“Good morning, Lady Carew.”
Mr. Churchward was all that was civil. Not by a flicker of intonation did he suggest that he knew she was not all she pretended to be, least of all Caroline, Lady Carew, relict of a scholarly recluse. Mr. Churchward placed a chair for her before resuming his seat on the other side of the desk. There was a copy of the Gazette, neatly folded, in front of him. Susanna realized that he must have read about her engagement to Fitz. The whole of London would have read about the engagement. She felt a little sick.
Mr. Churchward moved the paper aside and leaned forward, steepling his fingers. His eyes were piercingly shrewd behind the thick spectacles. He waited politely for Susanna to state her business. Despite the physical warmth of the room, though, and the courtesy of his manner, Susanna was sharply aware that Mr. Churchward disapproved of her. No doubt he undertook whatever business his noble clients required of him but that did not mean, she thought, that he agreed with it. And in the matter of entrapping Fitzwilliam Alton into a false betrothal and ruining Francesca Devlin’s hopes, Mr. Churchward most certainly did not approve.
She opened her reticule and took out the letters that she had retrieved from the grate. Her hands shook a little. She knew that Mr. Churchward had noticed.
“I am in a certain amount of difficulty, Mr. Churchward,” she said, “and I am not at all sure where to turn. I wondered if you might help me.”
“I will, of course, do my best, madam,” the lawyer said austerely.
Silence fell. Susanna reread the letters although she knew the wording exactly. She looked up and met Mr. Churchward’s gaze.
“I am sure that you must disapprove of me,” she said in a rush. “Indeed, who could not if they knew the truth? But despite that I must throw myself on your mercy because I have nowhere else to turn.”
Mr. Churchward was silent. Susanna felt his gaze on her face, thoughtful, noncommittal, and felt her heart sink like a stone.
She stood up. “Excuse me,” she said rapidly. “I made a mistake in coming here. I am sorry to have troubled you.”
Mr. Churchward did not try to stop her. He stood, too, and came forward to open the door for her. Susanna felt a large fat tear drop on the paper and furiously bundled the letter back into her reticule. She turned her face aside so that the lawyer would not see her distress. Another tear fell, thwarting her. She made a sound of combined exasperation and misery and scrabbled for a handkerchief.
Mr. Churchward pressed his own large, white handkerchief into her hand. He shut the door.
“Dear me,” he said. “I have never seen a lady make such strenuous efforts not to cry.”
“I’m not a lady,” Susanna sniffed, burying her nose in the handkerchief, “so no doubt I do not have the requisite self-control.”
“My dear … Miss Burney,” Mr. Churchward said. “If Miss Burney is your real name—”
“Actually,” Susanna said, “my real name is Lady Devlin. And that, Mr. Churchward, is part of the problem.”
To her astonishment she saw a gleam of amusement come into Mr. Churchward’s eyes. “If you are the wife of James Devlin and have just become betrothed to Fitzwilliam Alton, then I can see that you do have a problem,” he agreed. He paused. “Does Sir James know?”
Susanna gave a snort that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Yes … No. That is, he thinks our marriage was annulled years ago …”
This time Mr. Churchward actually smiled. “I see.” He gestured her to resume her seat. “Was that what you wished to consult me about?”
“No,” Susanna said. She felt panic rise as she thought about the letters. “There is something else. Actually there are two things …” She stopped.
“Well,” Mr. Churchward said, “all in good time. I have some very fine sherry for emergencies only,” he added, opening the lower drawer in his desk and retrieving a bottle and two dusty glasses. “I think that this might qualify. Would you care to join me in a glass, Lady Devlin, and tell me all about it?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DEV STOOD IN THE RECEIVING line at the impromptu ball the Duke and Duchess of Alton were throwing to celebrate Fitz and Susanna’s engagement. Emma was not present and Dev had not seen her in two days owing to a migraine headache she had apparently developed after Lady Crofton’s Breakfast the previous morning. Thwarted in his plan to tell Emma of his intention to resume his Naval commission, Dev had finally written her a letter and left it with the Brookes’s grim-faced butler who had assured him that it would be delivered to Emma once she was restored to health. Dev thought it would very probably send Emma off into another migraine as he had bitten the bullet and added a coda.
