Taste of the Devil (8 page)

He was without a doubt, the most breathtaking man she had ever seen.

Not that it mattered.

She cared not one whit that his eyes were the color of a glistening waterfall, or that he had two perfectly placed dimples carved into his sculpted cheeks. It did not concern her that his heated stare seemed to crackle the air between them. All that mattered was that the man had entered into an advantageous bargain with her.

* * *

Doing a brilliant job of passing himself off as a gentleman, Tyler graciously offered her an arm into the dining room.

* * *

Dinner was a strange affair full of undercurrents, passing signals, and curious undertones. Jediah, totally unaware, enjoyed the meal to the fullest. Indeed, he fairly beamed his satisfaction, for it appeared Lord Devon was well-pleased with his niece, and the chit was for once behaving herself. Everything seemed to be going his way.

He let out a sigh of pent up relief.

He had had some worry over Lord Devon. The man had a reputation for being unpredictable.

Jediah knew the old Duke had coerced the bounder into the match, but he still had some concerns whether Devon would willingly go along. He supposed the threat of losing his inheritance had done the trick. That and the sight of his niece. Willful though she might be, there was no denying her loveliness. Ginny favored Violet, his stepsister, in that regard.

The thought of sister Violet and what she would have to say to him regarding this match were she alive today made Jediah feel slightly uncomfortable. Violet had been the only person in his miserable life who had accepted and loved him unconditionally. He tried to rationalize away his prickling conscience by telling himself he was doing what was best for the gel. After all, she would be a duchess one day. Who could ask for more?

The fact that he was shackling her to the most notorious rake in England in exchange for control of her fortune was brushed aside as inconsequential.

Jediah was not a bad man... Just a practical sort.

“Lord Devon, your grandfather requested the ceremony take place at Islemoor Hall. I take it that is agreeable to you?”

Tyler’s focus remained fixed on his plate. “What my grandfather requests is a law onto itself. So, yes, it is agreeable to me.”

Ginny noted that his lordship’s tone was strangely morose. In that moment, she almost felt sympathy for him. It appeared he was no less subject to the Duke’s whims than she was to her uncle’s.

He looked up suddenly, catching the compassionate expression on her face. He smiled wistfully at her. “We shouldn’t want to disappoint Grandfather.”

“Excellent!” Jediah chortled, “We’ve arranged for the ceremony to take place this coming Saturday.”

“Saturday?” Ginny was horrified. Saturday was only five days away. “Could we not delay the ceremony for a while?”

Tyler raised an eyebrow. It appeared he had caged her agreement but had left the impression that the door remained slightly ajar. He was not about to let her get the idea she could still fly off. He needed this to come together and quickly. “I don’t see any reason to delay the ceremony.”

“Of course not.” Jediah leveled a stern look at his niece. “Wouldn’t do to insult his lordship now, would it, my dear.”

Before Ginny could respond Tyler slammed her options shut. “I will, of course, escort my bride to Islemoor Hall on Saturday. Personally.”

Ginny gave him a shocked look. Did he think she would back out? Fly from the coop? “I assure you that won’t be necessary, my lord.”

He stared her down with a rather frightening sense of knowledge. “Oh, I think it will be,” he drawled.

That tone brooked no argument. Ginny bristled.

She could never tolerate anyone presuming authority over her. A terrible trait in a lady, she supposed, but there it was. He would learn soon enough.

“Whatever his lordship wishes, my dear.” Jediah quickly motioned to a servant to refill Lord Devon’s wineglass.

Taking a sip of the wine, Tyler locked eyes with Ginny over the rim of the goblet. “I wonder if I might call on your niece on Wednesday, Moore.”

It was not a question, and Jediah– conscious of his station– knew it.

“By all means, Lord Devon. After all, she is to be your wife.”

Tyler nodded. “Then I will see you Wednesday, my lady. We shall enjoy a picnic in the country and get better acquainted.”

Ginny fumed. He could have asked her. She would have refused, but he could have asked. What on earth was the man playing at with this heavy-handed routine? Barking out orders as if–

Suddenly Ginny realized what he was about.

It wouldn’t do to make Uncle Jediah suspicious by being too friendly with her. Why, if the Toad even suspected something he would call the marriage off–

undoubtedly the very reason Tyler agreed to the quick ceremony on Saturday. He was not going to give her uncle the chance to back out.

Very sharp of you, Lord Devon.

Ginny winked broadly at him, letting him know she understood his game.

She missed the gentle, sly curve of the rogue’s lips as he sipped his wine.

* * *

“No, Ginny, say it isn’t true!”

Two identically bewigged heads huddled together inside the Henry coach. Ginny, dressed as Reggie, put a consoling hand on her cousin’s arm.

“I’m afraid it is, Henley. Uncle forced it on me.

There is naught I can do.”

“But Lord Devon!” He squealed.

“I know, I know.”

Ginny fully commiserated with Henley’s outrage.

Hadn’t she felt exactly the same until she had met the man? Not that she felt any different now, she quickly told herself. It was just that it had been concluded far better than she could have ever hoped for.

“Oh, when I think of you marrying that rakehell I could just die.”

Ginny continued to pat her cousin’s arm in understanding.

“I’ll be fine, I assure you. Don’t worry about me, Henley.”

Henley looked at her as if she had just come off the moon. “You? Who’s talking about you? I’m thinking of that poor, gorgeous man forced into marriage. The waste of it all!”

Ginny’s brows lowered ominously. She snatched her hand from his sleeve. “Lord Henry, you are odious! How could you even think of siding with that bounder?”

