The Devil's Submission (Fallen series)

by Nicola Davidson

  “Oh, for God’s sake, you two,” said Lord Upton, hurling a cushion at them from the opposite side of the carriage as it came to a halt. “I will cast up my accounts if you don’t immediately cease and desist. And will you please explain why I’m at the bloody Brimley Finishing Academy of all places…damnation, Gray. You are smiling that smile. I don’t know how our governess ever fell for it; it only ever meant Deveraux trouble.”

  Grayson snorted as he assisted her from the carriage. “Peter, I’m shocked. How could you possibly think three Deverauxs descending on the Brimley Finishing Academy would result in such a thing?”

  “Because trouble is what we always did best. And I strongly suspect Lady Eliza is very much a Deveraux in that respect.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, dear brother-in-law,” said Eliza, widening her eyes innocently. “I do have a plan, though. And I promise it will be worth the early start to travel here.”

  “Lord Grayson! Eliza! What an, er, unexpected delight,” called Lady Brimley as she flung open the door and appeared on the academy’s front steps.

  Perspiration misted on the back of her neck, but Eliza took a deep breath and forced herself to be calm. “Hello, Mother,” she said as coolly as she could. “We’ve come to deliver a draft for fifteen thousand pounds.”

  Lady Brimley blinked, a small victory in itself. “Oh, how wonderful! Do come in…and greetings to you also, Lord Upton! Well I never. What a treat to have a supremely eligible viscount visit us as well.”

  Lord Upton winced, clearly unhappy at the reminder, but after exchanging a glance, the three of them followed the countess inside and into the charming, if slightly shabby, parlor. The academy sorely needed redecorating. At the top of the list: new paint, thick rugs, and curtains not coated in years of damp and dust.

  “I’m so glad you finally did your duty, Eliza. You are useful after all,” continued Lady Brimley, holding out her hand. “Now, where is that draft? I’d hate to hold you up from your busy lives.”

  Eliza laughed at the familiar tactic, an order masquerading as concern. “Are you trying to get rid of us, Mother?”

  Lady Brimley faltered. “Excuse me?”

  “We’ve come for a nice, long visit. To look around and discuss the terms of the draft.”

  “Terms? What…what on earth are you talking about?”

  “Business,” said Eliza, tilting her head. “You know, I really have learned so much working side by side with my husband on the ledgers and such. Wouldn’t you say, Grayson?”

  “Without question, my dear,” said her husband, his lips twitching. “You really are a master tradeswoman now. I’ve never seen terms so expertly crafted.”

  Lady Brimley scowled. “This is just plain disrespectful.”

  “I would have thought taking money from a school far worse,” mused Eliza. “But in any case, you will only receive the draft if you agree to the conditions and sign a contract that I prepared. The day of reckoning is here, Mother.”

  “Eliza! How dare you speak to me in such a tone. The insolence. And in front of Lord Grayson.”

  “I didn’t hear any insolence,” said Grayson. “Did you, Upton?”

  The viscount shook his head, his face a study of polite blankness. “Not a word.”

  “Well,” Lady Brimley spluttered. “Well—”

  “As I was saying,” said Eliza, the knowledge she had the unwavering support of her husband and brother-in-law, if needed, boosting her confidence higher. “There are certain conditions you must meet to save the academy. Firstly, the books shall be audited by Grayson on a quarterly basis.”

  Her mother nodded reluctantly. “Of course.”

  “Secondly, a board of governors will be appointed. Lord Upton will chair this board for the next five years and will be paid an annual sum of twenty thousand pounds to do so.”

  The viscount inhaled sharply, shock and something that looked very much like hope in his eyes, warring with pride. “My lady?”

  Eliza smiled. “It’s just as we discussed, my lord. Apart from the payment. I thought your suggested amount was most inadequate, and my husband concurred. Tell him, Grayson.”

  “You’ll be an excellent chair, Upton. Honorable and trustworthy. Such a position and service must be compensated appropriately,” said Grayson, nodding solemnly.

