Highcliff’s brows shot up. “Then why the hell would you come to a club?”
“Because there are no women here,” Devil replied. “And any place where there are no women is a vast improvement to my own home at the moment.”
“So it is,” Highcliff agreed. “I would like to point out that women tend to congregate where you are, my friend. All the ladies adore you.”
“Not these,” Devil said. “They are all impervious to my charms, and my house is positively overrun with them right now.”
Highcliff grinned. “Surely you don’t expect me to remain sober as a symbol of solidarity, do you? If so, you’ll need to make other arrangements for a companion this evening. We share a common problem, my friend, and I intend to raise my glass to the lowering disdain of much admired women—repeatedly.”
“You may drink as you wish… just don’t expect me to pick you up off the floor later,” Devil said drolly.
Highcliff signaled for one of the footmen. “A bottle of brandy for me… and a pot of tea for my soon to be leg-shackled friend.” When the servant had gone, Highcliff looked back at him. “By the way, I have some information for you about Alaric West. It’s not good.”
Devil grimaced. “I never suspected that it would be.” Finding one of the small alcoves that surrounded the dining room and pulling the heavy drapes to separate it further from the remainder of the room, Devil seated himself in one of the leather chairs. He didn’t question Highcliff immediately, but waited until their libations had arrived.
With the footman gone and privacy assured, Highcliff began. “His name isn’t West. I’m not certain from whence he hails, yet, but he’s quite proud of telling everyone he knows, or simply meets, that he went to Oxford. But there are no records at Oxford of anyone attending by that name.”
“So he lied about Oxford,” Devil said. “I’m not saying he didn’t lie about his name, but the university seems a more likely route for his dishonesty. And I can think of a dozen men right off the top of my head who have lied about what schools they attended or whether they attended them at all!”
“True, but I don’t think he’s lying about Oxford. I think he’s lying about his identity, and Oxford may prove our surest source of information.” Highcliff paused and took a long, slow sip of the amber liquid and let out a satisfied sigh. “I do love a good brandy!”
“Now you’re intentionally being an ass,” Devil accused as he sipped his weak and insipid tea.
Highcliff nodded. “Indeed, I am. Now, back to Mr. West… he wears a signet ring bearing the letter M. He told his tailor it was a W, but the man didn’t believe it. The design doesn’t work if turned upside down,” Highcliff said. “So why lie? Unless there is some scandal attached to his name that would make his moving about in society impossible?”
“That’s the question, my friend. That and how he managed to place himself in my sister’s path. It’s easy enough to know why he abandoned her. My father and his highhanded, tightfisted ways were as much to blame for her disgrace as West. Or whatever his name may be,” Devil mused. “But I will not allow this man to destroy my niece, nor will I stand by while he lures some other innocent to the same ill fate that met Alice.”
Highcliff’s expression was somber but his tone, when he spoke, revealed how puzzled he truly was. “So now you’re a crusader? A protector of the innocents? While I know you better than most and know that your sins are not so numerous as others might believe, it’s still an unlikely mantle for you to don.”
“I’ve never seduced a woman who didn’t understand precisely what sort of arrangement we were entering into,” Devil protested. He might have played fast and loose with the rules of society and more than a few less than happily married ladies, but he wasn’t without his own brand of morality and honor.
“And to seduce women who already had husbands, thus freeing you from the burden of ever having to wed them yourself. I daresay that was a large part of their appeal, wasn’t it? That you’d never find yourself leg-shackled to one of them?”
It was a truthful statement, but that didn’t make it sting any less. “And your behavior is so much better?”
Highcliff shrugged. “It isn’t about me, my friend. And I’m not condemning you. Just observing.”
“Am I the profligate my father always believed me to be then? Beyond redemption?” Devil asked, clearly annoyed with the route the conversation had taken. “I didn’t come here for lectures on morality from you, Highcliff. Our sins may be different in nature, but hardly in number.”
“Touché,” Highcliff replied and poured himself another measure of brandy. “None of us are beyond redemption, Devil. Not you. Not even me.”
Perhaps it was the hint of melancholy that he heard in his companion’s voice, but something prompted Devil in that moment to utter the very question that had plagued him so. “Have you ever met a woman who tempted you? Not with lust, not with seduction and wicked promises… but with the idea that there might be something more in this life than simply hedonistic pursuits?”
Highcliff sighed. “So that’s what it is. It’s a woman that’s taken your mind on such unusual paths. But to answer your question, I might have. But she’s got her causes, just as now you apparently do as well, and they leave no room for me. Perhaps one day, I will be lucky enough to encounter a woman who does inspire such thoughts and who is not opposed to the notion of exploring them with me… when my work is done, of course.”
“Your sort of work is never done,” Devil pointed out.
“Then I shall invest in a generous store of brandy… I’ve got ears on the ground about West. I expect to know more about his origins tomorrow.”
“The labyrinth of spies—”
“That’s an unfortunate term. I prefer informants,” Highcliff corrected.
Devil managed to avoid rolling his eyes, but only just. “Your net of informants, then, is capable of finding the information that quickly?”
