Devil Takes A Bride (34 page)

The way it had contaminated Johnny. He sat up on the driver's box, grown and handsome, still helplessly enthralled with his seducer, it would seem.

To think none of this would have happened and all those people would still be alive if she had not taken it into her head to cross Carstairs in a futile effort to protect that boy. God, she could scarcely believe the tangled nexus of personal ties playing out before her very eyes—but she had known, of course, that Strathmore regularly kept company with Quint and Carstairs.

Now she saw that Strathmore must have made the young teacher his mistress, for fine lords like him had only one use for women below their own class. What a shame, she thought, feeling a bit betrayed. Miss Carlisle had seemed like a decent young woman.

“Mama, we're going to be late for Mass,” Sorscha insisted.

“Shh, it's all right, darlin'.” Mary held the child snugly to her, just as she had all those years ago, when the flames had reached for the black autumn sky and screams had filled the night.

 

Little Daisy sent Quint a frightened glance over her shoulder as she hurried past Dev and Alec to Lizzie, who had ignored Dev's order to go inside at once, waiting for her student to reach her motherly arms. As Lizzie shepherded Daisy back into the school, Dev turned to Carstairs, his heart pounding with gathered rage.

The earl's cool stare was fixed on Lizzie's retreating figure. Dev heard the school's door shut behind him; only then did Carstairs's knowing gaze swing to meet his.

“Someone,” he murmured, “has been a very naughty boy.”

Quint's laugh boomed. “Devil, hang you, you've been holding out on us! Now we know you found the candy jar and didn't mean to share.”

“I say!” Alec retorted, taking a step toward them. “You leave these girls alone. They're still in the schoolroom!”

“All the better,” Quint rumbled, and took a lusty swig from his flask.

“A governess is always good for a paddling.” Carstairs slipped him a mocking smile. “Is that what you fancy, Dev, dear? Is she good with the whip?”

Alec let out a huge gasp of affront, but Dev thrust his hand out, blocking his friend's forward surge for the earl's throat.

Control, control.
His own temples throbbed with rage, but he could not betray the depth of his attachment to Lizzie.

It would only put her in danger. He could not let them realize that, in fact, she was his Achilles' heel.

He gave Carstairs an arrogant chuckle. “A whip? Yes, very. Among other things.”

“You bloody god damn
liar
,” Alec lashed out. “Elizabeth Carlisle is a pure, unsullied lady, and whoever says otherwise will answer to me!”

Dev looked at Alec in bridled rage; only then did the latter seem to realize his mistake. Until now, Dev had managed to keep her beneath their notice, but now, good God, the quick-tempered Hotspur had just told them her name.

“Well, that's another matter, indeed,” Carstairs drawled, regarding Dev in amusement. “Perhaps our Devil has lost his heart to the little schoolmarm.”

“Don't be absurd,” he answered coolly. “She means nothing to me.”

“But pure, Dev? Unsullied?”

He tossed them a cocky wink. “Not for long.”

Alec looked away as though he had been stabbed through the heart, while Quint and Carstairs laughed idly.

Just then, the school door banged open behind them.

“Gentlemen!” bellowed a voice that sounded like that of a female drill sergeant.

“You, there! Halloo! Sirs! Move along, if you please!”

They turned as a tall, strapping matron with gray side curls and a high lace betsy marched out grandly onto the porch and braced her hands on her thick waist.

“Drive on, I say!” She waved her handkerchief menacingly at Carstairs's carriage. “You have no manner of business here! I am Mrs. Hall, the owner of this establishment, and you gentlemen are trespassing! Now, remove yourselves from the premises at once or I shall send for the constable!”

To Dev's relief, Carstairs snickered and rapped on the ceiling. “Home, Johnny.”

Quint leaned out the carriage window and waggled his tongue lasciviously at Mrs. Hall as the coach rolled away.

“Oh, you disgusting—!” Mrs. Hall turned red, then fixed her bulldog stare on Dev, who was musing that she would have made a good alehouse bouncer. “You, too, sirrah! Off with you both! I don't want to see you lurking about here again—”

“Mrs. Hall, may I please talk with Miss Carlisle, just for a moment?” Dev implored her, going toward the formidable woman. “I must speak with her!”

“Do so at your leisure, my lord. I am sure that I care not. She has just been dismissed from her post!”

“Oh, no. Don't do that, ma'am, I beg you to be fair.” Dev's heart sank. “This wasn't her fault. It was ours!”

