by Grace Elliot
“Unhand my fiancée!”
“I beg your pardon?” Devlin arched a manicured brow.
“Which servant did you bribe to get in?”
Unperturbed, Devlin pulled a small lacquered box from his pocket.
“That’s no way to greet a guest. Snuff Huntley?”
“Snuff be damned! I want you to leave. Now!” Huntley thrust his nose against Devlin’s.
“Jack!” Eulogy interjected. “Please! People are looking.”
Indeed, the room had fallen silent and scarlet stains appeared on Huntley’s cheeks.
“Excuse us. A word, dearest.”
Gripping Eulogy’s arm, Jack’s composure hung on a knife edge as he pulled her aside.
“Did Devlin threaten you?” Jack fought to keep his voice steady.
“Not in the least. Quite the opposite in fact and now everyone is looking. You are being very rude and it’s frightening me.”
“Me? Rude!” Jack bridled.
“Indeed. Cutting him like that. People are talking.”
A knot of cold, dread sat weighted in his stomach.
“Can you promise me that there is nothing between you and that man?” He spat out the words, unable to say Devlin’s name.
Eulogy grew still, avoiding his gaze as she whispered.
“I cannot give that assurance.”
The floor jolted beneath Huntley’s feet.
Slowly looking up, beseechingly she met his eye. “But it is not what you think and, Jack, I tried to explain the night you proposed and I haven’t seen you since and I couldn’t tell you in a letter.”
White noise exploded in his head. Faceless people milled around, casting them curious glances. “And I believed you when you said you weren’t his mistress.” His lips clamped shut. History repeating, Caroline Bloxham, all over! He felt utterly sick as all the joy in his life faded.
Eulogy answered in a thick voice. “I never have, nor ever will be, that man’s mistress.”
“Well you don’t act like it,” Jack hissed.
“And you don’t trust me.” She grew irate.
“Can you blame me? Finding you whispering in corners, kissing your hand?” He snorted. Women! He’d never understand them. Acting as if she was the injured party. Pah!
“I promise, on my mother’s grave, that there is no need for jealousy.”
“Then, what? Are you telling me the affair is over? Don’t deny it. For there is something, I can feel it.” Panic locked his chest. The thought of losing her was intolerable. Did he really want to know the truth? What if she confessed to loving Devlin? What then?
“Trust me,” she implored.
“I want to….”
“I say, is everything all right.” A slightly drunken guest, tapped Jack on the arm.
“Yes, quite all right.” Jack hissed. The man blinked, then shrugged and moved away.
“Just for tonight, trust me.” Eulogy beseeched. “I can’t tell you here, it’s too public. Truly, I long to tell you but it’s a delicate matter.” She looked at him imploringly and taking a deep breath, Jack reined in his anger, conscious of the assembled ton at his back.
“Very well. I will be patient. But tomorrow, tomorrow afternoon I will call. Then you tell me everything. There can be no secrets between us.”
“Thank you.” Eulogy nodded. “Remember. It is you, and only you, that I love.”
A lump blocked his throat. If only that were the truth.
Never had Jack felt such dependence on another human being and it was crippling. He needed her like air and yet on the evening of their official betrothal, never had he felt so alone.
-oO0Oo-
The trap baited, Devlin waited.
Overnight the temperature fell below freezing and the morning sky turned dark as sin.
After last night’s conversation, he knew Miss Foster would come early, drawn by the hope of reconciliation and here she was already, hurrying across the square swaddled in a cloak, the bitter wind nipping at her ankles as she made for his door.
Lucien crossed the salon to the mirror and examined his reflection. A handsome man with deep brown eyes stared back, his wide mouth set in a grimace. No, that would scare her off. He rearranged his features into puppyish sadness. Satisfied, he blew the dust from a book and settled on the chaise.
Devlin had instructed Matley to show his visitor straight up. She appeared, slightly out of breath, cheeks bright with cold and shadows beneath her eyes. Pausing, to mark the page in his book, Lucien rose graciously and bowed.
