A Deal with Lord Devlin

by Jennifer Ann Coffeen

  She couldn’t have agreed more.

  “Yes, yes, I should go,” Charlotte said, snatching her discarded items off the floor. She stuffed the remaining letters into her reticule, hoping Andrew didn’t recognize them. Coming here was the worst idea of her life. Who needed London society? In a few years she would be considered a spinster and then could spend the rest of her days playing whist with Grandmama.

  She was halfway to the door when James called her name.

  “I’m sure Lucy can find someone to fix your gown,” he said, ignoring his mother’s venomous glare. “Besides, Lady Mallen, you cannot leave just yet. You still owe me something.”

  Would the man never give up? Charlotte held her reticule against her chest.

  “And what is that, Lord Devlin?”

  “You promised me a dance.”

  She had done no such thing. Charlotte opened her mouth, fully prepared to utter a very firm refusal—and then she spotted the smirk on Andrew’s face.

  “You might want to reconsider that, Cousin.” Andrew popped open a ruby-encrusted snuffbox with his thumb. “Enticing as she is, Lady Mallen isn’t the sort with whom you should be seen in public.”

  Charlotte felt her back straighten to the breaking point. How dare Andrew speak about her in such a way!

  “I disagree.” James kept his eyes on her the entire time. “I believe the ton would be very forgiving toward Lady Mallen after a dance with the host.”

  Suddenly Charlotte understood. James was offering her a deal, a very public dance with the Earl of Devlin in exchange for Andrew’s letter. It was terribly risky. After the news came out that Andrew had been courting her, Charlotte’s reputation might sink further into the gutter.

  But she no longer cared.

  Andrew and Lady Devlin represented everything she despised about London. The arrogance of a society that allowed men to behave like depraved animals while the ton turned a blind eye. Yet if a lady made a false step out of line she was deemed untouchable.

  For the first time since she’d left her husband, Charlotte refused to retreat in shame. The Earl of Devlin had invited her to dance, and she was going to accept.

  “It’s a deal,” she said.

  Chapter Two

  “Do stop standing like that. Everyone is staring!”

  Charlotte ignored the whispered warning, continuing to shock young Lucy by standing on the tiptoes of her ivory satin slippers. “I must find your brother,” she said, craning her neck above the crowd. “And trust me, my posture isn’t the reason why everyone is staring.”

  Despite her cool tone, Charlotte felt terribly anxious. She hadn’t missed any of the scornful looks and rude remarks when she finally returned to the engagement ball. At least she looked well enough to be here. Lucy’s maid had done a splendid job of mending her dress. After a quick repinning of her hair, she was ready to meet James for her dance. Lord Devlin, call him Lord Devlin. The last thing she needed was anyone thinking she and the Earl were too familiar with one another.

  After all, they had a deal.

  Charlotte slipped one hand inside her silk reticule, Andrew’s letter securely tucked inside. A small voice told her she was foolish to give up such an intimate letter to the devilish Devlin, but she no longer cared. James—Lord Devlin—promised to help her get back into society, and Charlotte was nothing if not desperate. But was she desperate enough to trust the devil himself, even after he had done his best to seduce her in the Oriental drawing room? Feeling rather warm, Charlotte flipped open her light pink fan.

  “I should go soon. I’m supposed to dance with Lord Belman, and Mama’s swan sculpture has been leaking all over the best linens.”

  Charlotte grasped the girl’s arm. After being caught with James in such a precarious situation, she was determined to have someone chaperoning her at all times. “Stay just another moment,” she replied. “The swan looks just lovely to me.”

  Glancing over her left shoulder Charlotte nearly shrieked at the sight of Lady Devlin standing next to a giant fruit soup. Oh, Lud! What if James’s mother spotted her? Would she dare make a scene?

  Charlotte lifted her fan higher, hiding her face behind the painted silk. Why had she ever allowed James to kiss her? Or did she kiss him first? It was all so very complicated. Charlotte had spent the last half hour cringing and blushing over her wanton behavior with the Earl. Why, she’d practically attacked him! She had been so very surprised by his kiss, at first anyway, and then stunned by how much she enjoyed it. So very different from the duty-bound embraces with her husband, or that one afternoon in the gardens when Andrew violently leapt at her before tripping over his Hessians.

