The Devil's Waltz

by Anne Stuart

  He looked at the doorknob. He had no particular interest in watching them, though he could easily enough. The door had no lock, and they were so involved they wouldn’t even notice.

  But he’d had more than enough chances to watch other couples copulate, and the initial excitement had worn off quite quickly. He seldom joined in the communal revels of Crosby and his friends, preferring to concentrate on his own pleasure rather than someone else’s.

  Then again, he’d never seen anyone actually making love, and that would be a novelty. There was no love, affection or even much past initial acquaintance among the couples he’d watched. Not just couples, in truth, but threesomes, even foursomes. It would be interesting to see if it was any different between two young innocents who cared for each other.

  No. He would simply count his blessings—with Hetty deflowered by her true love, he was no longer the chief villain in the piece. Or at least, no longer the one held responsible. Hetty had sealed her fate by seducing young William, and he had little doubt that she’d done it for that very reason. He wished them joy of each other.

  The Monk’s Cell had been dusted and aired, though the mattress was gone from the narrow bed, presumably too mouse-eaten to remain. He washed and changed quickly, choosing something somber and particularly flattering. Bastard that he was, he wanted Annelise to pine for him as she drove off with the young lovers.

  He met a rain-soaked Harry Browne as he came downstairs. Harry shook his head, spraying water like a large dog. “That carriage is going nowhere, Master Christian. I had young Jeremy help the coachman take the horses into town, but the carriage is pretty well banged up. Cheap thing it was, and old. From the looks of it, it can’t be easily fixed.”

  “How unfortunate,” Christian said. “Good thing that the coach I hired hasn’t been returned—though I’m afraid it’s built for speed but not for crowds. It will only hold two besides the driver. And we have three guests.”

  “You’ll get rid of the two newcomers?” Harry asked.

  A slow smile spread across Christian’s face. Wickedness shouldn’t be rewarded but his was about to be. “No, I’ll send Miss Hetty off with her fiancé. The Honorable Miss Kempton will simply have to remain until we can make other arrangements.”

  “What other arrangements? If the hired one can be repaired it will take days, even weeks. Perhaps Dickon at the Royal Oak would be willing to hire his out. It’s not much but it would serve as transportation if someone wasn’t too choosy.”

  “Oh, he wouldn’t want to do that,” he murmured. “You needn’t bother to ask. Have your good wife make something substantial to eat and I’ll rouse our guests and explain the unwelcome situation. I’m sure they’ll be practical enough to accept it. Miss Hetty’s chaperon will simply have to content herself with a week or two in the remote countryside until the coach is mended.”

  “We’ve got extra horses, Master Christian. The young man could ride beside the carriage…” He looked at Christian as realization began to dawn. “Ah, but then, I forgot—only the carriage horses are in any condition. The others are lame. All of them.”

  “I rather thought so,” Christian said. “Such an unfortunate situation, we’ll have no choice but to make the best of it. You might put the two…er…lame horses in a separate area of the stables in case someone decides to snoop. They need peace and quiet for recovery.”

  “Understood, sir. I’ll see to everything.”

  Christian was humming under his breath as he walked back into the library. The fire had died down a bit, but Annelise slept on, the pistol still by her side. It was tempting to leave it, and see whether she’d actually try to use it, but in the end he simply scooped it up. Strange-looking pistol for a lady to carry. He wondered how she’d managed to acquire it on such short notice. It couldn’t have belonged to her late father—it was far too serviceable and lethal a weapon. In truth, this was a firearm made to kill a man with no prettiness about it. It must belong to Josiah Chipple.

  The old man was going to be very angry, Christian thought, hiding the gun under the cushions of one of the sofas. His daughter would be married to a country bumpkin, his houseguest had failed him and run off at the same time. Annelise was smart enough to wonder why Josiah would have such a menacing-looking pistol in his house, though she might reasonably assume it was due to his less-than-stellar ancestry. Or she might begin to realize that Josiah Chipple wasn’t a benevolent, nouveau riche shipping magnate but someone very nasty indeed.

