In Bed With the Devil Read online

  She gave him another impish smile. “It was kind of you to stop by and visit.” She touched the copper bowl containing his winnings. “I thank you for your contribution.”

  “I’d give you more—legitimate funds—if you’d take them.”

  “You’ve done more than enough for me, Luke.”

  Again, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to tell her that he’d not done nearly as much as he planned to do for her. But the words lodged in his throat. Why was he always so damned tongue-tied around her when it came to speaking from his heart? Was it because, as he feared, he truly had no heart, just a black hole that reflected the darkness of his soul?

  Telling her anything at all should come easily. After all, they knew the worst of each other’s lives. Why was that so much easier to share than what should be the best?

  He took a step back. “I’ll probably see you tomorrow.”

  “I’ll let you know then exactly how I plan to use this money you’ve given me.”

  “Use it however it pleases you, Frannie. It comes with no attachments. You owe me no explanations.”

  “You’ve never been comfortable around orphans, have you?”

  “Whatever are you about? All my best friends are orphans.”

  “Feagan’s merry little band of ne’er-do-wells. We’re an odd assortment, aren’t we?”

  “Only because we overcame the circumstances of our youths and are all quite successful.”

  “We have your grandfather to thank for our change in fortunes. He lifted us all up when he lifted you.”

  “If he was my grandfather.”

  “How can you still doubt it?”

  He almost told her the truth, but he didn’t think she’d approve of the lie he was certain he was living. He gave her what he hoped was one of his more charming smiles. “Good night, Frannie. Sweet dreams.”

  As for himself, he had only nightmares when he drifted into slumber.

  He strode from the room before she could pester him for more answers. His former life was an area that he didn’t relish reliving. Sometimes it struck him as strange that he wanted to marry someone who was so ensconced in his past. With her at his side, he’d never be able to run from it, but perhaps he could better face it.

  He was nearly to the front door when he heard, “You owe me five quid, Luke.”

  Coming to an abrupt halt, he turned and watched as Jack Dodger swaggered toward him, a confident grin on his darkly rugged face.

  “You don’t know that,” Luke said when Jack stopped in front of him.

  “So you did ask Frannie to marry you?”

  With a sigh, Luke removed his wallet from inside his jacket and handed Jack the requested amount. “I never should have told you my intentions.”

  “No, you never should have accepted the wager that you’d actually do it.” Jack tucked away the money. “Did you want to take one of my girls home with you tonight”—he winked—“for a bit of comfort?”

  Luke cursed Jack soundly for tempting him, cursed himself for finding it so difficult to resist temptation. He’d never availed himself of one of Jack’s girls.

  “I’m not going to let Frannie see me walking out with one of your girls.”

  “I’ll send her ’round the back. Frannie’ll never know.”

  “You don’t think your girls talk?”

  “They’re very discreet. I insist on it.”

  Luke considered, then shook his head. “No, I’ll not risk causing her to doubt my affection.”

  “Are you saying you’ve been celibate all these years?”

  “Of course not, but like your girls, I am extremely discreet.” Dodger’s was not the only place to offer female companionship. Besides, Frannie was less likely to hear of Luke’s liaisons if he sought them out elsewhere. For a few years, he’d even had a mistress, but they had parted ways when Luke had decided that it was time to ask Frannie to be his wife.

  “For God’s sake, Frannie works here. She knows men have urges.”

  “I’m not going to have her wonder about mine. You might understand if you had someone you favored.”

  “I prefer my women bought. Ensures no misunderstandings.”

  And in Luke’s experience, no real passion.

  “So shall we make the usual wager for tomorrow?” Jack asked.

  “By all means.”

  “It’s been almost a year since you set yourself this task. I don’t relish getting rich off my friends, so take care of the matter tomorrow, will you?”

  “If you don’t relish it then stop making the blasted wagers!”

  “You know I have a weakness where wagering is concerned.” A corner of his mouth hitched up. “And I can seldom beat you at cards.”

