for her—a basket of fine, leather-bound books with a little note that sent her heart soaring anew:

My Dear Elizabeth,

Please accept these humble offerings as a token of my most wretched remorse for my abandoned behavior last night. Take pity on a poor sinner. I crave a moment of your time that I may apologize properly. Please write back to say where and when I may see you again. You are all that fills my thoughts.

Your humble servant,
Strathmore

Humble servant, indeed,
she thought, smiling in spite of herself.
Laying it on a bit thick, Dev, dear.
Yet her pulse fluttered joyously as she read the note five times over in rapid succession.

Considering her countermove for a moment, she dashed off a quick note of her own while her students tapped away on their slates—but her letter was not to Devlin. No, the scoundrel could cool his heels for a few days waiting for her response. Instead, with a wily smile curving her lips, she wrote to her glamorous best friend:

Good Morning, Mrs. Billy!

A favor? If there's a ball, rout, etc. that you plan to attend this Sat. eve, might I tag along, like in the old days? It will be my day off and let's just say a
situation
has arisen regarding a certain Devil of my acquaintance….

Kisses,
Lizzie

“Sweetie!” Jacinda cried, arriving promptly on the doorstep of Mrs. Hall's Academy on Saturday afternoon to collect her for their leisurely ritual of dressing and getting ready for the ball, which was to be hosted this night by Lord and Lady Madison.

As always, the nineteen-year-old marchioness was all bubbly vivacity and dressed to elegant perfection in a long-sleeved pelisse of lavender silk over a white muslin walking dress. Her golden curls bounced beneath the brim of her matching lavender hat as she skipped over the threshold of her old school, grasped Lizzie's hands, and swung her around in a half-circle with a peal of girlish laughter. “Oh, we're going to have such fun!”

Jacinda hugged her tightly for a moment, then began talking a mile a minute. “Oh, Lizzie, I'm so happy to see you! It's been
monstrous
dull in Society without you, but now that you're coming with me, I can hardly wait for the ball! Everyone's going to be in alt to see you! I daresay it's time you came back into the fold, stubborn thing. Come, let me rescue you from this dull place.” She tucked Lizzie's hand through the crook of her arm with a proprietary air. “I have a million ideas of what we can do with your hair. I've ordered my jewels taken from the vault, so you can wear whatever you want with your new gown, though I recommend diamonds—”

“New gown?”

Jacinda turned prettily to her. “Guess what I did?”

“Jas!”

“Oh, hush. I commissioned a gown for you from
the
Mrs. Bell, whom I've engaged exclusively for the rest of the day, and who will be waiting for us at the house to perfect your fitting. Come, we haven't a moment to lose.”

“You shouldn't have.”

She waved off Lizzie's protest without concern. “Consider it an early birthday present, dearest. It was no trouble, honestly! Mrs. Bell kept our measurements on file from last Season. Now, if you don't like it, not to worry—I've had Anne air out and press a couple of your favorite ball gowns from last year—they were still in your room at Knight House—but I do think you should trust me in this. You said you wanted my expertise. Oh, I'm so pleased someone needs my silly, trivial knowledge for once! It's hardly calculus or German, my dear bluestocking, but it does come in handy now and then,” she teased, and laughing, gave Lizzie a girlish squeeze about the shoulders. “I'm so happy you called on me! Isn't it droll—
I'm
to be your chaperon tonight? What a lark!”

“Oh, Jas, I've missed you,” Lizzie said, laughing in spite of herself. “You make everything an
occasion
.”

“Well, this time it
is
an occasion, isn't it, my dear? I think this may be the first time in your entire life that you've ever asked for my help—or anyone else's, for that matter—and after all your innumerable kindnesses to me, well, it's past time you let someone else look after you for a change. Now, come,” she commanded, tugging Lizzie toward the door while twenty awed schoolgirls peered down from the stairs at the famed fashion plate so celebrated in the Society columns. “I want to know everything about this Devil Strathmore of yours! You wicked creature, keeping secrets from me.”

She hadn't heard the half of it, Lizzie thought, but just when they were about to make a clean getaway, Mrs. Hall bustled out into the foyer.

Judging by the purposeful look on her face, Lizzie instantly guessed the headmistress had once again thought of “one more task” she must do before she would be allowed to leave for her day off.

Mrs. Hall, however, had not counted on seeing Jacinda.

The headmistress gasped and nearly fell forward in her haste to curtsy to her former problem student. “Oh, goodness, why, Lady Truro! What an honor to have you visit our humble academy again. May I offer belated well-wishings on your recent nuptials.”

Instantly, Jacinda took charge as she was wont to do, the exuberant mischief-maker vanishing behind the well-honed pomp of the grand marchioness. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Hall,” Her Ladyship intoned with a generous bow of her head. “I thank you kindly for sparing Miss Carlisle for the day, but I wonder, could you not find it in your heart to excuse her of her Sunday duties, as well? The Lord's Day, after all, was meant for a day of rest, and I am desperate for my dearest friend to attend me.”

“Well, er, if it would please you, my lady, I'm sure that could—be arranged.”

“How very kind you are, Mrs. Hall. I will be sure to remark upon it much in Society.”

“Oh, thank you, my lady! Thank you!”

Lizzie managed not to roll her eyes and wondered what Mrs. Hall would require of her to make up for it once her high-ranking patroness had gone again. Ah, well, Jacinda had been merrily leading her into mischief all her life. Why stop now?

