Devil's Own Bargain (London Lords)

by Mary Gillgannon

  “My lord, the hot water is here,” Jeanette called through the door.

  Devon let out a sigh and released Caroline. She giggled. “I could still use a bath. I had barely gotten in when you arrived.”

  He went to open the door. As the two footmen filed in with steaming buckets of water, Caroline disappeared behind the dressing screen. When she reappeared, she was demurely clad in a copper-colored silk wrapper. Devon watched her hungrily while Jeanette oversaw the bath preparations.

  “My lady, would you like me to attend you?” Jeanette asked as the two footmen left.

  “Ah, no. That won’t be necessary,” Caroline answered. Devon could tell that she struggled to keep from giggling as Jeanette gave them both an arch look before departing.

  “Now, where were we?” Devon said, moving toward her.

  He had barely gotten off the silk wrapper when another knock sounded at the door.

  He swore heartily. “There’d better be a damned good reason—”

  “Your lordship, Lord Bedlington is here.” Walters called. “He’s waiting downstairs for you in the library.”

  Devon turned helplessly to Caroline.

  “I’ll bathe while you’re talking to him,” she said. “I’ll be down as soon as possible.” He gave her a look of misery. She approached and planted a kiss on his cheek. “There will be time, love. We have the rest of our lives.”

  He nodded and started toward the door.

  Christian was slouched in one of the armchairs by the fire drinking brandy when Devon arrived. “Well, I’m pleased to see you don’t look much better than I feel, Dev. Lud! What a night! Ginter and I waited for hours. Capital fellow, by the way. We had many stirring conversations. Whispered, of course. But in the end, it was for naught. No one came, and we decided by dawn that the villain had changed his plans. Then we came back here and learn that Lady Caroline had returned. What’s the rattle, Dev? Was this all some silly prank to liven up the party?”

  Devon sat down in the chair across from Christian. “No prank, Christian. Caroline really was kidnapped. She only got away by use of her wits. Things are actually worse than we thought. You see, Quentin is the one who kidnapped her.”

  “Quentin?” Christian frowned. “Not like him to do something like that. He’s never had any interest in mischief in the past. Someone else must have had a hand in it. Some sort of wager maybe.”

  “No. This was deadly serious. Quentin is the murderer.”

  Christian stared at him a moment, his blue eyes bright and piercing, then pursed his lips. “Serious accusation, Dev. You’d best have proof.”

  “Caroline’s word is good enough for me.”

  Christian raised a brow. “Go on. Tell me what she said.”

  Devon sighed, wondering if he could repeat the tale without losing control of his temper. “She said Quentin gave her some ratafia to drink, and after that, she became dizzy. Before she blacked out, Quentin took off his domino and she saw his expression clearly. It was obvious he had planned the whole thing.”

  “That explains her abduction, perhaps, but it doesn’t necessarily implicate Quentin in murder.”

  “There’s more.” Devon rose and began to pace. “She heard the two men who kidnapped her talking. They spoke of their employer, calling him ‘the master’ and implying that he meant to rape Caroline and kill her. They were so afraid of him that when she pretended to be dead, they panicked and fled. That was how she was able to escape.”

  “If they thought they’d killed her, they wouldn’t to want to confront whoever hired them,” Christian pointed out. “If they never mentioned Quentin’s name, the ‘master’ could be anyone.”

  Devon shook his head. He had feared this, feared that no one would believe Caroline’s story. His plans for revenge were hopeless if Christian wouldn’t help him. “Think about it, Christian,” he urged, “we discussed that the murderer must be someone close to me, someone who knew I had come to London to meet Beaumont. Remember how suddenly Quentin left when I told him that I was meeting my father-in-law? And Quentin also has the resources to blackmail me, to have the notes delivered to the town house and to set up the meeting place. And the description from the woman at the Blue Parrot matches Quentin exactly. She said the man who hired her was tall and a nobleman.”

  “I don’t know.” Christian shook his head. “That description matches any number of men in London. What would be Quentin’s motive?”