  “Tomorrow. I’ll ask her tomorrow,” Luke said with renewed conviction.

  Jack clapped him on the shoulder. “Bring another fiver just in case.”

  It was all Luke could do to not punch that knowing smirk off Jack’s face. But just as Frannie owed Luke, so he owed Jack a debt he could never repay.

  Luke strode out of the building into the fog-shrouded night. His bones immediately began to ache, a reminder from too many nights sleeping in the cold. Now he kept the rooms of his residences unbearably warm simply because he could. Having spent his youth without many comforts, he indulged in all of them now. He’d developed a reputation for being eccentric and extravagant, for spending foolishly. But he could well afford to spend however he damned well pleased. Being in partnership with Jack ensured it.

  Yes, investing in the vices paid handsomely.

  Before he reached his coach, his liveried footman opened the door with a slight bow.

  “Home straightaway,” Luke said, as he climbed inside.

  “Aye, m’lord.”

  The door closed, and Luke sat back against the plush seat. The well-sprung coach lurched forward. Gazing out the window, Luke could see little save the gray swirling mist. He didn’t care for it much as it had a permanent place in his dreams.

  Not that he dreamed often. In order to dream, one needed to sleep, and Luke seldom slept for any great length of time. He wasn’t certain any of them did. Feagan’s children. They were bound together by the things they’d done. Things the nobility could never comprehend being desperate enough to do.

  It was one of the many reasons that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with his place in the world. Shortly after the old gent’s demise, Luke had attended a ball to publicly take his place as the new Earl of Claybourne, and a hush had descended over the crowd as soon as he’d been announced at the top of the stairs. He’d sauntered through the room, daring anyone to question his presence. No one had been able to meet his gaze.

  An image flittered at the edge of his memory. One young lady had not only dared to hold his gaze, but had fairly challenged him. He wasn’t certain why, but he thought of her on occasion. She was nothing like Frannie. Standing there in her elegant evening gown, with every strand of her blond hair tucked perfectly into place, she appeared spoiled and pampered. It was one of the reasons he abhorred the idea that he was now part of the aristocracy. They knew nothing of suffering. They knew nothing of the humiliation of scrounging for morsels of food. They weren’t familiar with the sharp bite of the cane when begging didn’t bring in enough coins or slipping hands into pockets didn’t acquire enough handkerchiefs. They didn’t know the fear of being caught. Even children were sent to prison, sometimes transported on great hulking ships to Australia or New Zealand, and on rare occasions, hanged.

  The coach came to a halt, the door opened, and Luke alighted. He always felt a tad guilty upon first arriving at his London residence. Two dozen families could live there comfortably. Instead it was only he and two dozen servants. Of course, that would change once he married Frannie. Children would roam these hallways soon afterward. They’d experience a far gentler life than their parents had known.

  The massive front door opened. He was surprised to find his butler still awake. Luke kept all hours, came
and went as he pleased, when he pleased. He didn’t expect his servants to live their lives according to his late-night habits.

  Fitzsimmons had seen after the residence long before Luke ever came to live there with the old gent. The butler had been fiercely loyal to the previous earl, and not once—as far as Luke knew—had Fitzsimmons ever questioned the old gent’s contention that Luke was his grandson.

  Once the door was closed, Luke removed his hat and handed it to the butler. “I’ve told you before that you need not stay up until I return home.”

  “Yes, my lord, but I thought it best to do so this evening.”

  “And why is that?” Luke asked, tugging off his gloves.

  “A lady arrived earlier.”

  Luke stilled. “Who?”

  “She wouldn’t say. She knocked at the servants’ entrance, said it was of paramount importance—a matter of life and death were her precise words—that she speak with you. She’s been waiting in the library ever since.”

  Luke glanced toward the hallway. “And you have no idea who she is?”

  “No, my lord, although I would venture to guess she is a lady of the utmost quality. She has that air about her.”

