The Devil in Disguise: A Regency Rogues Novel

by Stefanie Sloane

  “We have no other options—”

  “He’s a bloody monster, you fool,” Will roared, shoving out of his chair to stalk a handful of steps toward the door, then returning, coming to stand in front of the man.

  Carmichael’s eyes flared, betraying his surprise at Will’s outburst. “You forget yourself, Clairemont.” The admonition was given in the same calm, cool voice he always used, but a thread of steely warning underlay the words and cut through Will’s haze of rage as nothing else could have.

  “I apologize,” he bit out. He turned abruptly away and reached for the first object he could find. The small side table broke as though it were kindling when Will threw it against the wall.

  “I warned you not to get involved with Lady Lucinda,” Carmichael said quietly. “You cannot do what we must—see what we see—and expect to maintain any sort of normalcy in your life, especially not with someone so intimately involved in Corinthian business.”

  Will wiped his arm across his forehead, removing the beads of sweat, and leaned his back against the wall. He knew Carmichael was right, a realization that only added to his pain. Nothing was as it should be, every last relationship in his life was turned upside down. So much so that Will hardly knew how to go about righting them—or if repair was even possible at this point.

  “Give me more time,” he growled, unable to look Carmichael in the eye.

  “I can hold off for three days. No more.”

  “Fair enough,” Will replied, then stalked from the room.

  “Are there to be fireworks?” Amelia asked Lord Northrop, nearly bouncing with excitement as the group’s boat floated along the Thames. Lucinda smiled at her dear friend, whose enthusiasm for fireworks was second only to her love of Cook’s strawberry tarts.

  Amelia sighed contentedly as she rested her head on her husband’s shoulder. Seeing her expression of utter happiness, Lucinda had to admit that perhaps something else had surpassed both fireworks and strawberries in Amelia’s heart.

  Lucinda found herself sighing as well, though for a vastly different reason than Amelia’s. An evening at Vauxhall Gardens was never a restful affair, the sheer magnitude of the spectacle enough to overwhelm the most enthusiastic of attendees. But for Lucinda, tonight presented special challenges.

  Although, she thought, glancing down at her dress, she could not have been any better outfitted for the evening.

  The dress itself, a fetching gown in the Grecian style, was truly lovely, the golden silk warming Lucinda’s skin, while the cut and drape accentuated her curves. The trouble was, there was far too little of the gown for Lucinda’s taste. The neckline dipped low in the front, revealing and displaying Lucinda’s cleavage, while the sleeves were practically nonexistent.

  Madame Beaufont insisted that in light of Lucinda’s involvement with the duke, it behooved her to dress more daringly.

  Lucinda sighed again, recalling Madame’s air of conspiracy when she carefully placed the wrapped package containing the finished gown in her hands. “Forgive me,” she whispered. “But I made a few alterations to the gown.” The woman’s eyes had positively flashed with delight.

  “You should have known better,” Lucinda said under her breath, then shivered in response to the light breeze coming off the river. She pulled her shawl higher over her shoulders in a vain attempt at warmth.

  “Would you like my coat?” Will asked, his brows furrowing with concern.

  No matter how long Lucinda lived she would never forget his voice and the troubling sensations it sent pulsing throughout her body. The deep, husky tone ignited a fire in her belly, little flames licking their way toward every limb until she wondered if she would simply burst. She fought the urge to lean into his warmth, then felt his breath on her bare nape and closed her eyes. She opened them a moment later to see the cool, icy stares from all three of her aunts. The sight immediately strengthened her resolve.

  “No, thank you,” she said coolly, bracing herself as the boat came to a slow stop, bumping against the landing. Northrop and Will stepped out first, then aided the ladies in debarking, the entire party making their way finally to the Vauxhall Stairs. After showing their season tickets, they were escorted through the crowd toward the Grove, where revelers gathered in groups or inside supper boxes, mingling and enjoying the music wafting from the Orchestra building.

