Authors: Anabelle Bryant
Duke of Darkness (15 page)
Alexandra slid her rook forward and waited for Devlin’s advance. Upon her insistence they’d made a wager and as much as he’d tried to cry off, she’d hammered away until he’d agreed to her stakes. The winner of the match was allowed one question to be answered with complete truth. She contrived the preposterous stakes to satisfy her curiosity before the question badgering her day and night caused her to lose her mind. She spared no thought to the why of it. The risk of whatever he deemed to ask was worth the price of her satisfaction.
She flicked her eyes to his black ivory pieces lining the chessboard like obedient soldiers. He proved a skilful master. They were evenly matched, but the display on the chessboard looked grim. She unwrinkled her nose and feigned a confident smile, although she welcomed the diversion as Reeston bid entrance and Devlin called him forward.
“A delivery for Lady Alexandra,Your Grace. There is also a card.” Reeston placed a large arrangement of hothouse flowers on the sofa table nearest the window. The intense splash of red, yellow and orange against the otherwise wood-filled room presented a remarkable contrast.
“Flowers for me?” Alexandra rose from her chair in a rustle of silk. “They’re absolutely beautiful.”
Devlin watched as she opened the card, but she paid him no heed. Her heart sang at the sentiment someone wished she’d receive the lovely gift, never mind if he teased her later.
“Oh.” Her hand fell to her skirt in disappointment. “He’s been called away from London on a matter of utmost importance and will not be able to visit today.” She glanced towards the chess table and met Devlin’s speculative stare.
“Of whom are we speaking, Lexi? Is it the owner of the hothouse?”
“Very funny.” She’d expected teasing on his part and wandered back to the game with a disgruntled frown.
“The card is signed Stanley, Lord Bickerstaffe. That’s odd. I’m sure I would remember such an unusual name, but I can’t recall him. I will ask Julia on the morrow.” She sat down on her side of the chessboard and rested the card on the window sill.
“If I were you, I’d keep the extravagant flower sender’s name to yourself. I’m not sure Julia is in a congenial mood of late.” He moved his knight forward.
Alexandra learned his game through their nightly challenges. Devlin brought his knight to bear when preparing to end the game. She moved one of her pawns in its path and glanced at the note leaning against the window sill.
“I suppose you’re right. She has seemed distant the last few times we’ve been together.” Her eyes found the ivory calling card for the third time.
“Bickerstaffe, hmm?” Devlin spared her a quick glance. “I don’t recall him. Sounds like a stuffy fellow. There were far more people at the Fenhurst ensemble than we were led to believe. It was supposed to be an intimate gathering of friends, not the season’s last ball.” Devlin moved his knight to a position of attack, but his fingers lingered on the piece, hesitant to commit.
They were nice fingers really. Strong and slender. She remembered the feel of them as they cradled her face three nights before.
“It’s your move.” He smiled at her. One of those rare, sincere, breathtakingly handsome smiles. “Still thinking about Bickerstaffe?”
If he only knew.
“Thinking about the game.” The emphatic lie rolled from her tongue. She moved a pawn to rook four. It was a foolish move and she regretted it as soon as she let go of the piece. She’d have to pay better attention if any chance of winning existed. His mention of their expectations at the Fenhurst gathering was true and she recalled the gossip and Devlin’s unkind reception. She raised her eyes from the board, little caring if he spied the adoration in her eyes. His terrible past and the dark secrecy of his lifestyle made her heart squeeze.
“I hope you’re not going to get all calf eyed over a simple bouquet of flowers and a little card. I thought you wanted to win this game. You named the stakes.”
Her brow raised in pique at his brusque tone. “What do you remember about him, from when you turned him away the other day? Was he tall? Was he handsome? Did he wear spectacles? I’ve always thought spectacles charming on a gentleman.”
Devlin looked like he had swallowed a toad. For the life of her, she couldn’t name the reason.
“I didn’t meet him. I had Reeston turn him away. Ridiculous man showing up before calling hours.” Devlin captured another piece and her spirit wilted. She shoved her rook to an open square and began to speak, but he overrode her in a peevish tone.