“Miss Foster. An early riser like myself.”
“My apologies for calling at this hour but after our conversation last night, I couldn’t stay away.” A pulse throbbed in her neck.
“Please, take a seat.” He gestured obsequiously toward an armchair. Lucien was beginning to enjoy himself. This reminded him of when as a child he had tricked Freddie into eating worms. There was nothing quite like the satisfaction of manipulation. He flicked imaginary lint from his breeches, and paused, waiting for her to state her business. He raised his brow a fraction and Miss Foster managed a tremulous smile.
“I wondered, after what you said last night, if you have news of the lawyer?”
“Regretfully, Miss Foster, I learnt Mr. Pettigrew is seriously ill and his papers destroyed in the fire that so tragically injured him.”
“Oh, how dreadful! The poor man.”
“Indeed. Most inconvenient.” Lucien twisted his father’s heavy gold signet ring around his little finger. Inconvenient indeed that the noxious little man hadn’t died.
Her face crumpled. “I had so hoped it was good news.”
Devlin spoke softly. “Perhaps, Miss Foster that might be the case after all.”
Her head snapped up. “But I thought?”
“You must concede that’s it’s not an everyday occurrence that a stranger turns up claiming to be a long-lost sibling.”
Her eyes widened.
“…and, now I’ve had time to reflect, and circumstances have changed.”
But her reaction confounded him. Instead of tears of joy, she tilted her chin and met his gaze.
“By that I presume you mean my engagement to Mr. Huntley?”
“Indeed.” He twisted the signet ring. “But that is not the whole picture.”
“So,” she said icily, “marrying into an aristocratic family makes me more acceptable?”
Devlin’s heart pounded, damn it, he never explained himself to anybody. Reining in irritation, he continued smoothly. “It is true that I viewed your claim in a new light when I learnt Huntley’s intentions, but that is only a part. You are right, I see it now, the strain our dear mother was under. She wasn’t a strong woman, mentally.”
He pressed silk handkerchief affectedly to his cheek and sniffed. “Poor, poor Mama, such a sad woman. She would be so proud of you and would wish her children to be friends.”
Miss Foster sat rigid. “So you acknowledge I am your sister?”
Assembling his most penitent expression, Lucien nodded. “I am prepared to do that.”
“But? There is a but…”
“This is very embarrassing…”
“Go on.”
“It is my dearest wish to publically acknowledge my long lost sister. A coming out ball, a grand reception to do you justice. The only problem is.” Lucien lowered his voice, forcing Eulogy to lean forward as he continued, “I find myself temporarily short of funds.” He glanced at Eulogy. “Now, if you could see a way clear to lend me some money then I could launch you into society in a way befitting for my sister.”
He watched her closely, finding her composure disconcerting.
“How much?”
“Oh say,” False levity entered his voice, “five, no seven hundred should do it.”
“Seven hundred pounds!” Eulogy gasped.
“Huntley of all people, with his reputation for social climbing, will want your parentage made public. He will recognize it as an investment.”
<
br /> Abruptly, she stood.
“I wouldn’t dream of asking Mr. Huntley for money. As it happens he loves me regardless of birth, high or low.” She all but stamped her foot. “I intend to make my true parentage public, with or without your blessing. And questions will be asked about why you didn’t acknowledge me sooner. I suggest you reflect on that.”
Alarm slammed through his guts. “Miss Foster…you misunderstand me.”
“I intend to redeem Lady Devlin’s maligned reputation and make society aware of what scheming, selfish predators Devlin men are. Good day, Lord Devlin.”
She walked with stiff dignity, speeding up as she neared the door.
“Stop!” Devlin called after her. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Miss Foster drew herself to her full height. “Are you threatening me?”
“Well let’s just say that if you value your life, you’ll think twice about blackening the Devlin name.”
“You wouldn’t?”
Devlin leant back and threaded his fingers together. “I’d hate some harm to befall you. Some ruffian with a knife or a phaeton accident.”