  Charlotte didn’t know how else to explain it except that she had simply lost her head. For the last hour she had continually found herself haunted by the memory of his lips pressing against hers, the feel of his tongue when she—Don’t start that again, she said to herself firmly.

  “I think Mama is waving at us.” Lucy waved back before grabbing an iced cake from a passing servant. “These look simply delicious! Cook has outdone herself.”

  “I will not spend the rest of my life apologizing for the past.” Charlotte’s stomach churned at the thought of James’s mother confronting her in front of everyone. “You would think I was the only lady in London with marital problems.”

  Lucy took the outburst in stride. “True,” she said with a mouthful of cake, “but I think most ladies don’t divorce their husbands and run off with the footman. Perhaps that is the issue.”

  “I did not run off with my footman! Why does everyone insist on believing these awful rumors?” Charlotte wanted to scream. “It doesn’t matter. By the end of the evening, the whole city will know that Andrew has jilted me, and whatever was left of my reputation will be shattered.”

  “James seems to like you,” Lucy said sympathetically, handing her a bite of the cake. “And he doesn’t like anyone.”

  “That doesn’t matter either,” Charlotte replied, stuffing the pastry into her mouth. “Instead of dancing with me, James—I mean, Lord Devlin—is off hiding somewhere. And do you know why?” She didn’t wait for Lucy to answer. “Because I acted like a common bit of muslin! And now I shall never see him again—”

  “Isn’t that James dancing with Lady Fremont’s niece?”

  Charlotte choked. “James is dancing?”

  That would certainly explain why she couldn’t find him. It had never occurred to her to look onto the dance floor. She was supposed to be dancing with James. So why did he look so happy to be twirling Pippa Maybury around like a dimwitted top? And what in heaven’s name was he wearing now? Soaked through from his mishap with the rose vase, James had changed out of his puce-colored coat into another fashionably bizarre outfit. Charlotte’s eyes widened at the sight of his apple-green-and-gold-striped vest accompanied by the largest cravat in the room, tied in what she believed was the newest rage, called the Mathematical. It looked as though the entire neckcloth had been dunked in a vat of starch.

  “Such a lovely pair,” Lucy sighed. “Mama says I am not allowed to waltz until I am eighteen.”

  “Pippa is wearing too much rouge,” Charlotte snapped.

  So James was going to toss her aside too, was that it? Perhaps the Devlin cousins had more in common than they let on. Enraged, Charlotte took a step toward the dancing couple, intending to give James a sharp piece of her mind.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea!” Lucy pulled her back with surprising strength. “You cannot interrupt them in the middle of a dance. What will everyone think?”

  “What they have been thinking all evening.” Charlotte’s shrill tone began turning heads. “That I am not fit for polite society!” She knew Lucy was right but felt physically ill at the sight of Pippa giggling over James.

  Lucy looked frantic. “A small glass of orgeat is just the thing! It will calm your nerves.”

  She dashed off, ignoring Charlotte’s refusal of the sickly sweet almond drink.

&
nbsp; “Maybe I should just go home,” Charlotte muttered. Even Lucy did not wish to be seen with her.

  “So soon?”

  She jumped at the all-too-familiar voice. Cursed man! He was forever sneaking up on her. She whirled to confront Lord Devlin.

  “Oh, it’s you.” She lifted up her fan, attempting to look as bored as possible. “Did you enjoy your dance?”

  He looked down at her, a strange twinkle in his eyes. “It was enjoyable enough. I see you have mended your dress.”

  “Lucy’s maid fixed it,” she replied with a haughty glare. “No thanks to you. Well, actually it was thanks to you, but I am not thankful that you have forced me to endure more of this horrible evening.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. This evening is just beginning to get interesting.”

  Charlotte deepened her frown at the sight of James’s dance partner sashaying by with her mother. Pippa waved her fingers in James’s direction, beaming through her painted face.

  “Looks like a trollop,” Charlotte muttered under her breath. She looked up to catch James watching her with a wide grin.

  “Jealous, are we?”