  “Indeed it must,” said Lady Brimley, her eyes gleaming. “And perhaps I—”

  “No,” said Eliza, the word dropping like a cannonball into the room. “You will have no access to academy funds. By the by, your stipend will be two hundred pounds annually.”

  “That is outrage—”

  “You will be patron in name only, Mother. For public events and so forth.”

  “What?” Lady Brimley screeched, her cheeks taking on a most unbecoming plum hue.

  Eliza coughed to disguise a laugh. Thank heavens none of the Delightful, Decorous, and Demure could see her now; this was becoming almost enjoyable.

  “I am not finished,” she continued. “Thirdly, the curriculum of this finishing school, and indeed the purpose and heart of it, will be decided by the board. Let me make it plain that the Delightful, Decorous, and Demure nonsense will not continue. The young ladies who graduate from here will be accomplished, strong of character, instilled with a sense of belief in themselves and their abilities, and not under any circumstances will they be encouraged to marry a man they do not have a connection of the heart with. It is 1814. It is time for a more modern outlook.”

  Lady Brimley swooned, delicately sliding from her chair and ending up in a perfectly arranged heap on the ground.

  “I think,” said Grayson, raising one eyebrow, “that she took that rather well.”

  Eliza sank back onto her own chair, incredulous she’d finally said the words. Her head was spinning, but it felt as though the heaviest of loads had been lifted from her shoulders. “Give her two to three minutes; her fainting spells never last longer than that. It’s in the rule book.”

  “Duly noted. By the by, my dear, what a speech. If I had a hat, I would take it off to you.”

  “Are the two of you in earnest?” said Lord Upton with a small frown. “I want no charity. That is an excessively large sum of money to chair a governance board.”

  “Except you have to deal with my mother,” said Eliza wryly. “In which case you will earn every penny. And you never know, perhaps in the course of your time here, you might meet a young lady who suits admirably well. I cannot guarantee, er, Saucy, Sinful, and Seductive though.”

  “More’s the pity.”

  Grayson burst out laughing. “You’ll be hunted like a fox, brother. On second thought, twenty thousand might not be enough.”

  A soft groan sounded from the floor, and they quieted as Lady Brimley made a performance of sitting up and rubbing her elbow. “You’re all still here. And not one of you rushed to my assistance.”

  “We were quite certain you would survive, Mother,” said Eliza, rolling her eyes. “And you haven’t signed the contract yet.”

  “I will not sign the beastly thing.”

  “Your decision, of course. But it would be such a shame if a story about the missing money appeared in the scandal sheets. Why, everyone in the ton would know in a heartbeat.”

  Grayson nodded. “Amazing how much detail is included. Damned anonymous sources.”

  “You…you…unconscionable…” Lady Brimley snarled, then her shoulders slumped. “Give me the contract.”

  As soon as they had the signed and sealed document, she, Grayson, and Lord Upton strolled back outside into the summer sunshine.

  “Hell,” said her brother-in-law. “Things are certainly looking up.”

  Eliza grinned and tucked her arm through Grayson’s. He looked back at her with such pride her heart felt like it might burst. Everything had been wrong. And now it was so right.

  “That they are,” she replied. “That they blasted well are.”

  Epilogue

  The ballroom lo
oked spectacular as an enchanted forest for their pagan festivities, but nothing came close to Eliza.

  His own Lizzie.

  She wore green silk, the shade like new spring leaves, fashioned into a Grecian tunic that draped over one shoulder and left the other bare. Her unruly hair tumbled in waves down her back, and perched on her head was a circlet of cream roses. Diamonds adorned her throat and wrists, alongside a new ruby betrothal ring that he’d purchased to celebrate their new start. Like Vice, and Sin and Grace, she no longer wore a mask, so she was clearly identified as a co-owner of Fallen.

  “Did I remember to tell you, you look magnificent?” Devil whispered into her ear.

  “Only about sixty-five times,” she murmured back, her eyes shining.

  “Not nearly enough. You’ll be the best fairy queen ever seen in the history of England.”

  “I must say, you make a very fine consort. Although if those ladies don’t stop salivating over your bare chest and the way those breeches cup your backside, I’m going to get cross.”