“Yes, indeed, it is. But we hardly go through traditional or even legal channels.”
“And where have you started?” Devil demanded.
“Money,” Highcliff replied. “He likes expensive things. He likes to gamble. He tried to ensnare an heiress. It stands to reason that if he’s already in debt and using an alias, he’s having to seek out alternate sources of funding. Less than reputable sources.”
“And you can simply ask these people who he is and what he’s about?”
“Not directly,” Highcliff conceded. “But that’s where my informants enter the picture. If money is at the root of what he’s doing, then he’s already exhausted any other means to lay hands on it. If that’s the case, there is no place he can hide forever.”
“And how do you know these sources can be trusted?”
Highcliff laughed softly. “I never trust anyone, Devil. Not even you. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be useful to one another. In my line of work, it pays to cultivate friendships in places low, high, and at every stage in between.”
“Friendships?”
“Working friendships,” Highcliff corrected.
“It’s lonely, isn’t it?” Devil asked. “I wasn’t in that particular game as long as you, but I did my time in India. It’s a hard thing to connect with anyone when the truth can never pass your lips.”
Highcliff said nothing for the longest time. “My friend, I have been a professional liar for so long, I doubt I’d know the truth if it bit me on my arse.”
Their conversation had taken a dark turn, and Devil wanted nothing more than to make his escape. At the same time, whether he offered any comfort to him or not, Highcliff was his friend and it seemed a terrible thing to leave the man alone to drink away his sorrows. So they sat in silence, as Devil looked enviously at the glass in his friend’s hand and then poured himself another cup of tea.
Chapter Twelve
Since Lord Deveril had made himself scarce at dinner and she had no wish to perpetuate the lie of their betrothal without his assistance,
Willa had elected to have her dinner served on a tray in the nursery with Marina. There was something troubling about Lady Carringden with her snide, challenging comments and the way she always seemed to be finding fault with everything and everyone. She knew that Lord Deveril had essentially bribed the woman to come there, but there had to be something else going on.
Entering the nursery, she found the little girl sitting on the edge of her small bed, sleepy eyed and clutching a doll. “Hello, Marina. Are you hungry?” she asked. Willa felt that it was imperative to make things seem as normal for the child as possible, despite the fact that her entire world had been turned upside down.
Cautiously, the little girl nodded.
“Good. Cook has made us a feast. I thought we could have a picnic right here in the nursery,” Willa went on and then took the blanket she had brought with her and spread it on the floor. “One of the servants will be bringing our food shortly. Would you like to sit here with me?”
Marina said nothing, just watched her with eyes that were far too wise and far too somber for one so young.
Willa lowered herself to the floor and arranged her skirts about her. “I don’t suppose sitting on the floor sounds all that appealing. Not when you have a comfortable bed to rest upon. But I’m too big for your bed. I can’t imagine what would happen if I were to sit on it! Why, think how embarrassed I would be if it should break!”
The little girl didn’t laugh or smile, but her lips did purse in a manner that indicated she was trying not to. Willa continued, “Imagine, falling on my rather large hindquarters, with skirts all askew, my hair falling down… I’d look ridiculous, wouldn’t I?”
Marina’s smile broke fully then. It was the first that Willa had seen from her, and it was quite possibly the most beautiful thing she’d ever beheld.
Willa took that as a very good sign. “Marina, can I ask you a question?”
The little girl said nothing, but her gaze became watchful and quite wary.
“Can you speak?” Willa asked. “I heard you ask for your mama. So I know that you can. But I wonder if you can say more than that.”
The little girl remained steadfastly silent. Yet, Willa had little doubt that every word she said was perfectly understood. She also had no doubt that the girl was capable of saying whatever she chose to. But for some reason, Marina had elected to be silent. “Are you afraid of someone, Marina? That man in the park, perhaps?”
The little girl said nothing, but her wary gaze was telling enough.
“He frightened me, too,” Willa admitted. “But your uncle, Lord Deveril, seemed very determined to keep you safe from him, don’t you think? It would help if you could tell us why you’re afraid of him. Did you know him before you came here?”
The little girl’s eyes narrowed speculatively as she surveyed Willa. It was unnerving to be so thoroughly skewered by a child. Finally, after a long moment, Marina rose from her small bed and crossed the distance to where Willa sat on the blanket spread over the carpet. The little girl sat down beside her and simply leaned against her side.
“You don’t want to talk about him, do you?” Willa asked.
Marina shook her head. It was at least a direct response to a question and thus an improvement.
“Fine,” Willa agreed. “We won’t talk about him… but you have to talk. What is your doll’s name?”
There was silence for the longest time. Finally, in a small voice that was little more than a whisper, the little girl said, “She don’t have one.”
It nearly took her breath away to hear those softly spoken words. Closing her eyes and willing her own tears to remain at bay, Willa managed to ask, “Shouldn’t you give her one, then?”
The little girl shook her head again.
“Very well, we’ll just wait until she tells us what she would like to be called,” Willa stated just as a knock sounded on the door. One of the maids entered, carrying a heavy tray laden with food. She placed it on a table. “You may go. Miss Marina and I will serve ourselves.”
