A Deal with Lord Devlin (3 page)

“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 is 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.”

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.