“And don’t pester my butler either. He has enough to contend with chasing after Just Henry. Your dog can smell a sugar biscuit across the entire estate.” Devlin thrust his queen forward with more force than necessary.
“Are you angry with me?” Alexandra captured his knight and she swore fire flashed in the depths of his eyes.
“I’m not angry.” He retracted his queen a square.
“Do you miss King? You should bring him back to the estate. I never meant to banish him to the stables when I moved into Kenley Manor.” She advanced upon his queen with a swift play.
His features softened and he exhaled long and thoroughly. Then his eyes fell to the diamond pendant around her neck. It was the nicest gift she’d ever received. She wore it always. Had he noticed? Apparently he did now.
Devlin’s distemper passed and they focused all attention on the game, the subsequent moves strategic battles between two chess players intent on victory.
“Speaking of relocating, I would be pleased if you moved to the east wing. Originally I meant to offer you privacy and time to settle into the manor, but as I’ve found you extraordinarily witty, and since my staff has practically adopted you, perhaps you would like to move closer. My request is long overdue.”
Alexandra smiled in answer, but not from the request she change rooms. His suggestion pleased her without a doubt, but his compliment brought about her grin. When he called her “extraordinarily witty” she recognized the words from the silly list of paper Julia insisted he assemble. She warmed with the knowing that the words came with sincerity and he no longer attempted to take them back.
“After a compliment like that, how could I deny the request?” She swept her castle forward with a little flourish. “Check. I wonder if Bickerstaffe plays chess. He sounds like a chess player, don’t you agree?” Inane conversation should throw him off his game and with hope she could win an answer to her question. She doubted she could match his skill.
“Bickerstaffe sounds like a pastor. I hope for your sake he isn’t. That will get you nowhere fast.”
He easily manoeuvred out of her attack. Drat.
“True, I do like to kiss.” It was bold and forward, but blast it, she needed to win.
Devlin smiled, a slow saturnine grin, like a cat that swallowed not one bowl of cream, but a whole kitchen full. “Interesting fact to share, Lexi. And here I thought I was the only one in the room that savoured the exquisite pleasure derived from a long, passionate kiss. Makes me happy just to think about it.”
She did not doubt his words and a strange sensation caused her to feel overly warm. She glanced to the window, wishing it was open. Devlin played with practised skill through his next three turns, a smug smile on his lips, his toe tapping incessantly under the table. He was winning as he usually did, and a drastic change of tactic was needed before it was too late.
“What if we alter our wager a little? You
are
winning.”
The corner of his mouth curled. “That I am. And that’s exactly why I don’t wish to change the prize. Now, let me see, what will my question be? There are so many possibilities.” His eyes flared, the gleam in their obsidian depths brighter than ever.
What could she do to distract him? He enjoyed her disadvantage far too much. What if she just asked him the one question she yearned to know? He couldn’t possibly win if he was back-pedalling for explanations. And oh, it would make him terribly uncomfortable to boot. How clever. She clasped her hands together in her lap where he could not see them and detect her nervousness.
“Speaking of questions, there is something of a personal nature I have been meaning to ask you.”
“Well then, ask away.”
He never glanced from the board, distracted with play, but his foot stopped tapping so she’d captured his attention for the moment.
“Who exactly is Widow Penslow and how well did you know her?”
His reserve faltered for a heartbeat, nothing more, then he slid his queen to the open square set on the diagonal before her king.
“Checkmate, my darling.” He stood up, a broad smile across his face.
“You won the game?” Alexandra reviewed the board and the placement of pieces, unable to conceive how he’d managed to get past her defences with such ease, most especially when she planned to win.
“And better still, that means I need not answer your question but someday, you will answer one of mine.” He leaned in and voiced the last bit in soft tones beside her ear, each syllable an echo in her soul. Then, without pause, he pivoted, chuckling as he left the room.
Devlin gloated over his chess win when Phineas and Julia arrived after dinner the following evening. He’d anticipated a quiet evening, but with the arrival of the siblings, any wish for solitude was obliterated. Julia took Alexandra aside and apologized as soon as she entered the room. He couldn’t hear the entire conversation but he could tell the two shared no hard feelings. Perhaps Phin had instigated his sister’s contrite entreaty. Phineas was a good friend, more brother actually.
