The Devil Takes a Bride

by Julia London

  He’d been a wretched supper guest, telling long tales that excluded Jeffrey. He talked of events and people and London that only he and Grace would know, trying to draw Grace into a protracted discussion. Grace tried to bring the conversation around to be more inclusive, but Amherst was determined.

  When it became clear that Jeffrey wanted to end the evening he sought to prolong it and, Grace suspected, had tried to arrange it where he would be alone with her. It was churlish behavior disguised as a guest, and Grace despised him for it. She knew it had something to do with the heated conversation they’d had. Oh, yes, she knew of that, too—their voices, raised in anger, had echoed up the flues.

  To think she might have married that man!

  Things were vastly different now. She felt things for Jeffrey she’d never believed she would feel—affection, esteem, perhaps something even deeper than that—but all the things she’d never really felt for a man. Whatever one called it, she thought too much of Jeffrey to stand for his brother’s wretched behavior.

  When they had said good-night to John, Grace expected Jeffrey to come upstairs with her. But he wished her good-night instead.

  “You’re not coming?” she asked him.

  “No,” he said. “I’ve some things to do.” He walked into his study, his fist clenched at his side.

  Grace went to her rooms and prepared for bed. She expected Jeffrey to come to her. She sat on the chaise beside the fire, her arms wrapped around her knees, waiting.

  At one o’clock, he still hadn’t come.

  What had happened? What was she to do? Her instinct was to crawl under the covers and brood, but she heard Honor’s voice in her head. Are you afraid? If you need to speak to him, then by all means, go and speak to him! Don’t be a milksop.

  Once again, Honor was right—which, by the by, was happening with alarming frequency. But Grace would never sleep with all the questions and doubts tumbling about in her head, so she pulled on her dressing gown, swept up the single candle from her bedside and went down the hall to Jeffrey’s rooms before she lost her nerve.

  She couldn’t see any light from beneath his door. Was he asleep? She tried the handle; it turned easily enough. She rapped softly and slowly pushed the door open, peering inside. There was precious little light inside and Grace couldn’t see. She leaned in, intending to have a look around the door—

  She was suddenly grabbed at the waist and yanked inside, then pushed up against the wall. A hand went to her mouth, muffling her shriek of surprise. Grace would have dropped the candle had Jeffrey not caught her hand and righted it. “What the devil are you about?” he demanded, putting the candle aside. “You startled me half out of my wits.”

  “I knocked,” she said defensively, and yanked her dressing gown closed from where it had come undone.

  “You knock like a child—I scarcely heard it.” He let go of her and stepped back, put his hands on his waist. He was still wearing his trousers and his shirt. He looked as if he’d been sitting in the dark, the only light from the dying embers in the hearth.

  “Jeffrey—”

  He reached for her wrist, then pulled her across the room, forcing her to sit in a chair before the hearth. He tossed a lap rug over her and squatted down to stoke the fire. When he had a flame again, he stood up and stared at her. “Why have you come sneaking into my rooms?”

  “Because you didn’t come to me,” she said, and stood up, casting aside the lap rug. She put her hand on his chest, on the open collar of his shirt. She could feel his pulse racing beneath her fingers.

  He put his hand on hers, curled his fingers around hers. “I’ve much on my mind, Grace.”

  “I know,” she said soothingly. “I’m troubled by what’s happened, too.”

  He gave her a suspicious look. “What has happened?”

  “Amherst,” she said. “My sister told me about his...indiscretion.”

  His surprise was evident. “I am saddened that you’ve heard it in that way.” He pressed her hand against his heart. “But you needn’t worry yourself with it. I’ve taken care of it.”

  Grace nodded. She supposed that Amherst would marry the girl, whoever she was. “When?”

  “When?”

  “When will they marry?”

  Jeffrey snorted at that and dropped his hand from hers. “There will be no wedding.”

  “Then what did you mean, you’d taken care of it?”

  “John will give the woman what she needs to move to a quiet hamlet and raise the child, and he will accept a commission in the royal navy. He should be gone from London. He does nothing but wreak trouble and scandal when he’s here.”

  “You’ve sent him away?” Grace said, trying to understand his reasoning. “That seems...” She caught herself.

  “Yes?” he asked, his voice cool, his eyes gone dark.

  “Well, cruel, if you must know. It seems cruel.”

  “Cruel, is it?” he asked, stepping away from her, to the hearth. “I would say that dishonoring one’s name is cruel to one’s family. You don’t carry the burden of a family’s reputation as I must. John’s actions affect us all.”

  Grace thought it the height of irony that he should say that, given what he’d only recently been through. “But must you cast him out as if he is unworthy of your esteem? He’s your brother.”