  Just as well she wasn’t going anywhere. Otherwise she would probably deem it her duty, once she got the two lovebirds safely married, to go back and face the old man. Not a good idea.

  When he was through with her, which might be a few days or even up to a few weeks, she probably wouldn’t want to look Chipple in the eye. He meant it with no malice—Christian simply wanted her, and he wasn’t going to stop until she wanted it as much as he did.

  He didn’t expect it to have any other deleterious effect. She was facing an empty life of visits and spinsterhood, and he could show her the kind of pleasure she probably had no idea even existed. Give her something to look back on as she declined into old age.

  Or perhaps she’d marry some solid widower, one who would look the other way at slightly soiled goods, and raise his children and even some of her own, and when she lay beneath the old man’s sweating body she’d close her eyes and imagine it was Christian.

  No, that fantasy was somehow far from pleasing. He didn’t want her marrying, didn’t want her lying beneath, or on top of, anyone else. Selfish bastard that he was, he wanted her to pine for him the rest of her life.

  Well, he’d never made the mistake of thinking he was in any way a decent human being. And he’d take care not to impregnate her—it would be too cruel an act. But as his mind danced over the sudden image of her with a rounded belly it was absurdly enchanting.

  He took the seat opposite her again. He was going to have to handle this very delicately—if he was indiscreet she’d probably try to walk back to London, soaked, muddy and with one shoe.

  No, she needed to have no idea what delights he had in store for her. Until it was too late for her to run.

  17

  When Annelise awoke it was full daylight, with the rain settling down to a light mist, and she ached in every part of her body, first from the jolting carriage ride, second from falling asleep in a chair. In front of Christian Montcalm, no less, she thought with horror. She was blissfully warm, and she glanced down at the blanket that was covering her. Not a blanket at all, but the coat he’d been wearing, now streaked with the mud she’d brought in with her.

  She looked up, but she was alone in the room. The fire was still burning brightly—someone must have built it up while she slept. And the pistol was gone.

  Not that it mattered particularly. She wasn’t going to shoot him—she’d had every chance, and every incitement to do so, but she hadn’t. It was just as well it was out of her reach. He’d been right about one thing—if she shot him accidentally she would have felt miserable.

  He was wrong about everything else. The man you’re in love with! Totally untrue and bad grammar, as well. It should have been the man with whom you’re in love, and so she ought to tell him when next she saw him, but perhaps it would be wiser not to bring up the subject at all during the few short hours they would be there.

  She rose, setting the coat down carefully on the table where the gun once was, and stretched. She would have given anything for a long soak in a hot tub of water, but that was going to be denied her until they reached William’s home. She could only hope the Dickinsons had a fondness for bathing.

  And that William had been correct in their approval of his bride. She’d never considered that their eventual arrival at William’s home might not be a welcome one, and she wasn’t going to worry about it now. Escape from this place was of the utmost importance—they would deal with their arrival later. She could only hope William was not mistaken in his parents’ supp
ort.

  She glanced around the library. It was tidy, well dusted and shabby. The curtains hung in tatters, the fabric on the furniture was shredded, the carpet a danger to unwary feet. This was a house badly in need of a vast infusion of money, and she’d just stopped it. If an innocent young woman hadn’t been at stake, she’d feel a bit of regret. It really was a lovely room.

  But that reminded her—she needed to find Hetty and make certain she was in good shape after her ordeal. What had Christian told Will? Up the stairs, four doors on the left at the end of the wing? It should be easy enough to find. William was probably comforting her—they might be holding hands, talking in low whispers of the future. She needed to put a stop to that, of course. With Hetty’s reputation so compromised she must make certain that there was no appearance of impropriety.

  She’d already come up with a relatively believable story. Mr. Chipple had gone on a business trip, Hetty had become so desperately homesick she’d been unable to eat and William and Annelise had deemed it a good idea if she went back to Kent for a visit. On their way they visited an old friend of the family’s before ending up in the comfortable family home in Kent.