And one of the only constants in his tumultuous life. Phineas and his entire family made it a point to include him in any social event, even though he almost always declined their invitations. They refused to acknowledge the hurtful rumours and exaggerated gossip surrounding Wharncliffe history. That alone proved no easy feat. While the years lessened the frequency of tales told in ballrooms, there remained an undercurrent of curiosity that ignited speculation and unwelcome comment on the rare occasion Devlin was seen at any social affair.
Rumors of his father’s madness and shameful behaviour interwoven with speculation of how and why his mother had taken her own life provided the ton with far too many fascinating topics to abandon just because a few decades passed. When it all happened Devlin was a young boy. His Aunt Min and a bevy of servants had taken exceptionally good care of the future duke, but it was his steadfast friendship with Phineas that saw him through his darkest hours. As his father declined and passed, there were gloomy, wretched days when he too considered his future with bleakness and despair.
Devlin forced the distasteful memories from his mind. Now was not the time. He was a master at presenting an emotionless façade. Why shouldn’t he be? He’d practised the deception for years.
Phin tapped him on the arm, rescuing him from his maudlin thoughts. With a smile and a nod towards the corner, he indicated the ladies whispering near the hothouse flowers.
“So Alexandra has herself a suitor after all. What’s the gentleman like?”
Devlin approached the sideboard and poured a brandy. Did he really want it? He’d heard Cook mention she planned to prepare cinnamon rolls. He replaced the decanter and turned to his friend. “Handsome man. Tall, well built. Clever. Everything a woman could desire. Oh, and richer than an Egyptian prince.” His tone implied indifference, but Phineas stood beside him, wide-eyed and impressed.
“Really? Where has he been hiding? My sister swears she’s never heard of any Lord Bickerstaffe and believe me, she memorizes the social register.”
Devlin didn’t doubt it, but could he trust Phin with his subterfuge? With certainty. “Actually, you grew up with him. He’s one of your closest friends.” He paused long enough to enjoy the perplexed look on his friend’s face, although Phineas failed to make the connection. He nudged his arm to get his attention. “He’s in the room right now.”
Phin looked towards the door. Devlin chuckled. And then there was the dawning.
“You scoundrel. You didn’t. Oh, she will be furious when she finds out.”
“Well, I had to do something. The so-called best suitors in London weren’t up to snuff as far as I’m concerned. Not only with the encouragement of your sister, but after the delightful experience of dancing with Alexandra, they haven’t mustered the courage to pay a call. Clearly I’m not the one whose sanity should be questioned. Look at Lexi.” He glanced across the room for a long moment, his eyes focused on Lexi, engrossed in conversation and absolutely beautiful. “Who wouldn’t want to be with her?”
With reluctance, he turned back to his friend. Phin’s expression was classic, eyes flared wide and mouth agape as if he’d come to an awesome revelation.
“Oh no. You care for her, don’t you?”
“I’m her guardian, she’s my ward. I’m supposed to care for her.”
“Not like that you’re not. You can’t do this. It will cause the biggest scandal yet.” Phin lowered his voice to a whisper, but it drew more attention than if he’d continued in his natural tone.
“I don’t care about scandal. I’m allowed to breech propriety and it is the ton who has afforded me the advantage. I can do whatever I please, whenever I please, and society be damned.” The last thing he desired was an argument about feelings he didn’t understand himself.
“You can’t employ madness whenever it suits you. Either you’re mad or you’re not. So what are you going to be?”
Devlin smirked at the flippant question. “I haven’t decided yet. Indecision is part of my affliction.”
Phineas scoffed. “I recommend you exorcise your demons and work it out before Alexandra gets hurt because I know it is going to end poorly and she deserves better than that.”
Devlin ran a hand over his chin and cut Phineas a lethal stare. “Are you sure you don’t mean to say she deserves better than me?”
“No, of course not.” Phineas appeared affronted with the suggestion. “Just think about your actions for a change. You’re accustomed to living life as if tomorrow doesn’t matter. Have a care for Alexandra and her reputation. You might not adhere to what society deems respectable, but I’d bet my last pence your ward does.”