“For your information, sirs, one of our girls' parents is inside and saw your churlish display. The lady is as shocked as I at the scandalous way Miss Carlisle has chosen to carry on with her beaux, and if this is how she behaves on school property, heaven knows what she does off it. No doubt it comes of all that mingling with her betters.” She gave him a sharp look of disapproval that seemed to disparage all “immoral” aristocrats. “The student's mother is now removing her daughter from our academy, and that, sirs,
is
Miss Carlisle's fault—and yours. Good day.” Mrs. Hall pivoted and marched back inside.

Dev and Alec exchanged a taut, guilty glance. Going up the path, they slowly filed out of the gate, Alec leading his horse.

“Just to be clear—you lied to them about Lizzie.” He sent Dev a hard look of question.

“Of course.”

“God, man, you cut me to the quick with those words.”

Dev looked askance at him. “Now you know how she felt when you slept with Lady Campion.”

Alec sobered and fell silent.

They removed to a short distance down the road, waiting for Lizzie to emerge.

She came out nearly half an hour later, weighed down with three large satchels, her face pale, her delicate features etched with anger and humiliation. Maneuvering her bags out of the entrance, she let the door bang shut behind her and trudged up the path. She came through the gate without looking back.

Dev strode toward her to help. “I'm sure you don't want to see either of our faces right now, but we thought you might need conveyance t-to, er, wherever it is you plan to go,” he finished, stammering under her cold, quelling stare.

“I
have
nowhere to go now, Devlin. That's the whole point of what you and your playmate have done to me.” She glanced from him to Alec in simmering resentment, then continued walking with her bags.

“Lizzie,” Alec attempted, “you know you are always welcome at Knight House—”

She whirled to face him. “Don't you see, Alec? Don't you understand anything? I am so sick and tired of being a poor relation—of having to rely on the charity of my friends for my food and shelter! That's why I took this job, why I work so hard. You two don't know what it's like. You, Devlin, with your estate you never even visit and your fine town house—and you, Alec, with your
très
fashionable rooms at the Albany and your innumerable family homes. All I ever wanted in life was a home a-and a place of my own, but I'm never going to have it. I'm always going to be Lizzie the friend, Lizzie the glorified servant, Lizzie the caretaker. Well, I have news for you, boys,” she wrenched out in sarcasm. “Sometimes I wouldn't mind someone taking care of me for a change!”

Dev's heart clenched as tears of sheer frustration and defeat rose in her gray eyes and streaked down her face. Lugging her bags, she had not a free hand to wipe them away.

They fell faster.

“What I had here might not have seemed much to you, one simple room to call my own, but it was mine, and you've taken it from me. Where am I to go now? What am I to do?” she cried with a sudden little-girl sob.

Dev and Alec stood there, mute with shame for their immature brawling, and cringing with pain at her tears.

She sniffled, bringing her outburst under control. “It seems I shall have to impose on Jacinda.” When she hauled her satchel of books up higher on her shoulder and resumed walking down the road, Dev and Alec glanced at each other, then sprang into action.

“Lizzie!”

“Come back!”

“Let us help you—”

“I'll carry that for you—”

“No!” she fairly roared, pulling away from them both.

Dev planted himself in her path. “At least let me give you a ride into Town.” He reached for the crate she was carrying in her arms, but she nearly dropped it on his toes.

“Go away! I don't need your help, Devlin! I don't need either of you! Can't you see that? Go rescue some other damsel, because it so happens I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself!” She bent down and began angrily throwing her belongings back into the crate, but Dev crouched down beside her and helped, lifting a small, floppy gingham dog out of the dust, holding it for a moment in his hand.

An old childhood toy.

He stared at it for a second, then turned to her with renewed dread that he was going to lose her. “Lizzie, I'm so sorry.”

“Oh, sorry, are you? You know, I might have expected something like this from him, Devlin, but from you? But then again, maybe I don't know you at all. After what Alec told me, I can only wonder—and today you dueled, as well? You could have been killed!”

“The man forfeited,” he mumbled lamely.

“Bits—sorry, I mean Lizzie.” Alec joined them with a tentative stride. “I wish you wouldn't be so cross. Everything's going to be all right, sweeting. You shouldn't have to work anyway.”

“What, better that I should rely on a man for my livelihood—is that what you mean, Alec, my dear? Ah, but look at the examples I have in front of me! One who squanders at the gambling tables every penny that rolls his way; the other chasing an early grave no doubt for some imagined pinprick to his honor! Trust me, laddies, I would rather grow old and gray alone than put my fate in the hands of such
children
!”

