A Deal with Lord Devlin

by Jennifer Ann Coffeen

  “He has ruined me!” Charlotte flung another strip into the fire. “The final nail in my coffin. I shall never be invited back into polite society again— What is that terrible smell?”

  “You’re burning!” Lucy screamed.

  A pair of strong arms pulled her from the fireplace at the very moment she realized her gown was on fire.

  Charlotte let out a scream as the ashes from the half-burnt paper went flying through the air, fluttering all around her like a gray blizzard. She was on fire! Horrible Andrew had caused her to catch on fire!

  “Water, Lucy!” a male voice barked out.

  Charlotte’s backside hit the floor. The room was thrown into chaos as Lucy ran about grabbing vases to dump on the blazing skirt.

  “Here!” In her panic, the young girl tossed one entire vase, roses and all, toward Charlotte’s head.

  Charlotte managed to duck just in time, but her savior was not so lucky. She heard a loud crack, followed by an even louder expletive, as the vase found a target. She peered back to see a rather wet gentleman dressed in the most hideous color she’d ever seen.

  “Lord Devlin!” she cried, recognizing the Earl’s dark frown as he looked up at her, rubbing his left temple. “And just what do you think you’re doing?”

  “Hardly the greeting I deserve for saving your life,” he retorted, smacking at the lace of her rather charred underskirt. “And just what do you think you’re doing, jabbing at the fireplace?”

  She gasped, yanking the delicate lace out of his reach to cover every inch of her exposed ankles. How dare he speak in such a saucy tone, and after knocking her down, to boot! He should be assisting her to her feet and apologizing.

  “I found her all alone in here!” Lucy contributed, eager to help. “Mama said no one was allowed in the Oriental room, but I don’t think she meant any harm. Lady Mallen, did the flames touch your skin? Shall I have them call for a doctor?”

  “I am fine, Lucy.” She impatiently brushed a few droplets of water from her arm before turning back to the gentleman in front of her. “Do not trouble yourself, sir. I am quite unharmed.”

  “I can see that,” he said, rising unsteadily to his feet. “Thanks to me. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to stand so close to an open flame?”

  He didn’t look as though he expected an answer to his insulting question, and she wasn’t about to grace him with one.

  “I’ll have you know,” she snapped, still sitting on the floor, surrounded by flower petals, ashes, and torn paper, “that I was attempting to burn a most despicable love letter, from your cousin.”

  Lucy gasped as Lord Devlin peered down at her, his eyes sharply blue through the gold rim of his absurd monocle. “We have forty-seven first cousins, madam. You will have to be more specific.”

  She bristled at his tone. How was she supposed to know he had that many relatives? Her cousins numbered six. “I am speaking of your cousin Sir Andrew Greenshaw,” she replied tartly. She was certain that would gain her a bit of respect.

  The Earl drew back as though she held a plate full of spoiled fish. “Then I have no doubt your letter contains nothing but rubbish.”

  Charlotte didn’t care one bit for his superior tone. How dare this man insult his own family? “Andrew may be a lying gabster, but he is twice the gentleman you are. He never spoke ill of his family and would never leave a lady sitting on the floor.” She crossed her arms, enjoying the tinge of embarrassment across the Earl’s face.

  “Andrew does have rather good manners,” Lucy chimed in, gaining a harsh glare from her brother.

  “And you have a rose petal in your cravat,” Charlotte childishly sang out, pointing toward the soaked neckcloth. “Andrew’s cravats are so stiff a strong wind cannot unruffle them.”

  “Lady Mallen certainly speaks the truth about that.” Now that the threat of fire had passed, Lucy seemed eager to converse. “Mama says no gentleman in London dresses better than Cousin Andrew.”

  “I am sick to death of hearing about Andrew’s virtues,” Lord Devlin replied, fumbling at the front of his shirt. “Perhaps you can borrow his starch for your bizarre hairpiece, unless it’s supposed to be worn on your ear?”

  Charlotte gasped, one hand flying to the side of her head. “Bizarre, indeed!” She struggled to replace it on top of her curls. “It is made from ostrich feathers!”