  “Much could be said of Vauxhall,” Northrop commented over his shoulder, as he led Amelia up the steps toward their supper box, followed by the Furies, Lucinda, and Will. “Though I doubt very much that the word ‘subtle’ could be used.”

  Lucinda saw Amelia playfully swat her husband’s sleeve with her fan.

  She allowed Will to accompany her into the box and to a seat on a deep green cushioned bench, avoiding his gaze by pretending to be absorbed in the scene below them.

  It would be tempting to forget Will’s betrayal. So easy to allow herself to be caught up in the spirit of the evening, the knowing glances, intimate whispers—the romance that Vauxhall’s proprietors inspired with the heady mixture of sights and sounds all wrapped up with a gaily colorful bow.

  Lucinda tried unsuccessfully to cover her expanse of skin with the silk shawl. She glanced up as Will sat down, his worried gaze causing her breath to catch.

  He looked away, responding to a question from Northrop.

  The dull ache in her heart that she’d grown accustom to over the last few days only increased when Will was near.

  She had been blind with anger, his betrayal cutting to her very core. The intimacy she’d believed to be an expression of their love had suddenly been made cheap and meaningless by the revelation of his ties to the Young Corinthians. But one thought niggled at the back of her mind night and day: There had been more to their lovemaking. She’d seen it in his eyes, heard it in his voice. Felt it in his touch.

  She was sure he felt more than duty toward her. She was sure of it, but how could she convince him to admit such a thing?

  Lucinda prayed that Amelia had been correct when she suggested that the duke would be more inclined to reveal such close-held feelings if given proper physical inducements.

  Will turned his attention back to her. “Have you need of anything, Lady Lucinda?” he inquired, his eagerness threatening her resolve.

  “No, thank you,” she responded politely, though her nerves were now dancing.

  Amelia had promised she would secure a certain amount of privacy for the two to be alone. Her dear friend had assured Lucinda that their plan would work.

  Half of her wanted desperately to prove Amelia right. And the other? The other was afraid that even with the dress and the practiced seduction, Lucinda would only succeed in proving her wrong!

  The group listened to the music for some time, sipping wine and dining on Vauxhall hame. They visited with friends who strolled by or stopped to visit and enjoyed the antics of the crowd.

  The orchestra ceased playing and polite applause filled the air as the musicians left the stand. Amelia stood and gestured for Lord Northrop to do the same. “I suggest we take a stroll before dinner is served,” she said to the group.

  “I cannot see from down there,” Victoria protested. “And Lord Humphrey is about to make a complete fool of himself. I don’t want to miss it.”

  Bessie leaned in toward Victoria and focused her opera glasses on the crowd. “Where?”

  “There,” Victoria answered impatiently, discreetly pointing toward a tall bald man in evening dress waving his hands wildly as he addressed his wife. “Near the statue of Handel.”

  “Oh,” Bessie began, only to follow with a scandalized gasp when the man in question managed to slosh Madeira down the front of poor Lady Humphrey’s gown.

  Charlotte adopted a look of disinterest, though she slyly moved nearer to the railing, where the view of Lord Humphrey’s antics could be more easily seen. “You go ahead,” she said, “do take care not to dally, though.” Her gaze rested briefly, meaningfully, on Lucinda, her point made clear.

/>   “Oh, look!” Bessie squeaked, causing Charlotte to turn toward the crowd.

  Amelia quickly took Lucinda’s hand in hers and pulled her to the stairs, the men following behind. “All right, then,” she said over her shoulder as they descended the steps.

  The men escorted them into the crowd.

  “I haven’t walked the Downs for some time,” Amelia said to the others. “Lucinda?”

  Lucinda hesitated, nervously fingering her shawl. If she agreed with her friend, the four would walk amongst shrubs and trees that allowed for more intimate conversations. And if she declined, they would take the Grand Walk, the more populated of the two, with nary a private spot in sight. One direction took courage, the other offered safety. Lucinda had been taught by the Furies to never refuse a challenge.

  “Yes, the Downs it is.”