“I also have to tell you that I have betrayed your trust with another lady. I deeply regret having behaved so dishonorably and fully deserve your condemnation …”
It was in fact a barefaced lie. He did not regret one second of his lovemaking with Susanna but he did regret having fallen short of his own honor in betraying Emma when she did not deserve it. Dev knew what the outcome must be: he knew Emma would not tolerate his infidelity and yet he also knew he could not lie to her further. He had had to wipe the slate clean.
The receiving line shuffled forward and Dev suppressed a sigh. He had attended some excruciating social events in his time, the inauguration of the witless governor of an obscure island in the West Indies being one and the debutante ball of a girl who had got drunk and declared passionate love for her brother-in-law in front of the entire ballroom being another, but nothing he had ever attended before had been as personally painful as the celebration of Susanna’s engagement to Fitzwilliam Alton. Not content with throwing one party, to which he had thankfully declined the invitation, the Duke and Duchess were hosting this ball for the entire ton. Dev was only there to support Chessie who had declared that of course she would attend, and damn the gossip. Dev wished she had not. Chessie stood pale and blank-eyed beside Joanna Grant and her sister Tess Darent, confronting her humiliation and the ruin of her dreams with the eyes of all of society on her. Dev was so angry that he wanted to take Fitz by the throat and throttle him using his own neck cloth. Everyone knew that Fitz had encouraged Chessie’s hopes yet he had been clever enough not to commit himself in any way. Fitz had been calculating and utterly careless of Chessie’s feelings and her reputation, Dev thought. That in itself should have shown his sister how little he deserved her regard. Except that love did not always work like that …
Dev’s gaze moved from Fitz, as swollen with conceit as a bladder, to the woman standing by his side. Susanna. She looked entrancing in scarlet silk with diamonds in her hair. He wanted to hate her for accepting Fitz’s offer, for the sheer avarice of her behavior in selling herself for a title, for making such achingly sweet love to him and then accepting this hollow sham of a marriage. Except he could not hate her, not when he felt bound to her by such dark and complex bonds.
Fitz touched the back of Susanna’s hand to claim her attention and she bent obediently closer to him to listen to whatever it was he was saying. Dev saw her smile and felt the anger and the lust close inside him like a tight fist. It was, he thought viciously, the perfect society match: good looks, money and charm, without a single shred of love or even genuine respect on either side, unless it was a healthy mutual regard for the advantages of the match.
“I’m sorry,” Chessie said suddenly. She was so pale Dev was afraid she might faint. She swayed a little and he put an arm about her. “I do not feel very well,” she whispered. “It is so hot in here and there is no air …”
Over her head, Dev’s gaze met the concerned one of Joanna Grant. “I’ll take her home,” Joanna said. “Chessie, darling …” She had taken Chessie’s icy cold hands in her own. “Come along. You are not well.”
Together they supported Chessie back down the stairs and into the hall. A few latecomers were still arriving, joining the crowds who thronged the reception rooms. Dev went first, his broad shoulders shielding his sister from the curious
stares and the whispers and titters of the guests. He felt furious and protective, knowing everyone was talking of Chessie’s humiliation, feeling her misery and grief. Joanna and Tess, who both looked fragile but were a great deal tougher than they appeared, swept along with their heads high.
“Just a little farther, darling,” Tess coaxed Chessie, as Joanna rustled off to find a footman to fetch their cloaks. “Soon you will be home.”
Dev asked the footman to call their carriage for them.
“Don’t come with us,” Joanna whispered as he helped them inside. She squeezed his hands to soften the words. “Chessie may want to talk and she is so anxious for you not to disapprove of her that she won’t do it if you are with us.” She reached up to kiss Dev’s cheek. “I’ll send you word.”
Dev nodded reluctantly. “Nothing Chessie could say or do would make me love her the less,” he said gruffly. “None of this is her fault.”
“I know,” Joanna said. She smiled at him. “Thank you, Devlin.”
The carriage rumbled away and Dev stood on the steps and watched it go. He had no desire to spend the evening watching Susanna waltzing with Fitz, reveling in her triumph. He felt tired and bitter and angry. It was not often these days that he chose to drown his sorrows in wine but tonight the idea had definite appeal.