  Of course, Kent was in the opposite direction of Devon. And there was a chance even a country squire would have heard of the notorious Christian Montcalm. But William had assured her during their journey together, at monotonous length, that his parents approved the match as much as they disliked Josiah Chipple. They would welcome the three of them with open arms. After that, Annelise was unsure quite what she would do. There was little doubt that Josiah Chipple would be just as displeased with her as he was with Hetty, untempered by any parental affection. Her wisest course would be to send a letter to Lady Prentice, to see if she could arrange an alternative visit for her errant godchild, preferably far away from the temptations of London and beautiful, charming villains who could confuse even the most practical of souls.

  The hallway was a gloomy reflection of a rainy day, and Annelise started down it, only to be stopped by a too-familiar voice.

  “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”

  She turned and saw Christian, looking clean and beautiful while she felt like a mud-soaked troll. She resisted the impulse to snarl at him. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she snapped. “I need to make certain poor Hetty has survived her ordeal in decent spirits, and tell her and Will that we need to make ready to leave. We’ll want to travel as much time in the daylight hours as we can.”

  He sauntered—there was no other word for it—toward her, tall and lean and graceful. “I expect Miss Hetty is in very decent spirits, but perhaps a bit of privacy?”

  She resisted the impulse to use one of her precious curses. She limped over to the door, knocked once, and then turned the handle.

  As soon as she peered inside, Annelise jumped back with a shriek, slamming the door, her face flaming. “I warned you,” Christian said mildly, coming up beside her. He rapped on the door in a peremptory manner, waited a moment, and then pushed it open again, waiting for Annelise to precede him into the room.

  Not that she wanted to, but she had never been one to shirk her duty. At least Hetty and Will were sitting side by side now, covers up to their bare shoulders, looking as shamed as they ought to. She turned to Christian. “This is all your fault! If you hadn’t molested her she wouldn’t have felt it necessary to give in to Will’s importunities, and…”

  “I didn’t molest her. I didn’t touch the tiresome chit, did I, Hetty? And I don’t think the importunities were on Will’s part.”

  The part of Will that was exposed, far too much of him in Annelise’s opinion, was bright red, but Hetty tossed her head defiantly. “I wouldn’t let you touch me,” she said loftily. “I’m in love with William, and besides, you’re too old for me.”

  Christian laughed. “A wound straight to the heart, dear Hetty. Indeed, when I’m around you I feel very ancient indeed. But I’m afraid it’s time to rouse yourself from your bed of sin and find your way back to civilization. Were you planning a quick trip over the border, or will you chance a more formal wedding? I’m not sure that it would be wise to wait—Chipple is a vindictive man when his plans are thwarted, and apart from that you wouldn’t want any premature issue from this unfortunate slip.”

  “I’ve already figured out what to do,” Annelise said, her voice still a bit strained from shock. “My brother-in-law is a vicar and his parish is not too far to the north from here. We’ll go there first, see if there’s any way to circumvent the marriage laws and join them without Mr. Chipple’s permission, and if not, we’ll continue up to Scotland have them married there. Once Hetty’s safely married, Mr. Chipple won’t dare interfere.”

  “You’re trying to contravene the laws, Miss Kempton?” Christian said, lightly mocking. “I’m astonished and admiring. You’ve thought of everything. I only hope you are right about Chipple. At least his wrath will be directed at someone other than me for the time being.”

  “Until I inform him of what you did,” Annelise said.

  He turned his head to look at her. “Would you do that, my sweet? How unkind of you, when no harm’s been done and young Romeo and Juliet will live happily ever after. Indeed, you ought to thank me. If I hadn’t intervened, forcing the two of you to come after me, it’s very likely that Hetty would be engaged to some old windbag with a title and young…William, is it?…would be marrying a local beauty. Instead we have a revoltingly happy ending for all. I get to live without Miss Chipple but still with an impressive inflow of cash, the young lovers are united, and Miss Kempton…well, I’m not certain what her happy ending is. At least an escape from Chipple’s household?”