  “Looks rather more like you raided the pigeon coop.” He ended his offensive speech by holding out his hand to assist her.

  She slapped it away. The outrage! Insulting Andrew was one thing, but insulting her very expensive Parisian hairpiece was unforgiveable.

  “I very much doubt I will be taking advice from you,” she snapped, determined to avenge the slight against her wardrobe. Her eyes settled on the closest thing to her. “Your boots are shockingly dusty and very old-fashioned! I suggest you instruct your valet to throw them out.”

  “Because of the dirt? Or the lack of style?”

  “Either reason would be sufficient,” she sniffed, tripping over torn lace as she tried to regain her feet and landing once again on the floor.

  “Oh, do let me call a doctor, Lady Mallen!” Lucy ran over to assist by thrusting a vial of smelling salts under Charlotte’s nose. “Think of the scars you could have inflicted on yourself. The good Lord certainly must have sent my brother to you. He planned for James to arrive at just the right moment.”

  “It wasn’t the Lord who sent him.” Her senses returning, Charlotte realized how very humiliating this all must look. And the Earl wasn’t helping the situation, either. Why, he hadn’t even bothered to help her to her feet! “Andrew apparently received all the manners in the family.”

  Lord Devlin stared down at her, his hands clasped firmly behind him. “You are so enamored with my cousin, then?”

  “Certainly not,” she informed him, pushing away Lucy’s hand and the smelling salts. “This letter,” she held up a charred piece in her fist, “is informing me that my Andrew had decided to become engaged to another woman.”

  Lord Devlin turned his gaze toward his little sister, who was soaking up every word. “Quick, Lucy, run and fetch Lady Mallen a glass of something cool.”

  “Must I?” she said, looking eager to hear the rest. One dark glare from her brother sent her running.

  “It gets worse,” Charlotte continued, rather hoping the Earl never looked at her that way. “You will never believe who he has tossed me aside for.”

  “Himself?” James spoke up, attempting to read from the unburnt papers scattered about the floor. “The man never met a mirror he didn’t fall in love with.”

  “This isn’t the time for jests, Lord Devlin! Andrew has set me aside for—”

  “Lady Francesca Delton,” James said quietly. He extended his hand toward her for the second time. Exhausted from her outburst, she accepted.

  “I am well aware of Andrew’s marriage plans. I’m hosting his engagement ball, after all.”

  “I know that,” she said, unnerved by the sympathy she saw in his eyes. “I am merely still in shock over a gentleman who would break his own word.” Everything had been going so well with Andrew. On the arm of a man like Sir Andrew Greenshaw, Charlotte would have been accepted, even welcomed back into society.

  “What do you mean by that?” Lord Devlin said sharply, still holding onto her. “Did Andrew make some sort of promise to you in these letters?”

  “I love you more than the morning air, worship the sweet grass beneath your feet, and await the day I can call us husband and wife,” Charlotte recited, her anger rearing up again like a riled snake.

  “He actually signed his own name to such nonsense?” James snatched the letter before she could protest.

  “His poetry was a bit tinny on the ear, but he made up for it in quantity.” Charlotte bristled while Lord Devlin scanned her private correspondence. Oh, who was she trying to fool? Andrew’s poetry was quite horrible.

  “Unbelievable.” James held the letter like it was mad
e of glass. “Andrew had the arrogance to write a love letter to you the very day his engagement was announced.” He let out a sharp laugh. “He will have to pay handsomely to keep this quiet.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Despite her wish to see Andrew hung from the nearest gallows, Charlotte was beginning to feel uneasy.

  “I mean, Lady Mallen,” his eyes bore into hers, and she bristled uncomfortably, “that my cousin stole an inheritance from me, and I want it back. Your assistance,” he held up the letter with a smile, “just made my task much easier.”

  In the blink of an eye Charlotte tore her letter out of his greedy fingers.

  “Absolutely not!” she cried, crumpling up the parchment in her fist. “I came here tonight to repair my reputation, not destroy it further.” Her instinct had been correct the first time, and she aimed for the fireplace.

  She never made it.

  “No!” James reached out and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her against his chest. Charlotte let out a shriek, forced to clutch his puce-colored lapels to keep from falling over.