“Leaving already, Devlin?” A tall fair man grabbed him by the arm and drew him back within the entrance of the Alton town house. “Come and share a glass of champagne with me first.”
“Purchase!” Dev said. “You’re back in Town!”
Owen Purchase shook him by the hand. “Just arrived,” he said. “I’ve been visiting my estates.” He laughed. “I never thought to hear myself say those words.”
“The title is yours then?” Dev said.
“Hence the champagne.” Purchase paused. “Though I would appreciate you keeping that quiet for now,” he added. “The legalities are complex and I have no desire to be identified as Viscount Rothbury quite yet.”
“Good luck in keeping that from the matchmaking mamas,” Dev said dryly. “As soon as they hear you have come into a title you will be chased all over Town.”
“Ah well, I’ll cope,” Purchase said, smiling broadly. “Though I prefer to do my own chasing.”
“So you have come to pay your respects to the future Duke and Duchess of Alton,” Dev said.
“The Alton estates run with mine in Somerset,” Purchase said, grimacing. “It seemed politic as we shall be near neighbors. Cannot stand Fitzwilliam Alton, all the same—” He broke off, looking dumbstruck, as Susanna came down the stairs and into the hall to greet one of her acquaintances who had just arrived.
“You are staring at the bride,” Dev said. “Not, perhaps, the best way to ingratiate yourself with your future neighbors. Not,” he added, “that she is not worth staring at.”
“An exceptionally beautiful woman,” Purchase agreed. “And difficult to confuse with anyone else.”
Dev looked at him, his attention arrested by Purchase’s tone.
“That is Alton’s future wife?” Purchase persisted.
“That’s what I just told you,” Dev said. “Lady Carew, from Edinburgh.”
“Is that what she calls herself these days?” There was a broad smile on Purchase’s face now as his gaze rested on Susanna.
Dev felt an odd sliding feeling in his stomach. “What do you mean?” he said.
“When I last saw Lady Carew,” Purchase said, “she was known as Miss Ives and she was being courted by a certain John Denham who was the richest young man in Bristol. His father made a fortune in trade.”
Dev shrugged. He could taste bitterness on his tongue and it owed nothing to the quality of the Duke and Duchess of Alton’s champagne. So Susanna was an adventuress who had already tried to catch herself a rich husband. That was barely news. The only thing that did surprise him was that she had failed to entrap her previous prey. But perhaps she valued herself too highly. Perhaps she had thrown Denham over because she wanted a title as well, not merely a fortune made in trade.
“When was this?” he asked.
Purchase slanted a look at him. “A year or more ago,” he said. “Denham had only just come into his majority, and a vast fortune with it. He was still practically in leading reins. They say he fell hard for her … made a fool of himself.” He pulled a face. “I’m guessing he wasn’t the first to do so.” He took a long pull on the champagne. “She’s a remarkable woman. Being a fellow … soldier of fortune, shall we say, I recognized her for what she was when we first met. And admired her for it. It is not easy living by one’s wits and looks alone. You should know that, Devlin.”
“I do,” Dev said, with feeling.
“I even tried my luck with her,” Purchase said, “seeing that we were two of a kind.”
Dev was aware of a sudden urge he had never experienced before: the desire to plant Owen Purchase, one of his oldest friends, a facer.
“Any success?” he inquired tightly.
Purchase shook his head. “For all that she looks so luscious, she is as cold as driven snow,” he said. His mouth twisted. “Turned me down flat.”
“Bad luck,” Dev said. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the tension in the muscles there ease. He watched as Susanna slipped across to Fitz, placed a gentle hand on his arm and stood on tiptoe to whisper something in his ear. Cold as driven snow, Purchase had said. She looked like a flame in the scarlet dress and she had been sweet and eager in his arms, not cold at all.
Dev cleared his throat. That was no way to think about a woman whose ambitions far outstripped his own, who was a fortune hunter and an adventuress, who had succeeded in catching a marquis and would one day be a duchess.