  “Cast him—” Jeffrey made a sound of impatience and turned to stare at her. “Do you condone his behavior, Grace? Do you condone keeping unpleasant secrets from your family?”

  “No—”

  “Then do you think it acceptable to let your debts go unpaid and bear the child of any man who happens to put his cock inside you?”

  Grace gasped.

  “Pardon, does that shock you?” he asked, moving closer. “Perhaps you find it cruel. But that is precisely what he has done to the poor woman. He has put his cock in her and given her a child he does not intend to honor. He has given his word to Sir Edmund with no intention of paying his debts. He leaves that to me. He’s made himself a pariah in our society. He has reduced his opportunity for a good match, and God knows I’ve not helped it.”

  That remark sliced painfully through her. She unthinkingly shoved against his chest. “How good of you to rely on principle and honor, Jeffrey. But for the rest of us impossible mortals, there are more important things than a name. We can withstand a bruise or two. But you? You place so much importance on it that it has isolated you from the people who love you.”

  He clenched one hand. “Don’t speak of something you know nothing about. I’m the head of an important family. A large family that extends well beyond my brother and sister. I have cousins, two aunts still living, a niece and nephew. You’ve no idea the trials I’ve been made to suffer with John, deeds that affect me and affect them. But how could I expect you to understand? You and yours are rather careless with propriety.”

  Now Grace was truly affronted. “Careless?” she exclaimed heatedly. “My family may not be entirely free of scandal, I grant you, but we have lived and loved and laughed. Can you say the same? No, you can’t. Not everything is perfect, Jeffrey! You can’t control the world around you.”

  “I should think that a convenient view for the Cabots, as it is too bloody late to even try,” he snapped.

  Grace erupted into fury. She glared up at him, only inches from his face. “Say what you will of me, I don’t care. Your good opinion matters far less than my own opinion. But he is your brother, and you should protect him instead of turning him out.”

  “That’s right,” Jeffrey said, stepping even closer to her, returning her glare with a rather hard one of his own. “He is my brother, and I am the only one left who can turn him into the man he deserves to be. If I coddle him, I do a disservice to the rest of my family. They deserve my protection just as much as John, do they not? Do they not deserve to be protected from the scandals he creates? Do they not deserve to be free of the taint to their lives and their children? Do you deserve to carry the shame of your sis

ter’s marriage in addition to your own?”

  Grace reacted before she could think—she slapped him across the jaw. “You’re an angry, rigid man with no feeling.”

  He brought his fingers to his jaw and gingerly touched the place she had struck him. “And you are a careless woman who is ruled by feeling. Tell me the truth—are you in love with John?”

  The question stunned her. “What? No! Of course not!”

  He shrugged. “It would seem a reasonable assumption, given the great lengths to which you conspired to trap him into making an offer for you.”

  “That is not true!” she insisted, flustered. “That is not why.”

  “Then why?” he demanded, catching her arm. “Tell me the truth, Grace. Why would you ruin your reputation and risk the happiness of your sisters with such a deplorable scheme?”

  “Do you want to know the truth?” she said, her voice quavering with anger. “Because you will not like it. You may very well toss me in the gutter alongside your brother.”

  “I want to know the truth,” he said tightly.

  “I did it to protect my family. There, you see? We Cabots are capable of caring to protect one another.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You would have me believe you did it for money?”

  Grace didn’t respond. She merely lifted her chin.

  He shifted closer, his gaze drilling through her. “I don’t believe it,” he said low. “I don’t believe a woman of your standing would give herself up for money. You are Beckington’s stepdaughter. You are beautiful, you come from a noble family. You might have had any number of suitors—you even boasted of it, as I recall. Why, then, would you risk so much for John’s purse? I don’t believe that you did.”

  “And I can’t believe that a man who values propriety above all else and abhors risk would give in to temptation in the way that you did.”

  He took her elbow firmly in his hand. “On that, at least, we are agreed,” he said. He untied the ribbon at the bottom of her braid and dragged his fingers through her hair, loosening it from the twists. “Perhaps we are two people with needs greater than either of us is willing to admit, do you suppose? Perhaps there are too many secrets that we simply can’t divulge.”

  Her brows knit into a frown at that, and he hoped it was a frown of guilt. He leaned down to kiss her, but Grace turned her head and brought her hand up between them. “I’m too...angry,” she said curtly.

  “Perhaps you would rather it was John standing here,” he muttered as he filled his hand with her breast.

  Grace’s anger soared. “Perhaps you would rather it be two women standing here instead of one. I have heard your secrets, too.”