All color blanched from her skin. “So it was you! Huntley said as much, but I refused to believe him. To think, I defended you! But why? Why do you hate me so much?”
Devlin shrugged, matter-of-factly, and fell to examining his ring.
“I don’t hate you, just pity you. Pathetic creature.”
“Good day Lord Devlin. I don’t expect we shall talk again.”
With a final tut, she turned on her heel and slammed the door shut on the way out.
With the sound still reverberating in his ears, Devlin sneered.
“Stupid bitch.”
In a fluid motion he rose from the chase and stalked to the large portrait, dominating the south wall. Hands on hips, he stared up into the oily eyes of his father.
“This is mother’s doing. Just as her weakness shamed you, she’d have me pay for her sentimentality, but I won’t. So the question is what to do about it?”
Devlin studied his father’s face- proud and aloof, purpose behind the eyes. For several minutes he stood staring, as if waiting for his father to answer.
“You understood, father” he muttered. “You understood about that milksop Freddie. You wanted him to be strong and fearless just like me. That’s why I put that thorn under Freddie’s saddle, to give him a chance to shine and prove he could handle the hunter. I did it for him and he failed even that.” His mouthed twitched. “And mother’s pathetic grief, she still had me, and yet she loved that weakling more. Well I’ll no more welcome her spawn than cut off my nose. One way or another, I’ll show that up-start what it means to be a true Devlin.”
Chapter 18
The day after the party, unable to sleep, Jack rose well before dawn, drawn to Grosvenor Square like a condemned man determined to watch a hanging.
In the chill morning light, his breath hung freezing on the bitter air as Huntley stared up at Devlin’s windows. He longed to trust Eulogy, and yet he’d trusted Caroline Bloxham and his heart had been broken and his good name dragged through the mud. He no longer trusted his emotions and what he needed were facts. Hands deep in pockets, collar up, to keep warm he decided on a turn round the frosted gardens. A movement caught his eye, Devlin’s door opened and there was Eulogy! His heart somersaulted.
Even from across the road, her distress was evident as she ran down the steps. He felt sick. What was Devlin to her? Ignoring the skipping of his heart, eyes firmly fixed on Eulogy, he stepped into the busy road. A great whoosh of air almost pushed him off his feet as a hackney passed dangerously close.
“Watch out Gov’nr! Nearly had you under!”
Shaken, Huntley gathered his wits and waited impatiently for a gap in the traffic, then bolted across the busy road. Half a street away, heading away from him, Eulogy dropped her muffler but she had left it were it fell, instead quickening her pace. Jack opened his mouth to shout after her, and then shut it. Whatever ailed her, the answer lay with Devlin. Slowly, he turned his attention to the grand limestone terrace as a curtain twitched on the piano nobile.
“This ends here, even if I have to choke the truth from him.”
He took the steps three at a time and hammered on the lacquered door. Barging past an affronted footman, Huntley stared around wild-eyed.
“Take me to Devlin!”
“I beg your pardon, Sir. This is most irregular.” The footman’s gaze flicked toward the stairs. With a grunt Jack took to his heels up the staircase.
“Devlin!” He bellowed on the first landing. “Show yourself, or do you make a habit of hiding behind women’s skirts?”
An irritated voice issued from a nearby room.
“What the deuce?”
“So there you are, you cur.” The door bounced on its hinges as Jack exploded in to the sitting room.
“What on earth…” Devlin half rose. “Oh it’s you. I wondered who would have the affront.”
The footman followed, puffing heavily. “Lord Devlin, I tried to stop him…”
“It’s all right.” Devlin nodded darkly. “Leave us.”
Looking dubious, the footman backed away. Huntley slammed the door.
“You know why I’m here.”
Lucien leant back, inspecting his fingernails. “I hate to disillusion you, Huntley, but my world doesn’t revolve around you. I haven’t the slightest idea to what you’re wittering on about.”
“Miss Foster.” Jack balled both fists and stepped closer, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over Lucien.