“I felt sorry for Denham,” Purchase was saying. “He was heartbroken when she ended the betrothal. He’d already lost one fiancée because of the affair and then he lost a second—”
Dev’s attention snapped back to him. “I beg your pardon?”
Purchase cocked a quizzical brow as he took in the expression on Dev’s face. “I said that Denham had already lost one fiancée. When he took up with Miss Ives his childhood sweetheart jilted him.”
Dev felt a prickle of something like premonition tiptoe down his spine. “This childhood sweetheart,” he said slowly, “did she have any money?”
“Not a feather to fly,” Purchase said cheerfully. “Cassie Jennings was her name. Pretty little thing, but she had no fortune and no connections. She’d known Denham before his father made his pile. The lad’s trustees didn’t approve of the match. Nor did his mama.”
Dev took a deep breath. He thought of Fitz paying court to Chessie and the Duke and Duchess of Alton disapproving of a girl with no money and precious few connections. He thought of Susanna jilting the richest young man in Bristol, a man who, before he had met her, had been about to make a match with his impoverished childhood sweetheart. His fingers tightened on the delicate stem of his glass until the crystal shivered.
“Just one other thing, Purchase,” he said casually. “Do you know how Miss Ives met Mr. Denham?”
“Damned if I can remember,” Purchase said. “No …” His face cleared. “Actually I do remember. Denham’s mother introduced her to him. She was the daughter of an old friend, apparently.”
The daughter of an old friend … The widow of a family friend … The story changed a little, Dev thought, but not very much. He had always wondered why the Duke and Duchess of Alton had claimed acquaintance with Sir Edwin Carew, a man he knew had never existed. He had wondered why they had been prepared to accept Susanna as a candidate for Fitz’s hand in marriage when they were so high in the instep and she was nobody.
Well, he knew now. He knew he had underestimated Susanna. She had not even been an honest adventuress. She had never wanted Fitz for herself. She had destroyed Chessie’s hopes of a future with Fitz for money alone, on the commission of his parents, because that was what she did. She broke hearts and she ruined lives. Dev felt a fu
ry fill him that was greater than ever before, an overpowering anger that grabbed him by the throat and made him want to break something, preferably Susanna’s neck.
“You’re sure about this, Purchase,” he said urgently, although he knew the answer.
“Oh, yes,” Purchase said, draining his glass. “Don’t think I’ll pay my respects after all,” he added. “Don’t want to embarrass the bride.”
“You are all goodness,” Dev said grimly. He had every intention now of doing far more than merely embarrassing Susanna. She deserved worse than that. He had seldom come across such a cold, ruthless and conniving woman.
“She must have known that one day someone she knew would appear and ruin her chances,” he said.
Purchase shrugged. “She was on pretty safe ground,” he said. “The Denhams of the world do not move in these exalted circles and nor do their acquaintances. If I had not seen her—”
“Yes,” Dev said. “She would have been safe.”
He thought of Chessie’s dashed hopes and her damaged reputation. Susanna had done that willfully, cruelly. She was paid to ruin people’s lives, their expectations. He was sure that he was right. Susanna had wrecked Miss Cassandra Jennings’ plans for a future with John Denham and then she had done exactly the same thing to Chessie. It had to be more than a coincidence.
“Poor Denham,” he said as Susanna slid past his view and disappeared into the ballroom, beautiful, ethereal, captivating, enough to turn any man’s head. “He didn’t stand a chance.”
He felt the cold, hard anger sweep through him again. Now, at last, he knew the truth. And now he and Susanna would have a reckoning.
LADY EMMA BROOKE LAY in her wide canopied bed and watched the drapes at the open window move in the breeze. It was late but she could not sleep. She had waited and waited, all through the previous day and night, and all through this one. As the time had crept closer to her assignation with Tom she had felt a mixture of terror and wicked wanton excitement possess her, but as the hours had ticked by and Tom had not come, the pleasure had drained away, leaving her feeling angry and thwarted. It was exactly as before: Tom came and went as he pleased and it pleased him to keep her dangling at his whim. Emma rolled over and thumped her fists into the soft feather mattress but nothing could ease the frustration inside her. Damn Tom Bradshaw and his seductive ways. She wished him in hell.
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