  Her shoulders snapped back. “I scarcely know you! Why should I be jealous of your dance partners? Even if they are addle-brained harlots.”

  He shrugged. “I was rather jealous of my cousin when I heard he was courting you.”

  “You…what?” Why on earth would he say something like that?

  “Besides,” he continued, as though they were discussing the weather, “you would have every right to a little jealousy after our intimate encounter in the—”

  Charlotte slapped him with her fan. “Someone will hear you!” she hissed.

  They were already attracting quite a few gaping stares. Red-faced, Charlotte decided to ignore James completely. It was much more entertaining to count the number of candles placed in the large overhead candelabras. She had just reached the low thirties when James spoke.

  “You don’t regret our conversation, do you?”

  “I haven’t really had time to think about it,” she lied, watching a blob of candle wax hit Lady Everly’s fur-lined turban.

  “I behaved terribly, mauling a guest in my father’s—I mean, my—home.” His voice had an odd twinge to it. Was Lord Devlin…embarrassed? “I never should have let the conversation become so heated.”

  “I quite liked it!” Charlotte blurted out before quickly biting her tongue. “What I mean to say is, it wasn’t unpleasant, and it’s my fault for…for becoming so engrossed in our topic.”

  Charlotte wished a blob of candle wax would fall onto her mouth. She was making such a muck of things! James was apologizing like a gentleman, and she was prattling on about how much she had enjoyed their little tryst.

  “I fear I have offended you.” James ran a hand through his perfectly arranged hair. “That was never my intention.”

  He was embarrassed! Charlotte had never known a gentleman to display any emotion besides arrogance and lust. It made him infinitely more likable.

  “Lord Devlin, you may well be the only person this evening who hasn’t offended me.” She gifted him with a small smile. It had been so long since anyone cared about her feelings. Perhaps Lord Devlin had a kind heart hidden beneath his scowl.

  Charlotte’s thoughts were interrupted by the shrill scream of a bow against violin strings. The music had begun again, and her throat tightened as couples began pairing off for a waltz. “The musicians are quite eager.”

  “They’re awful,” James snorted, his usual irritated scowl back in place. “I would rather listen to a pair of fighting cats.”

  She giggled at the absurd image. Heaven help her, she was beginning to find James rather enjoyable company. Beneath his fierce bark hid a true gentleman with a very wicked sense of humor.

  “Shall we?”

  She looked up to see James motioning toward the floor.

  Her heart leapt. He still wished to dance with her! It was the kindest, bravest thing anyone had ever done for her. The Earl of Devlin dancing with a divorced woman would ignite a firestorm of gossip amongst the guests. He had to know this but didn’t seem to care.

  “Unless you’ve had second thoughts about our deal?”

  Andrew’s love letter. Charlotte silently reprimanded herself for forgetting Lord Devlin’s true intentions. The Earl wasn’t some young gentleman courting her. He was a man with blackmail on his mind and dancing with la divorcée was the only way to get what he wanted.

  “It’s in my reticule,” she said evenly, turning her head away, “and I fully intend to keep my side of the bargain.”

  The best thing for both of them was to keep things as businesslike as possible. Charlotte had an opportunity to redeem herself tonight, and she wasn’t going to let a few stray kisses stand in her way. With a deep breath she moved toward the other couples.

  “Charlotte,” James’s voice skimmed her ear, his nearness making her feel a bit faint. “Whatever you do, don’t look toward the staircase.”

  Charlotte immediately jerked her head around to catch a glimpse of a dark-haired lady making her way down the steps on the arm of Sir Andrew Greenshaw.

  “Andrew and Francesca!” Charlotte whispered through clenched teeth. This was the woman Andrew had tossed her aside for? She didn’t believe it was possible for a lady to wear a more inappropriate gown. The pale pink color was quite becoming, she would admit that, but it was cut so low one had to wonder if the dressmaker had run out of muslin.

  “Outrageous,” she fumed, fingers tightening around her fan. “Andrew is hanging on her arm like an obedient puppy!”

  “Now I see it.”

  Confused, she turned to look at James. “See what?”