“Ah, I take it you saw your fiancée leaving.” Lucien sank back into the chair and steepled his fingers as if pondering a recent sermon. “Obviously Miss Foster hasn’t told you the reason for her visit or you wouldn’t be asking?”
“Indeed.” Jack’s nerves hummed taut as bowstrings. “If don’t stop playing games, heaven help me, but I’ll punch you.”
“Very well,” Lucien replied, brusquely. “I owe you, for the wrong I did all those years ago. I will tell you the truth, seeing as Miss Foster has neglected to do so. Be warned, you’re not going to like it.”
“Go on.”
“First…you must promise not to turn violent.”
“I give you my word.” A muscle twitched on his jaw.
Lucien regarded him astutely.
“As a gentleman?”
“As a gentleman, yes.”
“All right then.” Devlin drank down a deep breath.
“What is there between you and Miss Foster? I know something is going on, so don’t bother to deny it.”
Something akin to an epiphany dawned across Devlin’s features. “Miss Foster and I have been, oh how to put this delicately?” He shuffled uncomfortably, clearing his throat in an annoying girlish way. “Enough to say we were once intimate but no longer.”
True to his word Jack didn’t move, not even to blink.
“Explain yourself.”
“Remember Huntley, this took place before she met you. It started innocently enough when visiting the Devlin estate, last year. Doctor Foster was attending a farm worker and brought his daughter, the delightful Eulogy along as nurse. She seemed so innocent, so untouched. Yet, when later she sought me out I found her a most willing and experienced companion.”
The walls became blurred, a whistling in Jack’s ears as his world imploded. He forgot where he was, oblivious to everything but the sickly pounding in his head. He gripped the sofa tightly, in an effort to stay upright. Think, he commanded himself. This can’t be true! Slowly the rational part of his mind stopped reeling. Summoning all his mental strength he pushed Devlin’s vile accusations aside.
“Liar!” he snarled. “You are making this up for the same, twisted reason that you betrayed me all those years ago.”
Devlin stared back, all cool composure. “Am I? Really? Then ask yourself, why has Miss Foster been plaguing me? Calling unchaperoned in a most inappropriate manner. Are you awa
re she has called several times?”
Jack tried not to listen.
“Of course you know. That’s why you are so angry now. How else do you explain her obsession with me, but that I finished the affair and she didn’t want to?” Devlin adopted an expression of careworn concern, “In the name of the friendship you and I once had its only fair you know now, before it’s too late, the nature of the creature who has entrapped you.”
Jack gulped great breaths and marshaled his thoughts. Two voices competed, the whisper insisting Devlin was a devious liar, and the growing crescendo of ‘I told you so’. What if all along, his suspicions had been correct and he had been duped?
A feeling grew and took root, an old emotion he thought long since buried. One that made him physically sick.
The pain of betrayal—the very thing he most dreaded.
In the grip of roaring self-pity, he could no longer think or reason, Miss Foster had bewitched him…fool! He only had his own weakness to blame. To be cuckolded once was a lesson, but twice was sheer carelessness. A muscle worked in his jaw. Lucien was speaking again, through the fog of bitterness Jack’s head swam.
“I don’t know how well acquainted with the delectable Miss Foster, but needless to say, those country boys taught her well, she won’t disappoint you in the marriage bed.”
Jack’s heart turned to stone. Events came into focus, it made perfect sense. Miss Foster hailed from Easterhope, neighboring Devlin’s estate. That first night, when they met, she had been robbed outside Devlin’s house.
Jack managed a dry laugh.
“It seems Miss Foster does have an obsession with you.”
Jack reeled, he’d even leant her, his carriage to call on Devlin. What a blind fool!
“I want to hear it all,” Jack growled.
“I’m sorry if this pains you old chap. Clearly this is news to you, but better you find out before you marry.”
“Go on.”
“Despite my making it clear that I am courting Miss Washington, Miss Foster followed me here to London. Threw herself at me, begged to resume the...urm…romance. Of course I refused, after all, you can’t expect a man like me, to marry a woman of no pedigree.”
