The Demon's Mistress

by Jo Beverley

  “I’ve spent time with Oncle Charles and Tante Louise, and things they said didn’t entirely match Natalie being your husband’s daughter. For a start, the idea only stirred about six years ago.”

  “That was when Natalie’s parents died and she came here. The truth came out because her mother was beyond scandal. And why else would she come to live with Maurice? Van—”

  “She came here because there was nowhere else,” he interrupted. “The wars wreaked havoc with Celestin’s family in Europe. She also came here, I believe, because it suited him.” He took her hand, her ringless left hand. “I set Hawk to making inquiries, Maria. It’s his forte. Celestin was almost certainly not in the right place at the right time.”

  She looked at him, her brain feeling fogged. “What? Why would he lie? It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t matter anyway, Van. There are four others!”

  “All definitely false.”

  She stared at him. “They can’t be.”

  “They are. It can’t have been hard to find women unfortunately with child willing to call a man the father in return for an income.”

  She pulled her hand free, moved back, back against the headboard. “Such women would say anything for money, too. Did you arrange this to try to persuade me into marriage?”

  She was suddenly reminded of the man she had first met, the one who’d threatened and disarmed her. He neither attacked, however, nor shrank from her. “I knew you might think that. That’s why I wanted our feelings settled first. The matter of children doesn’t matter that much to me, Maria. I’m sure that’s undutiful of me, but you matter more than the damned title. I set Hawk to finding out the truth to remove the last barrier in your mind. That’s all. Talk to the women if you want. I think you’ll be convinced.”

  His leashed anger stung, but a trace of doubt lingered. “Why would Maurice do such a thing, construct such a painful, complex lie?”

  “Because he was a self-made man who cared about appearances. He doubtless wanted to found a dynasty, and when it didn’t happen, he couldn’t bear to have people think it was his fault.”

  That rang with the clarity of absolute truth.

  “So he constructed another facade!” she exclaimed. “The swine. The worm. The toad! I felt so guilty. So flawed.” She launched herself toward him. “Oh, Van, please forgive me! I should never have even thought you might have made it up.”

  He pulled her into his lap. “Of course you should have thought it. I was desperate enough.” He brushed hair off her face and looked into her eyes. “It might still not happen. There might not be children.”

  She smiled up into his eyes through tears. “But there might be. That’s enough. And you are more important to me, too, than children of our bodies.” All the same, she ran a hand down her belly. “But think. There might be a child growing now!”

  He covered her hand with his. “And we’ll certainly be willing to work hard at putting one there. I’ve always been lucky, you know.” He rolled her down beneath him on the bed and reached out to take a silver box off the table.

  She could hardly think for hot muscles weighting her, but she focused on it. “What now?”

  He opened the box to show her a ring, and a piece of sharp stone. The ring held a fine, flashing ruby in a circle of diamonds.

  “A new ring?” she said. “‘I still have the other.”

  “My Maria needs a ring with fire in the heart.” Still over her, his erection pressing between her thighs, he slid the ring onto her finger. “A new ring for a new beginning.”

  She looked at it. “You were very sure of me.”

  “I wasn’t sure at all. But the only way to fight is to convince yourself that you’ll sweep all before you.”

  “Thank God you always did.” She brought the ring to her lips, tears escaping. “I’ll always cherish the other one, too.” She looked back at the box. “And the stone? A flint . . . ?”

  He put the box aside, but kept the flint in his fingers. “When you burst into my room that day I’d already pulled the trigger—”

  “Van!”

  “—but the flint failed. This flint. Sheer demon’s luck, but mostly luck in having a valet who loves me more than I deserve, and finding a woman willing to fight my devils with me.”

  He tossed it on the table. “Marry me in Hawk in the Vale, Maria, soon?”

  She traced the demon on his chest, and knew they could make it little more than a memory of darker times. “Can we share our happiness with everyone there? A grand party for all? Your friends will attend?”

  “Hawk and Con? I’m sure of it.”

  She hoped he was right. She suspected that Major Hawkinville still disapproved, and the Earl of Wyvern seemed to be a dark mystery. If his friends failed him she would fill any void, but if she could, she’d heal the connections to them, too.

  With love so strong, and happiness burning in them like a winter fire, how could they fail?

  “A wedding, my lord. In four weeks. In Hawk in the Vale. A celebration to show that sometimes we poor mortals can find heaven here on earth.”

  Dear Reader,

  I admit that I’m particularly fond of this story, so I’m delighted that it’s available on its own in this e-edition. Sometimes stories come to me with dramatic opening scenes, and this is one. I had no idea why this disheveled, gorgeous young man wanted to kill himself, and no idea why an elegant lady was determined to stop him, but I needed to know. In such situations, the only way to find out is to write on, and so I did.

  At that point I didn’t know there was a connection to two stories in my Company of Rogues series, but so it turned out, beautifully, from my point of view.

  The three stories together are a trilogy that I refer to as “three guys called George.” There was a king of England called George continuously from 1715 to 1820 and as a result, a lot of baby boys were christened George, so I decided to play with that.