  Over the years a few ladies of quality had sought out Luke’s bed. He lived a life of abundance that many had wanted to embrace, but he always made it clear that he offered nothing permanent. Some had simply wanted to play with the devil for a time. But none had ever claimed visiting him was a matter of life and death. How dramatic. The remainder of his evening promised to be entertaining.

  He handed his gloves to Fitzsimmons. “See that we’re not disturbed.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  His curiosity piqued, Luke strode down the hallway. No footman waited outside the door. He had no reason to believe his services would be required at this ungodly hour. Luke entered the library, slamming the door behind him, a grand entrance to disarm his visitor.

  The woman standing at the window, gazing onto a garden hidden by darkness and fog, jerked around. The hood of her pelisse lay against her shoulders, its clasp interfering with what would have been a lovely show of skin from throat to bosom. Beneath the cloak, she’d dressed to seduce and for reasons he couldn’t fathom, he was suddenly very much in the mood for seduction.

  “Lady Catherine Mabry, as I recall,” he drawled, sauntering nearer until he could smell the expensive perfume that wafted over her skin like the fragrance of a delicate rose.

  Her blue eyes widened slightly. “I’d not realized you knew who I was.”

  “I make it my business to know who everyone is.”

  “You consider me your business?”

  “Ah, yes, Lady Catherine. Isn’t that what you wanted when you challenged me that night at the ball?”

  “Not particularly, no,” she muttered.

  Mesmerized, he watched as her delicate throat moved ever so slightly as she swallowed—the only indication she gave that she was having second thoughts about being there. She was lovelier than he remembered—or perhaps it was simply that maturity agreed with her—and she still possessed the courage to hold his gaze. Or perhaps not. It wavered for a heartbeat as she glanced away while licking her lips. An invitation for something more intimate.

  He trailed his finger along the soft flesh beneath her chin and her gaze jumped back to his. Beneath his touch, he could feel her pulse quickening, fluttering like a tiny moth that had dared to approach the flame and now realized it was left with no means of escape. It was obvious she was a novice when it came to the art of seduction, but no matter. He had enough experience to see them through.

  “I know why you’re here,” he said, his voice low, provocative, a prelude to their lying beneath the silken sheets that adorned his bed.

  She furrowed her delicate brow. Her features were exquisite perfection, carved by nature with obvious care and never altered by the harshness of life.

  “How—” she began.

  “Do not think you’re the first to try to trap me into marriage. I’m not easily caught.” He slid his finger along her flesh, down to the clasp at her throat. “I have little doubt your guardian stands just beyond the window, watching, waiting until the perfect moment to make his presence known.” With nimble fingers, he loosened the clasp and carefully slid the cloak off her shoulders until it pooled on the floor.

  His body tightened with his unobstructed view of all she had to offer. He’d gone too damned long without a woman beneath him. Even if he were snared by her trap he would escape it easily enough. Cradling her face, he leaned nearer until his breath mingled with hers. “But even if he witnesses my removing your clothing, even if he sees you welcoming me with open arms and crying out in ecstasy, I will not marry you,” he whispered.

  He heard her breath catch.

  “I will not restore your reputation once tarnished.” He brushed his lips over hers. “If you get with child, I will not give you respectability. The price you pay for waltzing with the devil is residing in hell.”

  He settled his mouth firmly over hers, not at all surprised that she acquiesced so easily. Even if she’d not come here to trap him, he knew what he was to her. A curiosity, nothing more. A bit of misbehavior before she settled into a respectable marriage with a lord whose lineage was never questioned behind his back.

  She didn’t resist when he urged her lips to part. She moaned when he swept his tongue through her mouth, leaving nothing unexplored. Her hands gripped the lapels of his jacket, and he thought for a moment that she swayed. He reacted with a need so strong that it almost brought him to his knees.