  “I’m not sure,” Devon said. “Perhaps he needed money. I know little of his circumstances, and he’s always lived the fashionable life.”

  “But what about Caroline? Why would he kidnap her? Why would Quentin want to defile and murder her?”

  “You know Quentin has always hated commoners. Perhaps he thinks this marriage is beneath me, that I would be better off if Caroline were dead. I’d have her money, so he could still keep blackmailing me. Perhaps part of his plan in kidnapping Ginter was to link me to Caroline’s murder; so his hold over me would be even stronger.”

  “It sounds very far-fetched,” Christian said. Devon’s heart sank. “But not outside the realm of possibility,” Christian added. “Harberry has always been a secretive, enigmatic sort of fellow. And I know for a fact that he is jealous of you.”

  “Jealous?”

  “Yes, I would call it that. He thought you were a fool to go off to Ireland and abandon your privileged life as the Northrup heir. And he was especially distressed by your relationship with an Irishwoman. ‘Not only is she a commoner’, he used to say, but ‘a filthy Irish slut besides’.”

  Devon took a sharp breath. Quentin’s words sounded so much like his father’s crude taunts. Was it possible...? He searched his mind, trying to recall when Quentin had been in Ireland to visit him. Had it not been only a few weeks before Rose was killed?

  I have information concerning the untimely death of a certain Rose O’Sullivan. Beaumont’s message came back to him. “I have it!” Devon said. “I know why Quentin murdered Beaumont!”

  He explained his theory then looked at Christian.

  “Hmmm,” Christian said. “So, you’re suggesting your father hired Quentin to kill Rose, and he, understanding and agreeing with your father’s repulsive motives, did the deed.”

  “Yes! It makes perfect sense now that think on it. I always wondered why Quentin visited me in Ireland, since he hated the place and the people so much. Clearly, my father sent him there. He stayed with me long enough to plan the murder, and then pretended to return to England. Not a week after his departure, Rose was killed.”

  “And Beaumont found out about it?”

  “He must have. He investigated my background quite thoroughly. Apparently, some of the information didn’t reach him until after the wedding had already taken place. But he would have wanted me to know that one of my friends was a murderer. He might even have been concerned for Caroline’s safety.”

  “As well he should have been,” said Christian dryly.

  Devon sighed. “Quentin has to be stopped. He killed two women. And Beaumont. I will never feel that Caroline is safe until he’s imprisoned or dead.”

  “But how will we stop him?” Christian asked. “Although we’ve managed to put the pieces together, we have little proof of his crimes.”

  Devon nodded. “Unless he confesses, there’s little we can do. Bow Street would never imprison a peer without overwhelming evidence, and what we have is slim indeed.”

  Christian took another sip of brandy. He looked pale and careworn, but his gaze was clearer than Devon had seen it in some time. It confirmed his suspicions that his friend was wasting away for lack of a challenge to his hedonistic existence.

  “Mmmm,” Christian said, “Perhaps we could convince him to confess.”

  “How? You have more faith in your powers of persuasion than I.”

  A small smile lit Christian’s face. “What does Quentin aspire to, Dev? To be a great lord, of course. Unlike me, he actually cares what the beau monde says of him. What
if we threatened to expose him?”

  “He would point out the hopelessness of our cause. If we can’t prove it, labeling him a murderer would be seen as titillating gossip, nothing more.”

  “You’re right,” Christian agreed. “Murder doesn’t answer. A whisper of savagery, especially involving a commoner or tradesman, is not enough to taint a man.”

  Devon stared into the fire. In the strange world of the ton, appallingly immoral behavior was often overlooked. Yet, in other matters, gentlemen were held to a rigid code. Even a hint of dishonesty at cards or dice, or failure to pay gambling debts, could ruin a man. Suddenly, Devon knew what to do.

  “What if we put it about that Quentin cheated at cards or whist?” he asked Christian. “A rumor like that would destroy him.”

  “Quentin would never cheat. He’s always scrupulous in honoring his wagers.”

  “I didn’t say that he would use a dirty deck or weight his die, only that we would threaten to accuse him of it. If you and I united in making the charge, there’s not a club or gambling hell in London that would receive him.”