  Three baby boys were born at about the same time, in and around the same village, all three patriotically named George. As they grew up, becoming close friends, they needed distinguishing names—hence Van, Con, and Hawk, from other parts of their names.

  You’ve read Van’s story, involving the demon tattoo that he chose.

  Next month, August 2011, you can read Con’s story, The Dragon’s Bride, in an e-edition or in a handsome trade paperback. His symbol is a dragon, which relates to a family connection to the Earl of Wyvern, a wyvern being a type of dragon. He didn’t expect to inherit that title, however, or Crag Wyvern, the gothic pseudo-castle in Devon and all the problems it holds.

  He particularly didn’t expect to reencounter Susan Kerslake, his disastrous teenage love, especially at pistol point. But thus it was, and it leads to a dramatic, passionate tale. You can read an excerpt on the next page, and find more, including photographs of the real Devon location I used for my fictional Dragon’s Cove on my Web site at http://www.jobev.com.

  There’s a page there that lists all my books, and another that specifically lists the e-editions. I love that most of my books are now available in e-book, because as a reader myself, I’ve often been frustrated not to be able to catch up when I discover a new series I enjoy. I do hope you enjoy “three guys called George” and the other books in the Company of Rogues.

  At the bottom of my Web pages you can sign up for my e-newsletter so you won’t miss any new or reissued books. You can also join my chat list and talk to other readers.

  I have a Facebook author page at http://www.facebook.com/Jo.Beverley, and I tweet as the mood takes me, but mostly I’m lost in an alternate reality as I discover the wonders of the next story to come to tantalize me.

  All best wishes,

  Jo

  Read on for a peek from one of Jo Beverley’s most beloved Regency novels, available in trade paperback for the fir
st time!

  The Dragon’s Bride

  Available from Signet Eclipse in August 2011.

  The Dragon’s Bride

  The south coast of England

  May 1816

  The moon flickered briefly between windblown clouds, but such a thread-fine moon did no harm. It barely lit the men creeping down the steep headland toward the beach, or the smuggling master controlling everything from above. It lightened not at all the looming house that ruled the cliffs of this part of Devon—Crag Wyvern, the fortresslike seat of the blessedly absent Earl of Wyvern.

  Absent like the riding officer charged with preventing smuggling in this area. Animal sounds—an owl, a gull, a barking fox—carried across the scrubby landscape, constantly reporting that all was clear.

  At sea, a brief flash of light announced the arrival of the smuggling ship. On the rocky headland, the smuggling master—“Captain Drake,” as he was called—unshielded a lantern in a flashing pattern that meant “all clear.”

  All clear to land brandy, gin, tea, and lace––delicacies for Englishmen who didn’t care to pay extortionate taxes. Profit for smugglers, with tea sixpence a pound abroad and selling for twenty times that in England if all the taxes were paid.

  In the nearby fishing village of Dragon’s Cove, men pushed boats into the waves and began the urgent race to unload the vessel.

  “Captain Drake” pulled out a spyglass to scan the English Channel for other lights, other vessels. Now that the war against Napoleon was over, navy ships were patrolling the coast, better equipped and manned than the customs boats had ever been. A navy cutter had intercepted the last major run, seizing the whole cargo and twenty local men, including the previous Captain Drake.

  A figure slipped to sit close to him, one dressed as he was all in dark colors, a hood covering both hair and the upper face, soot muting the pallor of the rest.

  Captain Drake glanced to the side. “What are you doing here?”

  “You’re shorthanded.” The reply was as sotto voce as the question.

  “We’ve enough. Get back up to Crag Wyvern and see to the cellars.”

  “No.”

  “Susan––”

  “No, David. Maisie can handle matters from inside the house, and Diddy has the watch. I need to be out here.”

  Susan Kerslake meant it. This run had to succeed or heaven knew what would become of them all, so she needed to be out here with her younger brother, even if there was nothing much she could do.

  For generations this area had flourished, and smuggling had been the main enterprise under a series of strong, capable Captain Drakes, all from the Clyst family. With Mel Clyst captured, tried, and transported to Botany Bay, however, chaos threatened. Other, rougher gangs were trying to move in.

  The only person in a position to be the unquestioned new Captain Drake was her brother. Though he and she went by their mother’s name of Kerslake, they were Mel Clyst’s children and everyone knew it. It was for David to seize control of the Dragon’s Horde gang and make a profit, or this area would become a battleground.

  He’d had to take on the role, and Susan had urged him to it, but she shivered with fear for him. He was her younger brother, after all, and even though he was a man of twenty-four, she couldn’t help trying to protect him.

  The black-sailed ship on the black ocean was barely visible, but a light flashed again, brief as a falling star, to say that the anchor had dropped. No sign of other ships out there, but the dark that protected the Freetraders could protect a navy ship as well.

  She knew Captain de Root of the Anna Kasterlee was an experienced smuggler. He’d worked with the Horde for over a decade and had never made a slip. But smuggling was a chancy business. Mel Clyst’s capture had shown that, so she kept every sense alert.

  At last her straining eyes glimpsed the boats surging out to be loaded with packages and half-ankers of spirits. She could just detect movement on the sloping headland, which roiled like the waves of the sea as local men flowed down to the beach to unload those small boats.

