The Devil in Disguise: A Regency Rogues Novel

by Stefanie Sloane

  In all honesty, Lucinda had failed to entertain the possibility that she might fall in love with Will, so there had never been the need to think beyond a brief courtship and the eventual claiming of King Solomon’s Mine before they parted ways.

  But she had fallen in love. Fallen so completely, in fact, that she barely recognized herself now, the need for him akin to her requirement for air or food.

  “Will,” she began, finding the courage to look into his dark eyes, “what are we meant to do now?”

  “First, I suggest removing ourselves from the stall before Cleopatra relieves herself again.” His voice held a smile.

  “That is not what I meant, and you know it.”

  He ducked under Cleopatra’s neck and joined Lucinda, settling his hands on each side of her waist. “I believe you know what comes next. I’ve taken your virginity,” he murmured, mindful of the presence of stablehands on the far side of the barn. “For a man and woman in our social circle, more than a simple thank you is required.”

  He backed her against the wall, his hard frame pressing hers from chest to thigh. He cupped her face in one palm and traced her lower lip with his thumb, his hooded gaze intent on her mouth.

  “Then you would marry me out of obligation?” she asked, trying desperately to ease the dread constricting her chest.

  He muttered something she couldn’t understand and replaced his thumb with his mouth, kissing her tenderly at first, then coaxing her mouth open with the glide of his tongue over the seam of her lips.

  Lucinda couldn’t stop her response, despite the unanswered question. She slid her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, the tips of her breasts pressed against his chest. The sensation was sweet torture and she shivered, her body quivering with anticipation.

  He lifted his head to look at her.

  “It would be an honor, my dear Lucinda. Never an obligation,” he whispered. “Do not doubt my feelings for you. Ever.”

  She sighed as he took her mouth again, their mutual need growing hotter by the second.

  The rattling of wheels, accompanied by piercing, tuneless whistling shattered the spell that held them. Will’s arms tightened, his head lifted, and then he dropped to the stall floor, taking Lucinda with him. He rolled, putting her against the wall with himself between her and the horses.

  The loud noises stopped in front of Cleopatra’s stall, followed by the sound of hay being shifted. “ ’Ello, my beauty, how we doing today, luv?”

  A large forkful of fine grass hay landed in the feeder just above Will’s head, bits of dried green leaves and stalks sifting over the two hiding behind the mare and foal. In her enthusiasm to get at the hay, Cleopatra nearly stepped on Will. He didn’t move for fear of being seen by the man outside the stall.

  “ ’Ere you go, then,” the stablehand whispered, “don’t go tellin’ the other horses, now. I always save the best for you.” The sound of Cleopatra biting and crunching an apple made Lucinda smile despite her perilous position.

  The rolling sound started up again, accompanied by the off-key whistling, and signaled the man’s movement toward the large stable doors.

  The two hiding in the stall waited until they heard the familiar thud of the doors being pushed shut.

  Will rose and helped Lucinda to her feet, bending to brush at the hay clinging to her dress. “I can honestly say I’ve never been in a fix quite like this one,” he said, finishing with her dress and turning his attention to her hair.

  “Nor I,” Lucinda replied, the ridiculousness of her answer causing Will to smile.

  With a few quick swipes he knocked the hay from his own attire and shook his head to free his hair of smaller pieces. “Come,” he said, taking her hand and leading her around Cleopatra and the colt. He opened the stall door noiselessly and poked his head out to look up and down the aisle.

  “It’s clear.” He pulled her out and gestured for her to follow the stablehand’s route. “I’ll give you plenty of time to reach the house before I follow.”

  Lucinda hesitated, torn, wanting desperately for him to pull her back into the stall and continue where they’d left off when the stablehand interrupted them. But she knew how risky such a thing would be.

  So instead, she went up on her toes and kissed him, reveling in the heat of his body pressed to hers for just one more moment before leaving him.

  Lucinda was exhausted, but weariness had been unavoidable. Despite drooping eyelids and tired muscles, she smiled with joy as she gazed out the carriage window at the spring greenery rolling by. She’d awakened early in order to spend as much time as possible with Winnie’s foal before leaving.