  Christian smiled slowly. “He’d be cut wherever he goes, at least by gentlemen. As for the dowagers and society misses, that’s another matter. But Quentin’s never been one for turning women’s heads. Come to think of it, he’s always bought his pleasure.”

  His smile deepened, showing his dimples and the lazy, languid-eyed charm that had earned him the adoration of so many women. “I say, Dev. Excellent bluff. Quentin’s vanity will be his undoing.”

  “What if we bluff and lose?” Devon asked.

  “We won’t,” Christian assured him. “We’re playing deep, but the odds are in our favor.”

  Fifteen

  “I wish I need never move.” Caroline sighed and nestled her face against the crisp hair of Devon’s chest.

  “The longer we delay the confrontation, the more likely that Quentin will try to hurt you again,” he reminded her.

  “I know, but with all this turmoil, we’ve had so little time together.”

  “When this is over, I promise we’ll go back to Darton Park and stay there until we rot from the boredom of country life.”

  “Is Christian coming to visit for Christmas?”

  “He says he will, but if some ridiculous wager or other nonsense elsewhere takes his fancy, we’ll not see him.”

  “Is he always going to act like a spoiled little boy?”

  “You think he does?”

  “Oh, absolutely. He’s charming to a fault, and he’s proved himself a loyal friend, but I can’t help but think that Christian needs some real adversity in his life. Something to test his mettle. Otherwise, he’ll never grow up.”

  “When you have money, a title, and have been catered to all your life, it’s easy to be cynical and apathetic.”

  “You’re not,” Caroline reminded him.

  “Ah, but if you’ll recall, I didn’t have money until I married you.”

  “It’s just as I’d feared,” Caroline raised her head and gave him a reproving look. “You’re a shameless fortune hunter.”

  “Baggage,” Devon growled. He rolled over, pinning her beneath his body, then kissed her deeply.

  She broke away, laughing, “We’ll never catch our murderer at this rate.”

  Devon sat up, then got out of bed and began to dress. Caroline watched him, indulging herself with the sight of his lean, naked muscularity. “When are you and Christian meeting Quentin?” she asked.

  “At half-past eleven. It wasn’t easy to convince him to allow us to come to his rooms, rather than meeting at the club. Of course, we didn’t want to confront him with everyone looking on.”

  “What do you think he will do?”

  Devon shrugged into the shirt Ginter had laid out and began to button it. “I don’t know, but I fear the worst. Both Christian and I are taking firearms.”

  A shiver of fear went through Caroline. She got out of bed and went to Devon. “You’ll be careful?” She reached up to button the top button of his shirt.

  “Of course. Christian is a crack shot, and I’m fairly handy as well. He can hardly take on both of us.”

  “Perhaps you should have someone from the Bow Street office there, waiting to take his confession. If someone from the authorities—”

  “We have to do this our own way, Caroline.”

  “What if he flees London? Then comes back later and—”

  “We’ll spread the story of his gambling dishonesty. Whatever else Quentin might do, I don’t think he would endure that disgrace.”

  Caroline sighed again. She prayed Devon was right, but she couldn’t help being afraid. It seemed incomprehensible that a man would turn himself in for murder in order to avoid an accusation of dishonesty. Men were certainly strange beasts.

  Devon glanced at her. “You’d better put on a wrapper. I need Ginter to tie my cravat, and I rather think even he would be unable to maintain his composure if he saw you like that.”

  Caroline gave her husband a brazen look and jiggled her breasts enticingly. He made a quick grab for her but she danced behind the dressing screen.

  When she was properly attired, Devon pulled her close. “Let me kiss you before Ginter comes,” he whispered.

  Caroline opened herself to him, feeling him draw strength and comfort from her softness and warmth. It must have been like this for knights going into battle, she thought. A woman reminded a man of the bright and noble values worth fighting for. She clung to him, absorbing his male essence as he surrendered to her femaleness.