  They’d haul the goods up the cliff to hiding places and packhorses. Many would carry the goods inland on their backs to secure places and to the middlemen who’d send the cargo on to Bath, London, and other cities. A week’s wages for a night’s work and a bit of ’baccy and tea to take home. Many would have scraped together a coin or two to invest in the profits.

  To invest in Captain Drake.

  Some of the goods, as always, would be hidden in the cellars of Crag Wyvern. No Preventive officer would try to search the home of the Earl of Wyvern, even if the mad earl was dead and his successor had not yet arrived to take charge.

  His successor.

  Susan was temporary housekeeper up at Crag Wyvern, but as soon as the new earl sent word of his arrival she’d be out of there. Away from here entirely. She had no intention of meeting Con Somerford again.

  The sweetest man she’d ever known, the truest friend.

  The person she’d hurt most cruelly.

  Eleven years ago.

  She’d only been fifteen, but it was no excuse. He’d only been fifteen, too, and without defenses. He’d been in the army for ten of the eleven years since, however, so she supposed he’d have defenses now.

  And attacks.

  She shivered in the cool night air and turned her anxieties to the scene before her. If this run was successful, she could leave.

  “Come on, come on,” she muttered under her breath, straining to see the first goods land on the beach. She could imagine the powerful thrust of the oarsmen, racing to bring the contraband in, could almost hear the muttering excitement of the waiting men, though it was probably just the wind and sea.

  She and David had watched runs before. From a height like this, everything seemed so slow. She wanted to leap up and help, as if the run were a huge cart that she could push to make it go faster. Instead she stayed still and silent beside her brother, like him watchful for any sign of problems.

  Being in command was a lonely business.

  How was she going to be able to leave David to his lonely task? He didn’t need her—it was disconcerting how quickly he’d taken to smuggling and leadership—but could she bear to go away, to not be here beside him on a dark night, to not know immediately if anything went wrong?

  And yet, once Con sent word he was coming, she must.

  Despite treasured summer days eleven years ago, and sweet pleasures. And wicked ones . . .

  She realized she was sliding again under the seductive pull of might-have-beens, and fought clear to focus on the business of the moment.

  At last the first of the cargo was landing, the first goods were being carried up the rough slope. It was going well. David had done it.

  With a blown-out breath, she relaxed on the rocky ground, arms around her knees, permitting herself to enjoy the rough music of waves on shingle, and the other rough music of hundreds of busy men. She breathed in the wind, fresh off the English Channel, and the tense activity all around.

  Heady stuff, the Freetrade, but perilous.

  “Do you know where the Preventive officer is?” she asked in a quiet voice that wouldn’t carry.

  “Gifford?” David sent one of the nearby men off with a quiet command, and she saw some trouble on the cliff. A man fallen, probably. “There’s a dummy ship offshore five miles west, and with luck he and the boatmen are watching it, ready to fish up the goods it drops into the water.”

  Luck. She hated to depend on luck.

  “Poor man,” she said.

  David turned his head toward her. “He’ll get to confiscate a small cargo like Perch did under Mel. It’ll look good to his superiors, and he’ll get his cut of the value.”

  Lieutenant Perch had been riding officer here for years, with an agreeable wor
king relationship with the Dragon’s Horde gang. He’d recently died from falling down a cliff—or being pushed—and now they had young, keen Lieutenant Gifford to deal with.

  “Let’s hope that satisfies him,” Susan said.

  He gave a kind of grunt. “If Gifford were a more flexible man, we could come to a permanent arrangement.”

  “He’s honest.”

  “Damn nuisance. Can’t you use your wiles on him? I think he’s sweet on you.”

  “I don’t have any wiles. I’m a starchy housekeeper.”

  “You’d have wiles in sackcloth.” He reached out and took her hand, his so solid and warm in the chilly night. “Isn’t it time you stopped working there, love? There’ll be money aplenty after this, and we can find someone else who’s friendly to the trade to be housekeeper.”

  She knew it bothered him for her to be a domestic servant. “Probably. But I want to find that gold.”

  “It’d be nice, but after this, we don’t need it.”

  So careless, so confident. She wished she had David’s comfort with whatever happened. She wished she weren’t the sort to be always looking ahead, planning, worrying, trying to force fate. . . .

  Oh yes, she desperately wished that.

  She was as she was, however, and David didn’t seem to accept that she had a strange, unladylike need for employment. For independence.

  And there was the gold. The Horde under Mel Clyst had paid the late Earl of Wyvern for protection. Since he hadn’t provided it, they wanted their money back. She wanted that money back, but mainly to keep David safe. It would pay off the debts caused by the failed run and provide a buffer so he wouldn’t have to take so many risks.

  She frowned down at the dark sea. Things wouldn’t have been so difficult if her mother hadn’t set off to follow Mel to Australia, taking all the Horde’s available money with her. Isabelle Kerslake. Lady Belle, as she liked to be known. A smuggler’s mistress, without a scrap of shame as far as anyone could tell, and without a scrap of feeling for her two children.