  “Didn’t even see them,” he said honestly. “Do you want me to fetch a shirt?”

  Eliza splayed a hand over his chest. “No. I want them to see and envy what belongs to me. Ah look. There is Vice, and my throne.”

  Smiling, he followed her over to a wide raised dais with two velvet-covered gold thrones sitting atop it. Vice sat sprawled in one, dressed in cream breeches, a bejeweled cloak, and a ruby-and-silver crown atop his head—although how long that would stay with Prinny hovering at his feet and making pointed comments about usurpers was anyone’s guess. Grace and Sin stood to one side, arms wrapped around each other, both dressed in brown and green silk as wood sprites. Though Grace’s delicate blond beauty looked far more believable than her small mountain of a husband.

  “Lady Eliza!” said Vice, waving them over. “Your throne awaits, my dear. And don’t you look splendid. Too bad about Dev, I do think he would have been better as a rock.”

  Withdrawing her cane from a jeweled scabbard at her waist, Eliza pointed it in Vice’s direction. “Choose your words carefully, knave. They may be your last.”

  Vice held up both hands. “I might be persuaded to surrender. And yet, the way you swing that cane leads me to believe I know the exact reason for your husband’s recent good humor, and that perhaps I should fight on.”

  Devil mock-scowled. “Find your own wife.”

  Just for a moment his friend grimaced, a kind of aching world weariness he never would have imagined Vice even thinking, let alone expressing. Startled, he stepped forward, but in the blink of an eye, Vice leaped from the dais down into the crush of people, talking and laughing, and passionately kissing several masked and half-naked women.

  “I worry about him,” said Eliza quietly, as he helped her up onto her throne. “He’s not nearly as carefree and hedonistic as he makes out, is he?”

  “Hedonistic, yes,” he replied. “Vice puts both Sin and I to shame when it comes to indulging in raw pleasure. But carefree? No. I think you are right.”

  “Hmmm. Well, now that Vice has vacated his throne, do you want to come and sit in it?”

  Devil shook his head. “Not my place, Lizzie. Too far away from you and your cane. I’d rather sit at your feet where you can stroke my hair and whisper wicked things in my ear.”

  “If you do that, everyone will see. And they’ll know.”

  “Yes,” he said, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. “I want them to know. I’m not ashamed anymore. I’m happy. Like you said in our chamber, I have also found myself, and I’m free. Society be damned. When has pleasing them and following the rules ever helped anything anyway?”

  Eliza laughed. “Touché, my love. Well then, get yourself up here, there is a prime spot awaiting you.”

  Climbing up, he settled at her feet, leaned his head against her thigh and sighed with contentment. His gaze traveled the length and breadth of the forest ballroom, but shockingly, he didn’t see disdain or disgust on anyone’s faces. In fact, masked men and women were nodding and smiling, some raising their champagne glasses in a toast.

  “They’re accepting it,” he said wonderingly.

  “Well of course they are,” she said, smoothing his hair in her supremely calming way. “Because you and Sin and Vice accepted them. You’ve never judged or mocked their desires, so they are returning the favor. Fallen really is a sanctuary for everyone, including you, and you helped make it what it is.”

  Devil smiled and raised his hand in a little wave to the crowd, and they cheered. Peter, their newest member, raised his hands above his head and applauded, a huge smile on his face. Interestingly, a very wealthy-looking couple stood next to him with rather proprietary hands on his waist. It seemed his brother had already made some new friends.

  That was all you needed really. The love of the right person, good friends, a place of your own, and acceptance of your true self.

  Well, that and a very sturdy cane.

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  About the Author

  Nicola Davidson worked for many years in communications and marketing as well as television and print journalism, but hasn’t looked back since she decided writing wicked historical romance was infinitely more fun. When not chained to a computer she can be found ambling along one of New Zealand’s beautiful beaches, cheering on the champion All Blacks rugby team, history geeking on the internet, or daydreaming. If this includes chocolate—even better!

  Keep up with Nicola’s news on Twitter, Facebook, or her website www.nicola-davidson.com

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