  At the sound of a discreet knock on the door, he released her. Ginter entered the room. He bowed to Caroline, then proceeded to arrange his master’s cravat.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Rather shabby accommodations,” Christian observed as the two men paused in the foyer of Quentin’s rented apartments. “Perhaps money was more of a motivation than either of us knew.”

  Devon nodded, thinking of the blackmail note. In light of Caroline’s fortune, the 1,500 pounds he’d paid seemed a paltry sum. If he were financially desperate, why hadn’t Quentin asked for help?

  The doorman conducted them up to the drawing room. Quentin stood beside the fireplace. His face was a bland mask as the porter formally announced them, then left.

  “Gentlemen.” Quentin came forward and shook Christian’s and Devon’s hands in turn. “To what do I owe this honor?” He gestured deprecatingly to the poorly furnished room. “What brings you to my most humble abode?”

  Devon cleared his throat. “Some years ago, the three of us formed a pact and made a vow to remain friends forever, to stick by each other in times of trouble and to do whatever was necessary to aid the others. Do you recall that, Quentin?”

  Quentin smiled easily. “Of course. I’ve always honored my pledge most scrupulously.”

  “Have you?” Devon asked coldly.

  There was a flicker of something in. Quentin’s silver-gray eyes, but his smile remained unruffled. “Of course. I’m still your friend, Devon. I always will be.”

  Devon gritted his teeth. “Does being my friend involve blackmailing me? Does it involve killing people that l care about?”

  Quentin’s eyes narrowed. “You can afford to part with a little blunt, Dev. You’ve a bloody fortune at your disposal. As for the other, I was doing you a favor. Someday you’ll thank me for ridding you of that human refuse befouling your life.”

  “You mean Beaumont?”

  Quentin smiled chillingly. “You said yourself that the man was little better than a flashhouse bully, a common cracksman. I did you a favor, Dev. Now you have all his money without having to deal with his crude scheming and manipulations.”

  Devon felt his jaw go tight. He had to ask this question. “What about Rose?” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Was she part of the ‘human refuse’ in my life?”

  A muscle in Quentin’s face twitched. He looked away, as if trying to decide how to respond. Then he faced Devon squarely. �
�She was beneath you. Far, far beneath you. Your father and I concurred on the matter.”

  “So, you killed her?” Devon could barely draw a breath.

  Quentin’s eyes glittered. “Yes. I took pleasure in it.”

  “You bastard!” Devon approached Quentin, his fingers inching to crush his neck.

  Christian grabbed at his coat sleeve. “Here now, that’s not what we planned.”

  Devon drew back, panting heavily. Christian was right. They needed more. Devon wanted to hear all of it, to know the whole sordid truth.

  “And the woman at the Blue Parrot,” he asked bitterly, “did you kill her as well?”

  Quentin’s eyes shone with an unnatural brightness. “She’d served her purpose. Why shouldn’t I kill her? Who was going to miss her, a filthy gin-soaked dollymop who barely crawled out of the gutter long enough to beg me for a few coins?”

  Devon felt his stomach chum. Quentin was mad. There might be no way to convince him that what he had done was wrong.

  He took a deep breath. “What about Caroline, Quentin? Is she expendable as well? Does she fit your criteria for ‘human refuse?’”

  “Caroline.” Quentin smiled. “She’s a lovely piece, Dev. I’ve always said so,” His expression grew hard. “But I draw the line at your falling in love with her, treating her as if she were some rare, precious gift—a lady.” He shook his head. “At first, I merely saw her as a complication. She kept digging into Beaumont’s murder, wouldn’t leave things alone. Then I realized you were in love with her. It was Rose all over again.” He looked at Devon, his voice full of contempt. “If you have a taste for common wenches, Dev, tup ‘em and pay ‘em, then move on. This obsession of yours with lower class women is quite distasteful.”

  “Caroline is my wife! I won’t have you speak of her as if she were some sort of... trollop!”

  “You see?” Quentin nodded to Christian. “He’s really quite unreasonable about this.”

  Devon and Christian stared at each other. This was no normal, right-thinking man they dealt with. Would their plan succeed?