  Even as he cursed her and his own weakness, he recognized that he had no will to resist temptation. He would have her. She’d brought this moment upon herself by arriving at his doorstep. He was a man who always took advantage of opportunities presented, and she was presenting him with an opportunity for passion. It had been too long since he’d unleashed his desires. She would benefit from all that he had to offer this night, but no more than that. In the morning, she’d take nothing from him except the memories.

  Tearing his mouth from hers, he bracketed her face between his hands and held her gaze. “Be sure this is what you want, my lady, for there will be no undoing once this is done.”

  Her breaths coming in short gasps, she shook her head. “You misunderstand my purpose in coming here.”

  “Do I?” he asked mockingly.

  She nodded. “I want someone dispensed with. And I hear you’re just the man to do it.”

  Chapter 2

  If Catherine hadn’t been standing so extremely close to Claybourne that their hearts fairly beat in the same erratic rhythm, she’d have thought he’d received a brutal blow. Although he seemed to recover quickly enough as he released his hold on her and stepped back, his face once more an unreadable mask.

  His expression had been just as inscrutable when he’d first walked into the room. While she was certain his butler had told him that a lady had come to call, Claybourne had not even looked surprised to discover she was the one waiting for him. It was only when he’d drawn back from the kiss that she’d seen any emotion at all, and she could have sworn it was desire. Desire for her specifically? Hardly likely. It was no doubt nothing more than lust unleashed and the particular woman standing before him of no consequence.

  He was known for flirting at the edge of respectability, and he was no doubt accustomed to dragging others over the precipice with him. But to her immense shame, she couldn’t help but think it would be a lovely way to go. In the secret recesses of her mind where wickedness lurked, she’d dreamed of him kissing her, but never in her wildest fantasies had she imagined that his lips would be so soft, his mouth so hot, his tongue so determined to have its way. What their mouths had been doing was quite uncivilized, and even though she knew she should have stepped away, she should have objected, she should have slapped him, all she’d wanted was to deepen the intimacy. He tasted of a flavor she’d never before experienced. He was bold with his explorations,
enticing her to forget all she’d learned of decorum.

  With his mouth playing over hers, he’d succeeded in making her body thrum madly and burn with desire as it never had. She’d been halfway tempted to follow where he was leading, but more was at stake than satisfying her own yearnings. His earlier words had convinced her that he’d hold no respect for her if she succumbed to his charms, as no doubt many a woman had before her, and at this stage of the game she needed to have the upper hand.

  Giving her his back, he walked to a small table where an assortment of crystal decanters rested. He took the top off one and poured amber liquid into one glass, and then another.

  “Dispensed with? Such gentle words. I assume you mean you want someone killed,” he stated flatly.

  “Yes.” Reaching down, she gathered up her pelisse, holding it close as though it had the power to stop her trembling. Dear God, but she wanted to reach out to him, run her hands over his back, his shoulders. She wanted to comb her fingers through his thick, black hair. She wanted to press her body against his. Waltz with the devil, indeed. Lord save her, she wanted to lie with him.

  Turning from the table, he held a glass toward her. Swallowing hard, forcing her body not to reveal its inner quivering, she reached for the glass, pausing as her gaze fell on the inside of his right thumb, scarred with a series of raised welts as though someone had repeatedly slashed at him. Upon further inspection, she realized more than a knife had been used. He’d been burned as well.

  “Staring at it won’t make it look any prettier,” he said.

  She snapped her gaze up to his. “My apologies. I—” She could say nothing to make the matter right, so she simply took the glass he offered. “Thank you.”

  His gaze roamed over her. Disdainfully. It was all she could do to keep holding her head high, but hold it high she did.

  He brushed past her and dropped into a chair, lounging insolently. Gone was any semblance of him being a gentleman, any hint that he viewed her as a lady. Although in truth, he’d ceased to be a gentleman the moment his warm, pliant lips had met hers. Even now her body heated with the memory of his mouth urging hers to open for him, to welcome the thrust of his tongue. And in the welcoming she’d ceased to be a lady, but she could regain her footing easily enough by simply reverting back to her upbringing.