  “Bloody hell,” Will growled under his breath as he escorted Lucinda toward the shadowy paths of the Downs. Lady Northrop had suggested the ramble and is friend had heartily agreed, leaving Will and Lucinda to follow.

  Will tugged at his neckcloth as they walked, his fingers itching to rip the cursed material free. Lucinda had politely allowed him to escort her to the gardens for the evening. And she had politely smiled at his conversation. She’d politely declined his coat when the wind picked up. And she had politely taken his arm as they set off after Northrop and his wife.

  Will had just about had it with all of the bloody politeness.

  The rage Will felt at Carmichael’s threat of using her for bait continued to burn in his chest. Allowing Lucinda to act as a decoy would be tantamount to signing her death sentence, plain and simple. After far too much brandy and far too little sleep, Will’s heart had given in and surrendered the hopes and dreams that Lucinda’s love had offered. Her life was far more important than his happiness.

  But dammit all, did the woman have to test him on every front? He discreetly looked out the corner of his eye and assessed her dress. The bodice was cut so low that he could, from his considerable height, peer down at the creamy, white expanse of her breasts, the pink-hued nipples barely hidden from him.

  His groin tightened. The scrap of fabric that clung so artfully to Lucinda’s luscious curves tortured him. Surely God Himself was testing Will, the Downs yet another obstacle in his elaborate plan.

  If it were not for the army of Corinthian agents fanned out about the grounds, Will would have objected to the route. But as it was, not a single suspect individual would be allowed within two yards of Lucinda. All agents had been instructed to attack first, ask questions later.

  Lucinda edged closer to Will, pressing the curve of her breast against his arm. “I fear the chill is getting the better of me this evening.”

  Will flicked a glance over the path ahead of them, noting with displeasure that Northrop and his wife had stopped to admire the life-sized lead statue of Milton. “Here,” he offered, slipping his arm around her shoulders, sheltering her next to his body. “Though the Furies would faint from the scandal of it, I fear your freezing to death would be equally distressing.”

  Will could just make out Lucinda’s hesitant smile in the fading light.

  “Well, we do, after all, need to keep up appearances if we’ve any hope of succeeding at this game.”

  Will nodded in agreement. “And what would mean success to you?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

  “I suppose continuing to exist would be rather nice,” Lucinda began, steering Will toward a small turnout in the path where a fountain quietly gurgled. “And securing your heart for myself would be most welcome.”

  Will froze for a moment, certain he’d misheard her.

  Lucinda slipped out from under his arm and stood in front of him, bare inches separating them. She let her shawl fall from her shoulders and took his hand in both of hers, pressing it against the thin silk bodice of her gown. His palm cupped the lush upper curve of her breast. “My heart is yours, Will. All you have to do is take it.”

  He could feel it beating, pounding fast beneath his palm, the increased speed belying her calm.

  She stepped closer, rising on her toes to his face. “Take it,” she whispered. “Take me.”

  Her mouth met his, the lush lower lip and curved upper parting.

  Will instinctively returned the kiss, pulling her against him, her soft curves accommodating the harder angles of his body.

  “Say you love me, Will.”

  Her fervent plea pulled Will from the mindless fog of lust and desire that held him. She offered him everything. What could he possibly give in return?

  He forced his arms to release her and his unwilling legs to step back. “Lucinda, I’m sorry.”

  She faced him proudly, hands clenched, her chin lifted bravely. “I love you, but I’ll not allow you to have such a hold on me if my feelings are not returned.”

  “You’ve no idea how sorry I am—”

  “Do you love me?” she asked plainly, her eyes welling with tears.

  He would not lie to her, and so Will said nothing, though it killed him inside to remain silent.

  “Very well,” she said in a hushed tone, retrieving her shawl and wrapping it about her shoulders. “I wish to return to the supper box.”

  “What can I say?” Will asked, his voice betraying his anguish.

  “Nothing.” She moved to step around him, wincing when Will grabbed for her wrist and held tight. “You’ve my heart already, do you really need my dignity as well?” she choked out.