  “Your jealousy.” He leaned down and gently stilled her fan. “Don’t allow them to see your emotions. Act as though you don’t have a care in the world.”

  “Good advice, Lord Devlin.” She looked up at him, forcing a bitter smile. “I shall be utterly, completely engrossed in our conversation.”

  “You almost sound convincing.”

  James then proceeded to launch into a very enthusiastic discussion of the weather. Charlotte did her best to feign interest in the conversation. She even managed a few nods at his long-winded description of the rain. But her eyes continued to stray to Andrew. She felt positively ill as Francesca leaned in toward his ear, a soft smile on her lips.

  Charlotte could have screamed. How dare they prance about looking so happy? Less than a week ago Andrew had been making love to her, sending her letters of adoration, offering to paint her portrait. And now—look at him! Hanging on Francesca’s every word as though she held the secret to eternal youth in her décolletage. Her stomach turned at the sight of them.

  “They are acting like fools,” she muttered.

  “They aren’t the only ones.”

  She gasped aloud, but before Charlotte could inquire what James meant by his rude remark, he shoved a glass in her hand.

  “It’s only lemonade,” he snapped, “but have a sip anyway, and do try to look less miserable.”

  Charlotte gave him a good frown. What had put Lord Devlin into such bad temper? “I don’t like your tone of voice, sir. Why should I bother to look happy if I’m not?”

  “Because Andrew is coming this way.”

  Out of the corner of her eye—she had tried her very best to stop staring—she could see Andrew and Francesca making their way toward her. This was a disaster! She sorely wished she had gone with her original plan to hide away in bed. He flashed his usual sideways grin, a trait she had found charming, in the past.

  “Smile,” James murmured at her side. “You don’t want Andrew to think you’re jealous, do you?”

  “I want Andrew to be boiled in oil!” she hissed.

  “My darling Charlotte! I feared I wouldn’t see you here tonight.”

  Charlotte was immensely proud of herself. With a deep breath and a tiny flick of her wrist she stared at Andrew over the rim of her f
an as though he were the lowliest of servants.

  “And why shouldn’t I be here, Andrew?” She fanned herself softly and took a tiny sip from her glass.

  “Oh, no reason, no reason,” he replied hastily as Francesca stood next to him like a marble statue. “I simply thought you might be otherwise engaged this evening.”

  “No,” she replied slowly, trying not to wince at the tart lemonade. “I am not the one who is otherwise engaged.”

  James coughed, Andrew sputtered about like a fish, and Charlotte could’ve sworn the poised Francesca cracked a tiny smile.

  “Charlotte dearest, I must publicly beg your pardon—”

  “And we must offer our congratulations!” James broke in, bowing toward Francesca. “I hear you are to become a blushing bride.”

  Unless he leaves you at the altar, Charlotte thought maliciously, but she couldn’t bring herself to say the words aloud. For all her malice toward Francesca, the woman was probably just as uncomfortable as Charlotte with their situation.

  “Darling, this is most tiresome. Why are we speaking to her?” Francesca arched her neck in Charlotte’s direction, her beautiful nose wrinkled into a sneer. “Mother says the Duke of York may be in attendance tonight. He will certainly wish to offer us his congratulations!”

  All of Charlotte’s good will went flying out the window. She quite hoped Francesca would trip on her low-cut gown and fall into the melting swan sculpture.

  “We are very sought after, you see.” Andrew laughed, beaming at Francesca’s spoiled pout.

  “Then, by all means, do not let us keep you,” Charlotte replied in her haughtiest tone. She was pleased, at least, to see Andrew blush to the roots of his wheat-colored locks, which were arranged in a strange, windswept pouf. For the first time Charlotte noticed that his hair looked quite ridiculous and overdone. Had it always looked that way? Perhaps Francesca insisted on such a showy style.

  “Wonderful seeing you both,” Andrew said with a cough. He turned to Francesca, offering his arm. “Darling, shall we go and find the Duke?”

  Charlotte watched the happy couple stroll off, eager to share their news. “That was a disaster.” Andrew hadn’t seemed the least bit jealous to see her with James. Why, he and that vile Francesca would probably spend the rest of the evening laughing at her!