As she shoved her old toy back into her satchel and turned away, Dev wished the earth would crack apart and swallow him.

Someone should have warned him about tangling with outraged bluestockings, he thought, for the cleverer a woman was, it seemed, the greater her wit with which to deflate a man's sense of himself. He still owned the greater physical strength, however, and he used it presently to lift the heavy bag out of her arms, ignoring her protests.

He carried it over to his racing drag and strapped it into the low, flat boot. Alec followed him, carrying her portmanteau.

She regarded both men with a stare devoid of trust, her arms folded tightly across her chest.

“You can hate me,” Dev said. “Just get in. I'm not letting you walk. It's too far.”

“Fine.” She stalked toward the passenger side of the racing drag, jerking her elbow away when Alec reached to help her up into the seat.

When Dev slapped the reins over his Fresians' backs a moment later and the drag pulled away, Lizzie glanced back at the Academy as though she knew she was leaving her childhood behind forever.

It was a cold, silent ride to Jacinda's elegant villa on Regent's Park. Alec escorted them there on horseback. Nobody spoke the whole way.

When they arrived, Alec was the first to reach the door. He sent one of Jacinda's footmen out to bring in Lizzie's things. The beautiful young marchioness appeared in the doorway and greeted Lizzie with open arms, marveling at her distraught pallor. Dev hung back, grimly realizing that Alec had the clear advantage here. He treated his sister's house like his own. With her best friend's arms around her, Lizzie sent Dev a conflicted gaze from the safety of the doorstep. It was enough of a cue to draw him nearer. She murmured something to Jacinda. He could not hear it, but he deduced she was telling the marchioness what had transpired.

“It's all right, dearest. I'd love to have you here. My home is your home! Billy!” Jacinda called into the house, then turned to face Lizzie's errant suitors. “Alec, I must ask you to leave,” she said coolly to her brother; then she nodded to Dev. “You, too, Lord Strathmore. Miss Carlisle is in no mood for company.”

Alec started to argue, but Billy appeared behind the two women.

Sensing the tension, he moved protectively in front of them. “You heard my wife,” he growled, sending them both a warning glance that was polite, though edged with steel. “Miss Carlisle is not receiving.”

“Rackford, I just want to talk to her—,” Alec tried, but Billy's flinty green eyes narrowed.

“I suggest you leave before I hurt you, Alec. I let you off easy the last time you made Lizzie cry.” He flicked Dev an equally suspicious glance, then shut the door in their faces.

And locked it.

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

On several occasions over the next few days, Quint had driven slowly past Mrs. Hall's Academy looking for a bit of sport, but not until now had he found much luck. It was Thursday afternoon, warm and muggy, with the sky threatening rain. As his coach crept over the rise above the commons across from the school, Quint saw the lovely little thing that had caught his eye the other day sitting alone beside the pond, floating a paper boat on the water and waiting in vain for a puff of wind. There was no one else around.

Gold curls drooping, she lifted her woeful gaze, hearing his carriage approach.

Quint wasn't much of an actor, but this story always worked. He leaned his head out the carriage window. “Excuse me, miss, have you seen a small brown puppy run by?”

“What?” She perked up slightly but did not get up from the large, flat rock where she was sitting like a lonely little mermaid.

“My new puppy,” Quint said. “He's run away from home, and I'm desperately worried he'll come to harm. He's only three months old. My servant saw him come this way,” he added with his most earnest look.

The little simpleton frowned, got up, and dusted off her skirts. “Oh, no. What sort of puppy?”

“Retriever,” he said.

She approached his carriage cautiously. “What's his name? If I see him, I will call out to him.”

“Why, his name is, er, it's, uh, Fluffy. Poor thing. He must be terrified.” Quint pretended to scan the landscape in distress. “I so love having something little and soft to stroke. I should hate for him to rush out in the road under the wheels of somebody's carriage. If only I had more pairs of eyes to help me find him!”

She regarded him a trifle skeptically.

How pretty she was. How sheltered, he thought, his heart pounding faster.

“If I see Fluffy, sir, I will try to catch him.”

“Oh, thank you, Miss—Ah, what is your name?” His quick glance calculated the distance at which she was standing, shading her eyes from the overcast glare with a smooth, childlike hand. If he moved quickly, he could almost grab her. Only lure her a little closer. Then drive. He smiled. “You don't have a name?”

“I recognize you,” she said, taking a backward step, “and I don't think I like you.”

Quint suppressed laughter. “Why not, my dear?”

“You were staring at me the other day. It was very rude.”