  “Let me go this instant!” Charlotte blushed to the tips of her toes at the intimate hold. The nerve of this man! Slapping at him with her gloved hand, she sought out a distraction from the sudden rush of warmth at his embrace. She knew it had nothing to do with the closeness of the fire.

  “I cannot allow you to burn that letter.” Lord Devlin’s voice sounded dangerous in her ear.

  She couldn’t stop herself from shivering.

  “And why shouldn’t I?” she whispered back, stubbornly clutching the letter against her chest. “Am I to be the sacrificial lamb in your petty dispute with Andrew? I have had enough public humiliation in my life.”

  Though Lord Devlin didn’t loosen his hold, his expression did soften.

  “My intent isn’t to humiliate you further. Perhaps we can arrange a deal…”

  Charlotte was teetering on the backs of her heels when she felt Lord Devlin’s lips on hers. She recoiled as though she’d been stung. She was being kissed! The man actually had the bad manners to lean in and kiss her, not to mention taking the liberty of running his hand down the curve of her neck in a terribly seductive fashion or— Wait. Did she lean in first? Oh, Lud! This was quite the predicament. Charlotte knew one thing for sure. She had to put an end to this right now.

  And then his lips found the sensitive spot beneath her chin.

  She melted, her knees wavered like boiled jelly, and she wrapped her arms around his neck for support. The Earl finished his exploration of her neck before pulling her in for another kiss. Charlotte let herself go. She welcomed the embrace, kissing him back with all the passion, anger, and frustration that had been simmering inside her since she arrived in London. The kiss quickly turned forceful as she bit his bottom lip and heard the grunt of approval.

  That was all Charlotte needed to hear. She pushed him backwards, still kissing him and enjoying the harsh fire of his tongue as it sank deeper into her mouth. He fell backwards onto the fake bamboo chair that had obviously been constructed to enhance the yellow walls and painted mandarins. Charlotte briefly wondered if anyone else had noticed how well Oriental furniture suited illicit trysts.

  Lord Devlin sat down and pulled her to him. She tried to sit sideways on his lap, but instead he lifted her up, pushing her legs apart until she was straddling him. Shocked by such a truly sinful way of sitting, Charlotte broke off the kiss.

  His eyes flashed like the devil’s. “It’s more comfortable, yes?” It was more than comfortable. That didn’t even begin to describe the wonderful sinfulness of being so intimately pressed against him. Charlotte wanted to answer but feared she would moan instead, and so she shook her head and pulled him to her chest for another kiss. This time there was no mistaking who started it. She plunged her tongue between his lips, her hands reaching down to grab at the buttons of his coat.

  “Take this hideous thing off,” she rasped in his ear, pulling at the sleeves. She followed up her command with a nip to the soft skin of his earlobe and then helped him. A thrill of satisfaction coursed through her as he tossed the garment to the ground. Without the horrible coat to distract, wearing only his white shirt and dark black pants, the Earl was devastatingly handsome. Beneath his now unbuttoned shirt, Charlotte could see the hard muscles that the oversized coat had covered. Why he hid behind those odd outfits she did not understand. She would have asked him if she weren’t so busy kissing the top of his chest.

  “And now,” he said, drawing in his breath when she ran her tongue around the edge of his nipple, “you must take off something for me.”

  She drew back. “My ostrich feathers?” In truth the fashionable hairpiece did look rather like a bird’s nest. Charlotte had thought the very same thing when Lady Jersey had worn one last week.

  His eyes glazed with laughter, Lord Devlin kept his expression very serious. “Much more than that,” he whispered, and Charlotte felt the pulse in her neck quicken as his fingers began to undo the buttons on the back of her gown. “After all, you can hardly entertain in a burnt gown.”

  He scooted her closer to him on his lap. Beneath the flimsy silk, Charlotte could feel the hard pulse of how much he wanted her.

  “Lord Devlin—”

  “Call me James,” he interrupted, sliding the top of her gown down to expose her chest.

  He kissed the top of her breast and she gasped with pleasure.

  “James,” she stopped his hand as he reached for more buttons. “I can’t take my dress off in the middle of the drawing room. I’ll never get it back on without my maid.”