  “What impressive inflow of cash?” Annelise asked suspiciously.

  “Hetty’s so-generous father gave me fifty thousand pounds to leave the girl alone. Very thoughtful of him.”

  “And you abducted her anyway?” she said, scandalized.

  “Don’t look at me like that, dragon,” he said mildly. “A man who’d take a bribe wouldn’t hesitate to go back on it. But in the end I’m holding true to my word. I will leave the future Mrs…. whatever to her bucolic future.”

  “Mrs. Dickinson,” Hetty said.

  “Better than Chipple,” Christian said. “Now, why don’t we see about how we’re going to get you safely on the road. The rain has halted, and it’s only late morning. I imagine we can get you out of here within the next few hours.”

  “Thank God,” said Annelise, ignoring the little twinge of sadness she felt. It was simply reluctance to climb back into a carriage, she told herself. And for the boon of never having to see him again, then she’d willingly climb back into the hideously sprung equipage that had brought them there.

  “But we have a bit of a problem,” he added.

  “Could we at least get dressed before we discuss this?” William asked.

  “No!” Annelise said, thoroughly annoyed with them. “You’ve literally made your bed and now you must lie in it until we discover what we can do. And don’t give me that look, Hetty Chipple. Your eyes should be downcast in shame at your behavior.”

  “I’m not ashamed! And if you weren’t a bloodless old maid you’d understand!” she shot back.

  It wasn’t so much that she minded being called a bloodless old maid. She just would have rather not had Christian there to hear it.

  He seemed merely amused by it all, which wasn’t the least bit gratifying.

  “Behave yourself, Hetty,” he said. “I resisted the temptation to spank your overindulged little backside, but I can always change my mind.”

  “You won’t dare touch her!” William declared, starting to throw back the covers while Annelise shrieked and closed her eyes. Observing Chipple’s indecent statues was bad enough—she really didn’t want a full view of William Dickinson.

  “Behave yourself, William,” Christian said. “If you think I couldn’t thrash you soundly you’re mistaken, and I doubt Miss Kempton would object.”

  S
he opened her eyes, deciding she was safe. William had sat back down again, pulling the covers up to his waist. He was a nicely made young man, she supposed, as hairless as the statues. At least above the waist.

  She could feel her face flaming at the thought, but fortunately no one was looking at her. “If anyone deserves a thrashing it’s you, Mr. Montcalm,” Annelise said. “You’re a disgrace.”

  He smiled at her, that sweet, beguiling smile that always had the ability to disturb her cool and rational mind. “Indeed I am,” he said. “It’s a shame I never had someone like you to show me the error of my ways when I was younger. I’m afraid by now I’m a lost cause.”

  “And totally unrepentant.”

  “Oh, I repent. I’m sorry I ever thought I could tolerate Hetty’s incessant yapping for the sake of her lovely fortune and her equally lovely face. But I’m afraid she’s not worth it. And stop trying to jump out of bed to hit me, William. You’d embarrass Miss Kempton more than you have already. You need to concentrate on getting your betrothed out of here before another storm hits. This time of year the roads get near impassible, and you definitely would not want to be trapped here.”

  “Definitely not! We’ll leave as soon as our carriage can be made ready,” Annelise answered for him.

  “Ah, but there’s the problem. The cheap carriage you hired has a broken axle as well as a broken wheel, and it’s uncertain whether it can even be repaired. At the least it will take several weeks to get the work done, and I’m not prepared to have company for that long.”

  “Then we’ll hire a new one.”

  “There are no carriages for hire in a tiny town such as Hydesfield.”

  William looked momentarily daunted, but Annelise was undeterred. “Then we will simply have to take your carriage,” she said. “I’m certain you were just about to offer it—it’s the least a good host could do if his unexpected guests are stranded. Particularly since it’s his fault they’re there.”