“I am sorry. Here, have a piece of candy. Friends?”

Daisy eyed it, then shook her head.

Careful, old boy. Don't let her scream out.
“What are you doing out here all by yourself?” he murmured. “Where are your teachers? The other girls?”

The pretty thing let out a desolate sigh. “I'm supposed to be taking a nap, but I'm not at all tired.”

“There, there, my pet, what's wrong?” he asked with an indulgent smile at her pouty air. “Why so glum?”

“I'm having a very bad time of it, if you must know!” she cried. “My nicest teacher was dismissed, and my best friend's mama took her away from school. It's so lonely here now. I hate it.”

“You could come with me. To look for Fluffy,” he amended.

She glanced toward the school with a sulk. “I'm not allowed.”

“No one would know. I could have you back in less than an hour. Don't you care that little Fluffy is in danger, Miss—?”

“Manning,” she supplied as she glanced around with a great sigh to see if she could spy his fictional lost pup. “I do hope your little doggy's all right.”

Quint blinked. “As in Manning Mines?”

She nodded absently. “That's my papa's.”

Quint quickly hid his astonishment. The Manning heiress! Good God! The Manning company mined coalfields throughout England. His first thought was of Dev's departed aunt, Lady Ironsides, whose industrial fortune had saved the Strathmore family from genteel ruin. Like Quint, most of the nobs needed cash, while the merchants lusted for titles.

It was just the sort of exchange Quint suddenly realized he had needed for years. No more worries! No more loans from Carstairs and Dev and his other rich friends.

Why, it had practically fallen into his lap. When he glanced again at the fair young virgin, his mind leaped past his immediate hunger for an untouched conquest to the fortune the chit's father was worth. God's bones, her dowry was probably worth more than a decade's rents from his rocky, soggy Yorkshire estate.

Think, man, for once in your life!
The chit was not yet out of the schoolroom. But if he waited until she entered Society, there would be too much competition.
Must act now.

Quint decided on the spot he would procure her hand in marriage. Her father would surely receive him, hear his suit. He was a baron, after all, and even a millionaire of the great merchant class would not necessarily know that Quint's title was just a trifle tarnished. He could put on the lordly airs when he needed to. Aye, and if Moneybags Manning tried denying his suit, Quint would put a fist down his throat.

“Daisy!” a woman called suddenly, coming out onto the porch of the school. “Come away from there at once!” The teacher started toward them.

Daisy let out a longsuffering sigh, then looked at Quint again. “I hope you find your little doggy, sir.”

“Oh, I will, love. Never fear.”

“You have to go away now.”

“As you wish, little one,” Quint said with a reassuring leer. “But I'll be back.”

 

“Are you sure you won't come to the opera with us? There's plenty of room in our box at the theater.” Jacinda crossed the rooftop garden toward Lizzie, adjusting one of her diamond earrings.

“No, thanks.” Reclining on a cushioned chaise beneath the pastel-striped tent, Lizzie smiled with sisterly pride in her friend's lavish beauty.

The young marchioness was formally dressed in a magnificent white gown and diamonds, her guinea-gold curls arranged high on the crown of her head, with spiraling tendrils dangling artfully here and there.

Jacinda lowered herself to the white wrought-iron chair across from her. “I hate to leave you. Should I cancel? I don't mind—”

“It's all right, Jas. I could use a little time alone. Sort things out.”

She offered her a bolstering smile. “Something tells me you'll feel better once you've had a talk with a certain viscount of our acquaintance.”

“Am I that transparent?” she asked with a sigh.

Jacinda nodded. “Always have been. But you're not going to sit here fretting over either of those rogues, are you?” She reached over and patted her hand. “Come to the opera with Billy and me. You can dress quickly, can't you? It will take your mind off those scoundrels. Cheer you up.”

“I thought you were seeing a tragedy.”

“Oh, well, yes, but one hardly goes for the spectacle on stage,” she declared with a wave of her hand.

“Honestly, the most amusing part to me is watching Billy scowl and twist in his seat and suffer through it so valiantly—for me!”

“He even endures opera for you. Now, that is love.”

“He is well rewarded,” she assured her with a scandalous wink.

“Oh, Jas.” She chuckled in spite of herself as her friend rose, then bent to kiss her forehead.

“Well, I'm off! The butler is on duty if you need anything. You know,” she added in a thoughtful tone, pausing to furl her light evening wrap around her shoulders,

“perhaps it's for the best that Mrs. Hall gave you the sack. The world of that school was too small for you, Lizzie.”