  She couldn’t finish her thought because he had now lifted her skirts up and was pulling them higher until nearly all of her legs were exposed.

  “I suppose you’re right about that. We shall have to find another way, then, to get what we want.”

  Charlotte sighed, sinking deeper into his hands, luxuriating in the feel of his rough hands against her skin. What did it matter if she allowed the Earl a few liberties? She was already a ruined woman. One more kiss shouldn’t matter…

  It took Charlotte a full minute to realize James had thrown her to the floor.

  “I beg your pardon, Lady Mallen,” James spoke loudly as he pushed her behind him, “we don’t want you falling into the fireplace again. I have, I mean, you have only just recovered from my first rescue. Not that I necessarily rescued you. It was more of a helpful gesture.”

  James continued to babble on in an unnaturally loud voice. What had come over him? Her first thought was that he planned to follow her and find out just how comfortable the red dragon Oriental rug was against bare skin, but then Charlotte heard the other voices.

  “Pardon us, Cousin. It seems we are interrupting you.”

  Please God, no! Hidden from view behind James’s broad back, Charlotte didn’t need to see the face to know who was standing at the door. The last time she’d heard this particular gentleman speak, he had been declaring his undying devotion to her.

  “Andrew,” she whispered, feeling the muscles in James’s back tense. Her Andrew was standing in the doorway, clearly having witnessed herself and Lord Devlin in a very scandalous position on the fake bamboo chair. Charlotte didn’t think her life could possibly get any worse.

  “James, what are you doing on my Oriental rug!”

  Andrew wasn’t alone.

  Close to fainting, Charlotte very slowly peeked around James to confirm her worst fears. Andrew just happened to be in the company of his aunt, the Dowager Countess of Devlin.

  “There was an accident, Mother,” James spoke very slowly, and Charlotte belatedly realized he was giving her time to fix herself. She blinked back tears of humiliation as she pulled up the front of her gown. What had she been thinking to let James kiss her like that? And in the Oriental drawing room, no less! She had come here tonight to regain her place in society, not destroy it completely.

  “Lady Mallen’s dress caught fire. Have you any idea how dangerous silk i
s near a flame? I’ll wager there are hundreds of such accidents every year, even thousands. All could be prevented by a little more caution near the fireplace, of course. I recall telling you, Mother, that you should always keep your distance from the fire, most especially when wearing a gown with fringes at the bottom. I say, Lady Mallen should count herself lucky to have escaped injury.”

  Charlotte pinched the back of James’s leg to let him know he could stop talking. His longwinded speech had done the trick, though. Lady Devlin and Andrew looked terribly confused, and Charlotte felt herself much less like a rumpled harlot. Her gown was back in place, her legs fully covered, and she’d even managed to shove the ostrich feathers back into her hair… Oh, God, the buttons. She couldn’t reach the buttons on the back of her gown!

  “A likely story,” Andrew leered. “Unless one puts out a fire with his— Wait a moment. Did you say Lady Mallen?”

  Charlotte pinched James again, harder this time, to convey her panic.

  “Do you mean Charlotte? Is that my Charlotte lying behind you on the carpet?”

  “It’s a priceless Oriental rug.” Lady Devlin looked like a kettle about to boil over. “Stand up, girl. Stop hiding behind my son.”

  “Madam, I am not hiding behind anyone.” Determined to defend herself, Charlotte stood, stumbling as she did so. James’s firm grip on her elbow saved her from further disgrace.

  “As you can see,” James said, grabbing his coat from the floor, a steady hand still holding Charlotte up, “the bottom of Lady Mallen’s gown is quite burnt. Lucy has gone off to find a maid to attend to her.” James placed the puce-colored coat around Charlotte’s shoulders, brilliantly masking the back of her gown. “I believe Lady Mallen is quite faint from the shock of it all.”

  That part was certainly true. Charlotte swore that if she made it out of this mess she would never say another bad word about puce-colored tailcoats.

  “A pity about your accident, Lady Mallen.” Lady Devlin’s voice was so polite it could cut ice. “I fear you have no choice but to end your evening early.”