  His nostrils flared at the mention. “I won’t deny that I’ve had more than one woman in my bed,” he said. “But don’t make the mistake of equating that with affection or love. Two women is a fuck. One woman—you—is more than that.” He pulled her hair like a rope, drawing her attention back to him. “You are enough for me, can’t you see it? You are the only one I want to fill.”

  A shudder shot through Grace. She didn’t resist when he kissed her now, or when he slid his hands over her body. He was right—she had wanted him to come to her, to transport her with his mouth and his hands.

  He pulled at her dressing gown, tearing it away, and then lifting her nightgown over her head and tossing it aside. He turned her around, pushed her up against a window so that Grace had to brace herself against the frame. He slid his hands up her belly, to her breasts, and began to slide his cock in between her legs, rubbing against her, making her slick with desire.

  And then he turned her around and picked her up, wrapping her legs around his waist. He pressed her back against the wall and entered her, thrusting into her with a passion that Grace felt it scorching through her. She grabbed at his shoulders and dug her fingers into his flesh. “I gave you my word, no more secrets,” he said breathlessly. “Now it’s your turn. Can you be completely honest, Grace? Can you tell me what you desire? Can you say where you want me to put my hands and my cock?” he asked as he pumped into her.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes.

  “Tell me,” he said again.

  “I want...I want you to ravage me,” she murmured. “I want to feel your hands and mouth on every part of me, to feel you inside me—”

  “Where.”

  “On my breasts. Between my legs. My neck, my arms, my toes. I want your seed, I want a part of you to grow in me—”

  He growled against her neck, his body pumping harder, his rhythm matching the pounding of her pulse. He lifted his head, roughly pushed her hair from her face and locked his gaze on hers. In the low light of the fire, Grace could see the ravenous desire in his eyes, and it pulled at her heartstrings. She hadn’t imagined the closeness she felt to him was possible. She could plainly see his regard for her, his expression when she suddenly cried out in ecstasy, and the way he looked at her when he followed her into that ecstasy.

  Their anger, their desire, was spent, but Jeffrey kept holding her. He turned around, carried her to his bed. They tumbled into it, and he gathered her close to him, draping his leg possessively over hers.

  Grace sighed with deep satisfaction, touched his cheek and kissed his lips, then brushed a curl of hair from his eye. She felt safe in his arms, she felt desired, and entirely fulfilled.

  He kissed her shoulder, and Grace felt herself drifting. “Tell me the truth,” he whispered.

  Or had she whispered it?

  Her eyes flew open.

  Jeffrey kissed her shoulder again, but a shudder of fear snaked down her spine. She slowly pushed herself up, pulled the bed linen up to cover her and pushed her hair back over her shoulder. She took a deep breath. “My mother is mad,” she said simply.

  She expected him to cry out in disbelief, or for his eyes to shutter. But he merely rolled onto his back with a sigh and looked at the fire.

  “Two years ago, she was in a carriage accident at Longmeadow, and she hit her head quite badly. Soon afterward, she began to forget little things. But it has gotten much worse. She lives in the past and she...” Grace caught an unexpected sob in her throat. “She doesn’t know who I am any longer.” A single tear slipped out of her eye, and she turned her head to wipe it away.

  “That’s why I tried to trap Amherst. Honor and I, we had no offers of marriage, and when Beckington began to worsen, and our mother was increasingly mad, we knew that if we didn’t take matters into our hands, no one would offer for us. No one would invite four sisters and a mad mother into their coffers.”

  “Why John?” he asked, his voice sounding almost disembodied. “Did you have an understanding with him?”

  “No,” Grace said quickly. “He just seemed affable, and I thought—foolishly—that he would be angry at first, but then his anger would subside and it would be something of a lark.” She closed her eyes. “I’m so ashamed to even say that aloud. I was so naive and foolish—”

  “Why haven’t you told me before now?” he asked her. “When I told you the truth of my...ailment, why didn’t you tell me the truth then?”

  “A very good question,” she admitted, and drew her knees up. “One I have asked myself many times. The truth is that I don’t know exactly,” she admitted. “I feared that you wouldn’t be accepting because you demand perfection. And I didn’t want to ruin the fragile peace we’d found because I had feelings for you. But I think mostly because I am a coward,” she said, her voice much softer.

  Jeffrey turned his head to her. Firelight glimmered in his eyes.

  “But I can’t be perfect, Jeffrey, not even for you. It’s quite impossible, actually, and you must trust me when I tell you that I’ve fallen short of the mark all my life. We all have our secrets and our desires and our regrets, don’t we? We all have families that are flawed. I have mine, and there is nothing I could ever do to change them. More important, there is nothing I would ever want to change. I love them as they are.”