  “Lucinda,” he pressed, the shock of her words taking his breath.

  “Let me go,” she pleaded, pulling away.

  He dropped his hand from her wrist and followed her onto the path, keeping a safe distance behind her as she retraced their steps back to the crowd.

  “But I can’t,” he whispered to himself, “and therein lies the problem.”

  It had been easy enough to satisfy Amelia’s need for details. Lucinda’s vague answers had supplied her hopeful friend with enough encouragement to ensure that she assumed the courtship was continuing on a decidedly more romantic path.

  Lucinda was determined to sever her connection with Will, however, and that meant she had to find a way to end her need for protection by the Corinthians.

  Securing an audience with Will’s superior had been far more complicated than convincing Amelia that her plan had worked. Lucinda had seen little of the duke for the past two days, the time they were forced to spend in each other’s company proving both awkward and draining.

  “Come with me.” Lord Weston held out his arm to steady Lucinda as she alighted from the coach in front of a stone town house, its details hardly distinguishable in the darkness of night. Lucinda spied mullioned windows and a row of tidy hedges before Lord Weston instructed her to watch her step as they entered the building.

  She held tight to his arm and allowed him to lead her in, the interior of the building hardly more revealing than the outside had been.

  Sparse candlelight illuminated a long hall at the end of which stood two large men—Corinthian agents, Lucinda was sure, though none she had ever seen.

  Lord Weston gestured for Lucinda to follow him.

  She took a deep breath then walked quickly, casting quick glances at the landscape paintings and portraits that occupied the walls.

  “Gents,” Lord Weston said with a brief nod, though neither of the two acknowledged his presence. “Social interaction is not their forte,” he whispered to Lucinda, then rapped his knuckles on the door.

  “Come in,” a man’s voice called from within.

  Lord Weston nodded for Lucinda to proceed. “I’ll wait out here with the opera dancers,” he said, then winked.

  Lucinda managed a wary smile in return, then pushed the door open and entered.

  She could see the profile of the man as he sat at a large desk, his hands busily rifling through a sheaf of papers. He stopped when Lucinda approached, pushing his chair back as he stood.

  “Lady Lucinda.” />
  “Lord Carmichael,” Lucinda replied with as much confidence as she could.

  He gestured for Lucinda to sit, then did the same. “I trust that Lord Weston was a satisfactory escort.”

  Lucinda took the offered chair, thinking back on Weston’s role in tonight’s meeting. When she’d threatened to expose the Corinthians if he did not arrange the introduction, he’d agreed, though many colorfully voiced misgivings had accompanied his promise.

  “Of course,” she answered with conviction.

  Lord Carmichael settled back in his chair and propped his elbows on the arms. “Lady Lucinda, please know that we had no other choice but to proceed in such an aggressive fashion.”

  Lucinda had not come for an apology. While the Corinthians’ presence was bothersome, at the moment, they were most comforting as well. All except one.

  “Thank you, Lord Carmichael,” Lucinda said, pausing to clear her exceedingly parched throat. “But that is not why I’m here. I wish to speak to you about the Duke of Clairemont.”

  Lord Carmichael fixed his sharp blue eyes on Lucinda. “Clairemont is the best man I have, though his involvement with you beyond a professional level is—”

  “With all due respect,” she broke in, the heat traveling to her cheeks only humiliating her more. “I do not wish to discuss the personal nature of my relationship with the duke.”

  Lord Carmichael looked confused at Lucinda’s words. “I’m sorry, Lady Lucinda. Then I’m afraid I do not understand the purpose of this conversation,” he said gently.

  “I would like him to be removed from my situation,” Lucinda said plainly.

  “That is impossible.”

  His tone was resolute, his answer immediate.

  Lucinda’s heart dropped. “Nothing is impossible, Lord Carmichael,” she replied desperately. “Surely not for the Young Corinthians.”

  “Lady Lucinda—”

  “Please, my lord,” she interrupted, loosening the strings of her cape. “Do not tell me what you cannot do, but rather what you can.”