  The little colt had already stolen her heart, his resemblance to Winnie remarkable. He had her color and her kind eye, but more than that, he possessed her sweet and inquisitive nature, making him everything Lucinda had hoped he would be.

  “Thinking on the foal?” Charlotte asked from across the carriage.

  Lucinda met her gaze. “Indeed. Such a strong little one he is,” she replied, leaning back against the squabs. The deep blue velvet cushions were soft and comfortable.

  Charlotte took up her knitting, the needles clicking as she expertly set stitches in sunshine yellow yarn. “Does he look to be a racer?”

  “I can’t say for sure at this point, but he certainly has the conformation needed. We’ll just have to wait and see what sort of passion for racing he has.”

  Lucinda glanced out the coach window, where King Solomon’s Mine trotted beside the carriage. Will controlled the powerful stallion with ease, despite his injuries. His long-limbed body balanced in the saddle with an athleticism and competence born of long practice.

  He wasn’t wearing a hat. His thick black hair perfectly suited his untamed nature and was utterly, sinfully sensuous as it lifted and blew back from his brow in the light breeze. He wore a many-caped greatcoat, his shoulders strong and straight. She had a swift, unbidden mental image of candlelight gleaming over his bare shoulders, the muscles flexing as he held himself over her …

  “Now, that’s a different smile altogether.”

  Distracted, Lucinda frowned in confusion. “I’m sorry, Aunt, what did you ask?”

  Charlotte ceased knitting, threaded the long needles into the bright yarn, and tucked them into the basket on the seat next to her. “I didn’t ask a thing. I simply made an observation concerning the smile that until quite recently resided on your lovely face.”

  “Oh,” Lucinda continued, still recovering from the vivid image of Will imprinted in her mind. “I’m just so happy about the foal.”

  “You do not fool me for a moment.”

  Lucinda’s brows furrowed, the likelihood that they would return to their rightful place anytime soon becoming slimmer by the moment. “I’m afraid I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Aunt Charlotte.”

  “That,” Charlotte leaned forward to point out the window, “is what I am talking about.”

  “King Solomon’s Mine?”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes, reminding Lucinda of herself. “My dear girl, I would think after all these years you would realize you cannot hide things from me.”

  Lucinda flushed under her aunt’s knowing gaze, the carriage growing warmer. The coziness of her cashmere shawl, so welcome moments before, now threatened to overheat her. “You’re very cryptic.” She pulled the shawl from her shoulders and laid it on the seat beside her with meticulous care.

  “I concede that cozening your aunt Bessie doesn’t take much effort, what with her head being constantly occupied by some drama or another, making it fairly simple to conceal an assortment of truths,” Charlotte replied, ticking off on her fingers the points she intended to make clear. “Victoria presents more of a challenge, I suppose, but in the end she admires the sound of her voice to such a degree that even Prinny himself could convince the woman of his need to gain weight, if given enough of a chance. I love my sisters but there is no point in beating about the bush.”

  Lucind
a peeled off her gloves, since removing her shawl had not provided a sufficiently cooling effect.

  Charlotte folded her hands in her lap and pinned Lucinda with a direct, unswerving gaze. “I, on the other hand, listen when spoken to—and, quite honestly, oftentimes when I am not. And you, my dear Lucinda, are in love with the duke.”

  A fine line of perspiration dotted Lucinda’s upper lip, but she resisted the urge to wipe it away. The look in Charlotte’s eyes told her that denying her feelings for Will would be pointless. She’d never witnessed her aunt in such form, the usual calmness of her demeanor infused with a blunt, straightforward assurance that surprised her.

  Lucinda opened her mouth to reply, then shut it, realizing belatedly that she wasn’t sure of what she should say. “Aunt Charlotte, you surprise me.”

  “In what way, dear?”

  “Well,” Lucinda began somewhat nervously, “I would have expected such a conversation to have been initiated by Aunt Victoria, her abrupt nature seems made for such things. Or even Bessie, whose love of the dramatic you so expertly noted earlier. But you?”