Surprised at her words which nearly echoed something Ben had once said to her, Lizzie sent her friend a wan but grateful smile.

“You'll figure it out,” Jacinda assured her softly; then she left.

For a long while after the sound of the couple's departing town coach had faded, Lizzie sat out on the tented balcony, watching the pink sunset fade between the mountain shapes of some slow-moving purple clouds.

Twilight settled gently over London.

Throughout the nearby park's sprawling acreage, the greens deepened; the boughs whispered; night birds chirped. To the south and west, the city lights glowed gaily with the Season at its peak, but here on the leafy edges of Regent's Park, the only sound was a squawk now and then from the ducks in the canal, an occasional carriage clattering by. All was quiet.

Except in her heart.

Everything felt tangled—yet she knew she could not hide here forever.

Why had Devlin not called on her? He'd made no attempt to see her. He hadn't even sent a note. She had been waiting for several days for an apology on his behavior at the school, and even more keenly for an explanation about his involvement in the Horse and Chariot Club. But there was still no sign of him, and Lizzie was left wondering what his absence meant.

Perhaps the awful tale was all too true, and Devlin could not face her now that Alec had exposed his black heart. But wouldn't the half-million pounds have been incentive enough to make him swallow his pride to come and grovel? Where was he?

The deadline was fast approaching when the terms of his aunt's will would expire. It was as though he'd simply given up.

To her own vast dismay, Lizzie had not.

In the face of his silence and so much conflicting information from Alec, she had finally come to the point of admitting that her reason, her best tool, was of no help in puzzling it out. A choice must be made, and she had nothing to go on but her own blind heart.

With Jacinda's words, the advice that Ben's mother had given him echoed once more through her mind.

“Bennett, my boy, that plantation was always too small a place for you, so go on, be free. Go with that crazy Englishman and see the world….”

There was no telling where her love for Devlin might lead her. But the longer she stayed away from him, the harder she tried to forget him, the more surely she knew she was already too far gone. Despite the dire warnings of her mind that he was not the man she had come to believe in, that his main interest was still just the money, her intuition whispered that she belonged with Devlin, come what may.

When the butler came up and announced that Lord Alec was at the door, she considered for a somber moment, then agreed to see him, bracing herself as she sat up.

She knew what she had to do.

Soon, Alec sat across from her, gazing into her eyes. “I want you to marry me.”

She was amazed in spite of herself. There was a time when this moment would have been her girlhood fantasy come true. But now it felt all wrong.

Slowly, sadly, she shook her head.

“No more waiting, no more games,” he forged on bravely, taking her hands in a gentle hold. “It's always been you and me, hasn't it? Please…try.”

“Oh, Alec.” Her heart pounded. Her voice was barely a whisper. “It's no use. I can't marry you when my heart belongs to another.”

“What about what I told you? The Horse and Chariot Club?” he asked guardedly.

She shook her head slowly. “I don't know. I'm just going to have to—trust.”

“But you don't trust me.”

“I'm sorry.”

Alec searched her eyes for a moment in silence. “You really do love him.”

She nodded with tears in her eyes.

“Well.” He dropping his gaze, his eyes misting slightly. “I'm happy for you. He'll take care of you. No doubt of that. The title. The money. You deserve…all that is good. I've been an ass, Lizzie. God, what an ass I've been. I'm sorry for—everything. Never deserved you anyway. Didn't I tell you one day you'd thank me?” he attempted to joke.

Her heart clenched. “Oh, Alec.” She gave his hand a caring squeeze and stared at him with tears in her eyes.

“In all fairness, Dev may have another explanation about his involvement in the Horse and Chariot Club. One I am not at liberty to explain.”

She looked at him in question, but he just gave her a sad smile, then leaned nearer and pressed a kiss to her brow. “Good-bye, Bits, and thanks for everything,” he whispered. Then, rising to his feet, he left her sitting alone in the half-light.

He was gone.

Oh, God, she hoped she wasn't making a mistake. Closing her eyes, she steadied herself with a deep breath. It was done, her decision made. No turning back now. But there was still one more thing to do if she was to see this whole business through cleanly to the end.

A bit shaken but resolute, she left the house and took a hackney coach to Charles Beecham's offices on Fleet Street.

The lawyer was still at work, burning the oil well into the evening when she knocked on the door. He answered it, beckoning her in with ink-stained fingers.

“Why, Miss Carlisle, this is a most unexpected visit.”

“I see you are busy. I crave only a moment of your time.”

“Of course, my dear. Would you care to sit down?”