“Yes, Miss,” the maid said and bobbed a hasty curtsy before exiting the room.
Willa rose and began to fill one of the provided plates with bits of food. She completed one for herself and one for Marina and carried them to the blanket where she sat them before the child. Turning back to the tray, she poured a glass of milk from the provided carafe and a glass of wine for herself. Carrying both back to their small picnic, she seated herself in front of the child so that they were facing one another as they’d eat their meal.
“Do you know that my father never married my mother? Do you know what that makes me, Marina?”
“Bastard,” the little girl whispered softly.
“Illegitimate,” Willa said. “Some people might use that other word, but it isn’t a very nice word. Is it?”
Marina shook her head as she took a small bite of the ham on her plate.
“I don’t like to be called that, and I imagine you don’t either,” Willa offered as she slathered butter on a piece of bread and placed it before the child. “Are you afraid of your uncle, Marina?”
Marina looked up at her then, cocked her head as if considering her answer very carefully, and then shrugged.
“Then you’re just not certain about him?”
To that, Marina nodded.
Willa smiled. “You know, I don’t think that you need to be afraid of him. He cares about you very much. Do you know what a brother is?”
The little girl nodded once more, her dark curls bobbing.
“He is your mama’s brother, and he loved her very much. He was very sad that she was ill.”
“Why didn’t he save her?”
The question was uttered so softly that, at first, Willa wasn’t quite sure she heard it. But the expectant gaze of the child confirmed that Marina had, in fact, spoken aloud. But it wasn’t the child who held her interest in that moment. It was the man who stood in the threshold of the open door, Lord Deveril. He was stricken. His face had lost all color and was etched with pain and guilt. Before Willa could say or do anything, he simply stepped back, allowed the door to close softly, and he was gone.
Forcing her gaze back to Marina, Willa explained, “He didn’t know where to find her, and he didn’t know she was sick until it was too late to save her. He’d been away in the army, you see. But he came for her as soon as he could… and for you. He promised her that he would take care of you and he means to do that if you’ll let him.”
*
Devil couldn’t breathe. The first words he’d heard his sister’s child speak and they damned him completely. Uttered quietly and in that small, thin voice; she was orphaned because he had failed. His wild and erratic behavior had resulted in his exile and that same exile had left his sister vulnerable to fortune hunters and the less than tender parenting of their father, a man who could have given lessons in the art of cruelty.
Retreating, he felt hollow, as if those softly spoken words had gutted him. Entering the solitude of his own chamber, Devil jerked at the knot of his neckcloth. It felt too tight, as did his coat. He managed to strip the offending garments off without shredding them. His waistcoat followed. Finally, in only his breeches and shirtsleeves, he sank down into the chair that faced the fireplace. Leaning against the chair back, he pinched the bridge of his nose to ward off the headache that threatened. He had no notion of how long he sat there that way, lost in his own thoughts and mired so deeply in guilt he might never break free of it.
At the soft knock at his bedchamber door, he barked, “Go away!”
The sound of the door creaking open had him rising to his feet. Fists clenched at his sides, he was prepared to give his valet the dressing down of his life. But it wasn’t Whittinger who stood there. It was Miss Marks.
“You cannot take it to heart,” she murmured softly. “What she said… she’s a child and has no understanding of the kinds of obligations that kept you from her mother’s side. Nor does she understand that there were others who, had th
eir hearts been more inclined toward mercy, should have stepped in and offered assistance to her.”
“You should not be here,” he said. In his present state, his emotions raw and his mood even more unpredictable, having Miss Marks in his chamber, without any prying eyes about them, was a disaster waiting to happen. “You need to leave. Now.”
“Lord Deveril—”
He strode toward her until only a scant inch separated them. “If we are familiar enough with one another for you to make free with my bedchamber then the very least you can do, Wilhelmina, is call me by my given name.”
“Devil?”
“Douglas,” he replied. “But you may call me Devil if you wish… and I will endeavor to give you reason to.”
Perhaps it was temper, perhaps it was her impudence in coming into his own bedchamber, or perhaps it was just that the desire to do something that had been tormenting him incessantly from their very first meeting when she had looked down her lovely nose at him. Regardless of the reason, he kissed her. Hauling her close to him, pressing her firmly to his chest, he slanted his lips over hers and tasted the sweetness of her mouth like a man starved for it. But the reason for it was swept away along with every other thought he had. Instead, he could only feel. Heat, softness, the yielding of her body against his, and then the sweetest movement of her lips as she, against her better judgement no doubt, kissed him back.
He let himself simply drink it in, to savor the sweetness of the moment. As much as it stoked the flames of desire in him, it offered something else. There was comfort in having the touch of another. There was something in that kiss that had been lacking in all the debauched and lascivious encounters of his past. Intimacy. He felt close to her, connected to her, as he’d never felt connected to another person in all of his life. And whatever her past, whatever pain and sorrow she’d known, she kissed him back fervently. Her arms came about him and held him to her in a way that was a balm to his soul and to his battered heart and conscience.
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