  Lucinda paused, not wanting to offend her aunt, though eager to be honest. “I’ve always assumed that your quiet, calm exterior applied to your character in general. I felt sure any currents running beneath your even demeanor would be anything but fierce. Clearly, I was wrong.”

  Charlotte leaned forward and patted Lucinda on the knee. “Think nothing of it, my dear. Society’s assumption that I am a shy, retiring flower is of great use to me. You’ve no idea what people venture to say in my presence!”

  The two women laughed together, putting Lucinda a bit more at ease.

  “But as to your duke—that’s very deep play,” Charlotte said, returning to her earlier line of conversation without preamble.

  “But what of King Solomon’s Mine—”

  “You would risk your heart for a horse?” her aunt countered, the disbelief in her voice communicating to Lucinda exactly what Charlotte thought of such a thing.

  “It is not as if I planned for any of this to happen,” she protested.

  Charlotte twitched her skirts, straightening the Devonshire traveling dress with precise movements. “Well, of course not. No woman ever does.”

  “Is it such a bad thing, to fall in love?”

  “Then you do admit that you love him?” Charlotte pressed, the concern in her words echoing the worry in her eyes.

  Lucinda blinked as tears welled, the relief of unburdening herself nearly overcoming her. “I do.”

  Charlotte took a deep breath and looked out the window at Will. “And does he return your affection?”

  “Yes,” Lucinda responded in a resolute tone. There was no need to tell her aunt that he’d yet to say those three words to her. His actions had communicated everything she needed to know regarding his feelings.

  Charlotte returned her troubled gaze to Lucinda. “Do you plan to marry him?”

  Lucinda squared her shoulders and sat back. “He’s given every indication that he intends to propose. It is simply a matter of timing. There are strict social rules to be followed, after all, not to mention a trio of protective aunts to be convinced.”

  “You know his heart, then, my dear.”

  “I wonder if any woman has ever known a man’s heart more,” she answered simply, looking out at Will with a longing she could not bother to deny.

  Charlotte reached for Lucinda’s hand and took it in her own, squeezing gently. “I cannot say I give you my blessing without some hesitation, my dear. I believe the duke to be an honorable man, and I hope for your sake he is,” she said, squeezing Lucinda’s hand once more before releasing it and settling back against the cushions. “Now, on to the matter of convincing Bessie and Victoria.”

  “I’d quite hoped you would puzzle that bit out.”

  “Impudent girl,” Charlotte cried, winking at Lucinda with delight.

  The return trip to London had been uneventful, just as Will and his fellow Corinthians had hoped it would be. He’d kept his distance from Lucinda as best he could, riding alongside the carriage. When they’d stopped for the night, he’d convinced the Rosemont Inn’s keeper to place Lucinda and her aunt in the same room, in order to keep them safe.

  After, he’d seen the two women to their home before returning to Clairemont House, the greeting he received from his mother and brother awkward at best. Lady Charlotte’s revelations concerning his parents had sunk in for the most part, no small feat considering the havoc they’d wreaked on his heart, but Will had yet to come to terms with his newfound feelings.

  As for Michael, their heated discussion in the ducal bedchamber had been the last they’d spoken before he’d left for Bampton, and the tension returned the moment Will walked into the family residence.

  Will literally jumped at the chance to leave when news of Lucinda’s impending shopping trip reached his ears. Poor Sol hardly had the time for a proper meal before Will pulled him from his stall and urged him on toward New Bond Street.

  Will watched, amazed, while Lucinda and her maid walk along the fashionable location. She’d been absent from London less than a week, but somehow the woman apparently found it necessary to empty the shops. The multiple packages Mary carried appeared ready to topple the outspoken maid at any moment.

  Gravity being what it was, the round hatbox nestled just beneath Mary’s chin wobbled, then fell to the ground, a prim pink bonnet coming to land squarely in the street. The women giggled then made haste to recover the hat along with the remaining boxes that had fallen as well. Two large men appeared out of nowhere, their fine yet ill-fitting clothes causing the hair to stand up on Will’s neck. “Bloody hell,” he said under his breath, pushing away from the wall he’d been leaning against. He walked swiftly toward the two women.