With a grateful nod to her employer, Lizzie allowed Jacinda to shepherd her outside to her waiting coach, an enormous and showy affair crawling with liveried footmen and drawn by four white horses with plumes on their heads. The footman handed them up into the lavish equipage, and Lizzie sat down on the pale, kid-leather squabs across from her friend. A moment later, the vehicle rolled into motion, whisking them southward toward Town.

“Well?” Jacinda demanded, drawing off her lavender gloves with a businesslike air. “Now, what is going on between you and Viscount Strathmore?”

By the time they reached Jacinda's newly built Nash villa on the edge of Regent's Park, Lizzie had told her the whole story, from the shocking terms of Lady Strathmore's will, to her escape from Dev's kidnapping attempt on the back of a stolen pony.

Jacinda's reaction alternated between scandalized laughter and shocked delight. “Oh, Lizzie, he sounds divine!”

“You would say that.”

“At least he doesn't treat you like his sister.”

Lizzie chuckled, for it was an ongoing jest between them. For some reason throughout her girlhood, every young man she had met went panting over Jacinda but treated Lizzie with the same warm, chaste respect he might show his mother or his sister. Not even Alec had ever tried to steal a kiss. It was most tedious.

“Well, do you like him or not?” Jacinda exclaimed.

Blushing helplessly, Lizzie stared at her friend in mingled joy and distress, then shrugged. “You know I would never do those things with him if I didn't, but of course, he's terribly debauched, if the stories in the paper are true, and secondly, I'm not about to lose my head over a man whose sole interest in me is for the sake of gaining wealth. I have my pride. Besides, I am sure the immediate gain could not outlast the misery of a lifetime married to a man who doesn't love one.”

“Hear, hear,” Jacinda agreed.

“Of course…” Lizzie dropped her gaze and toyed shyly with the tassel on the end of her reticule. “If I could be convinced that he wanted me for myself, not for the money, that he had some genuine feeling for me, I…would not be averse to his attentions,” she admitted, peeping bashfully at her friend from under her lashes.

A merry grin spread over Jacinda's face. “Ah, my dear. Say no more. I understand completely. Trust me,” she murmured, leaning closer with a confidential air. “When Lord Strathmore sees you tonight, his inheritance money will be the farthest thing from his mind.”

 

For three days, Dev had waited on edge for Lizzie's answer, then came her letter with its imperious instructions and the scramble to procure a last-minute invitation to the Madison ball on Saturday night. That had been a bit precarious, for his association with the likes of Randall, Carstairs, and Staines had compromised his place on the guest lists of London's first circles. He had prevailed, however, and the appointed evening had come at last.

To his dismay, however, the intrepid E. Carlisle was late.

Indeed, he was beginning to wonder if she had sent him here on a fool's errand, his punishment, perhaps. For all he knew, she had no intention of coming, and was merely teaching him one of her infamous “lessons.” Waiting for her in a state of nervous uncertainty, he could not help brooding on the unappetizing knowledge that foremost on his agenda this night was a grand grovel. For that reason, all things considered, so far, Dev hated this ball.

It ought to have been pleasant enough. It was a gorgeous May evening. The party was lavish, hosted by Lord and Lady Madison at their summer home—a Thames-side villa by Inigo Jones, built as a neo-Palladian temple in a garden setting. But he was miserable. He looked again at his fob watch and wished that he had thought to bring a gentleman's fan. He could smell the starch in his cravat as the sweat from the back of his neck seeped into it. God, he could not remember being this nervous since his schooldays before a big exam!

Hot, restless, and desperately bored, he eschewed the damask-upholstered benches pushed back to the sides of the room and leaned in one of the window nooks, his stare fixed on the entrance. Here, at least, he could get some air and take refuge from the crush of guests thronging the long gallery being used as a ballroom.

The walls were hung with red silk with white pilasters and a plasterwork frieze, lightly gilded. The chamber had a parquetry floor and a coffered apse at the far end where the brass band sat, determined to murder them all by sheer volume. The acoustics of the narrow space did not suit the blaring, bouncy march to which the company was being subjected. Dev felt a headache coming on fast, aided by the glass of sticky-sweet rum punch he had been given upon walking in.

He longed to go dive into the nearby river and rather envied the nudity of the Classical statues posing around the room. With any luck, one of the huge chandeliers might fall on him and put him out of his misery, he mused. Otherwise, he could do naught but wait and go on waiting for the lady whom he feared was bent on bringing him to heel.

Then, like the answer to a prayer, the brass band took a breather just as Dev heard the majordomo announce the Marquess and Marchioness of Truro and Saint Austell.

Aha, so, this was Lizzie's beloved Lady Jacinda and her Billy. His gaze homed in on the couple: a tall, striking man with sandy hair and the dangerous aura of a chap who would cut your throat if you looked at him wrong; by his side, a glittering, little fairy queen of a lady with a mass of golden spiral-curls and dark eyes that sparkled with naughty laughter.

Hmm,
he thought. This pair could be trouble. As they passed beneath the heavily pedimented doorcase and proceeded down the few stairs into the gallery, Miss Elizabeth Carlisle was announced behind them.

Dev jerked to attention, emerging from the shelter of the window nook, drawn irresistibly; when she appeared, he could have sworn that the whole ballroom let out an admiring gasp.

Standing in the doorway for a moment, she stepped into the room like a cool breeze. The droning roar of conversation halted for a second. Her white gown, light as air, was pure elegant simplicity; her hair was arranged in smooth, shiny curls that framed her face, with a strand of pearls adorning the upswept arrangement of her coiffure.