  He quickened his pace, using his size to his advantage as he forced his way through the afternoon crowd. The men approached the two from behind, surprising Mary and causing her to drop several of the packages she’d managed to retrieve. They looked to be making their apologies and offering assistance as the women gestured down the street to where their carriage waited.

  Will stepped out into the street and began to jog toward the group, the oncoming coaches easier to dodge than the current flow of shoppers on the walkway. One abruptly took hold of Lucinda’s arm, the other Mary’s, and forced the women into an unfamiliar carriage, then disappeared into the crowd.

  “Christ,” he gasped, breaking into a run and narrowly dodging a curricle as it careened down New Bond Street. The hot breath of a matched pair of horses blew past his cheek, their sharp hooves barely clearing his shoulder. He righted himself and took off again, dread growing in his gut.

  He darted toward the carriage. The driver looked up, his eyes widening when he saw Will. He cracked his whip and the bays harnessed to the carriage leapt to life, taking off as if the very fires of hell licked at their hooves.

  Despite his strength and speed, Will knew without a doubt that he could not single-handedly stop the oncoming carriage; his options ran out as the horses bore down on him. He lunged out of their way at the last second and went airborne as he launched himself. He grabbed the decorative wooden lip circling the carriage roof with both hands. The conveyance swayed dangerously, rocking under his sudden weight.

  He pulled himself up, kicking at the stairs until they fell.

  “Get off, damn ye.” The driver turned his whip on Will, slashing at the knuckles of one hand until his hold broke. He slammed back against the carriage door and the sound of Mary’s terrified screams reached his ears.

  He pulled himself up one-handed, his body hitting the carriage with aggravated force. Ignoring the pain coarsing through his wounds, Will stretched to reach the ornamental lip, his right hand closed once more over the carved wood. This time, his feet found the lowered steps before the driver’s whip could hammer him. One-handed, he yanked the door open.

  A man waited just inside, a knife at the ready. His soulless eyes
held no fear when they met Will’s.

  Will recognized the professional calm of a seasoned criminal and did not waste any time. His balance on the steps was precarious, the swaying of the coach threatening to shake him loose at any moment. He caught the thug off guard, knocking his knife from his hand with one swift blow to his wrist. Before the criminal could recover, Will grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked, pulling him toward the doorway and out of the carriage. Will saw the man hit the ground, and glimpsed Weston pounding toward them on his gelding, four more riders close on his heels.

  Will dismissed the man, knowing the agents behind him would deal with him. He swung his body through the open carriage door, bracing himself against the rocking, unsteady carriage floor. Lucinda was pressed against the far wall, her hair flowing about her in wild curls, the sleeve of her gown ripped. Mary was clinging to her mistress’s side, her eyes wild with fright.

  “Lucinda,” Will said, gesturing for her to come to him.

  The terror on her pale face eased; she slid across the seat, reaching for him. “Who are these men?” she cried.

  “I’ll explain later,” he answered. “We must go at once.”

  Lucinda looked at Will as if he were mad. “But we’re moving.”

  “Yes.” He glanced out the swinging carriage door. Weston raced beside them, keeping pace with the coach. His gaze met Will’s and he nodded.

  “Surely you’re not suggesting that we—”

  He didn’t have time to explain. Will thought it best to take Lucinda by surprise. He spun her around, her back to his chest, and wrapped his free arm around her waist.

  “Weston will catch you,” he told her. “Watch out for the carriage door.”

  Before she had time to protest, he swept her off her feet and moved them outside the coach. He ignored her muffled shriek of terror, balancing on the steps as he passed her to Weston, one-armed, the other anchoring them with his grip on the edge of the carriage roof.

  The moment he felt Weston take her weight, he returned for Mary, pulling the now screaming maid from the carriage and depositing her into the arms of a second mounted Corinthian.