Henley sighed. “Forgive me, dearheart. I momentarily became blinded by the light of a dazzling chimera. Breathtaking to look at, impossible to attain, and most likely poisonous to the bite.”

Ginny relented; she had never been able to sustain anger against her beloved Henley. “Very well, then; that’s understandable. He almost mesmerized me with that countenance of his.”

Her cousin clasped her hand, his generous and concerned nature coming to the fore. “You will be all right with this scheme you have concocted?”

“Yes.” She waved her hand airily. “Right as rain.

Despite his stellar attributes, the man is easily controlled.”

Henley made a moue with his mouth. “That man is many things– but never would I call him malleable.”

“That’s odd for you to say. You know his reputation; he seems to care for nothing but debauchery.”

“I know; it’s just that he’s never struck me as...” He tapped his rouged lips. “I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

“Believe me, Lord Devon is nothing to be concerned about.”

Even as she said the words, Ginny recalled the incident in the garden when his smooth voice had given her chills. She could still hear that cold voice in her head.

‘You have what exactly?’ How could four simple words sound so... So dangerous?

Ginny shook off the memory with a shiver. Surely, she had imagined his focused intensity? The sparks of fire in his lucid eyes? The sudden command in his presence?

Of course, she had.

For heavens sake, the man had been with her in her unmentionables and had been completely innocuous.

She turned her focus back to her cousin. “Let’s change the subject. Tell me, what is Frock’s like?” Her eyes glowed with excitement at the thought of entering the famous gaming hell.

Just as she asked the question, the carriage rolled to a stop.

“You are about to find out. Come, Ginny, let’s have some fun and set them all on their ears!” Lord Henry offered his arm to escort her from the coach and four.

The excitement began with the muffled sounds of the lively patrons drifting through the closed doors of the establishment. Ginny held her breath as footmen opened the heavy wooden doors with a flourish: the thrill of a new adventure tingled through her.

They entered the den of iniquity without a backward glance.

* * *

Rows of flickering chandeliers met her eyes.

The glowing candles illuminated the boisterous crowd, making the scene appear as if a painting had come to life. Ginny’s senses were assailed with the colors, sounds, scents, and textures of a lively gambling hell in full operation.

Members of the ton floated by in a kaleidoscope of brightly colored raiment. Fashionable and not fashionable. Women clung to the arms of gentlemen, some ladies, some obviously not. Ginny tried not to gape at her first sight of a painted doxy who was drinking and guffawing alongside a bewigged lord that she recognized from Gingridge’s soiree.

Tables for games of chance were set up throughout the hall, and she noted a large buffet in the far corner.

(Her cheeks blushed as soon as she realized the curious shapes the food had been molded into.) The entire room buzzed with a plethora of sounds. Cards shuffling. Illicit murmurs. Glasses tinkling. Raucous laughter. Muffled giggles. Somewhere a pianoforte played.

Towards the rear of the establishment, a wide stairway led to the second level. Whatever was up there seemed to be tres chic, for the stairs were constantly crowded with all manner of couples going up and down.

She sighed blissfully. Frock’s was everything she had imagined it would be.

“What would you like to do first, Regg? Are you hungry? Would you care for some refreshment?”

“No, thank you, Henley. I say, let’s go upstairs first. It seems to be very popular.”

Henley blanched. “Up- Upstairs?” He stammered.

“Good God, no!”

Ginny was flummoxed. “Why ever not?”

“Be– because– just,” He flustered. “You can’t go up there, Ginny; if you mention it again, I shall take you home straightaway!”

“But why?”

“Never mind. Stap me, but you ask the most outrageous things sometimes. Now you did agree to listen to my guidance before we left, my dear. You will not even think of going up there!” His voice raised an octave from its already high pitch. “I mean it.”

“Yes, yes. Whatever you say.” Her curiosity was now peaked. She would be going up those stairs at the first opportunity.

At her seeming capitulation, Henley let out a sigh of relief. He knew Ginny would often do as she pleased, no matter what anyone said. Thank goodness she agreed to listen to him. Heavens. Just the thought of her in those natty rooms upstairs...!

Ginny’s focus was still on the puzzlingly busy stairway when a low chuckle caught her attention. The smooth sensual laugh seemed vaguely familiar.

Turning to see the source, she scanned the gaming tables. A rowdy couple moved out of her line of vision, leaving her a clear view to the table beyond.

Lord Devon sat at the card table; a buxom wench firmly implanted on his lap. The woman was scandalous in her attire. She wore a red silk gown, the bodice of which was so low that the crests of her nipples could be seen from straight across the room.

By his proximity, she’d wager Lord Devon had a much better view.

The wench leaned into his chest to whisper something in his ear. Lord Devon threw back his head in a hearty laugh as his palm shamelessly stroked her rounded bottom.

Unaccountably, Ginny was piqued.

He was utterly irritating!

Oh, she realized the man had been up front with her as to his frolicsome ways; he had even bargained with her for the right to continue with those merry ways. Nevertheless, he was promised to her. Why, they were getting married on Saturday! The entire ton would know of it. He could at least have the decency to behave like a gentleman until after the wedding.

Who did he think he was dealing with?

An unholy light came into her eyes.

Lord Henry, noticing the direction of her fiery gaze, came up short. “It’s Lord Devon doing what he does best. Ginny, dear, it would be wise not to confront the –

Ginny!”

Leaving Henley talking to himself, Ginny boldly sashayed up to Tyler. She simply stood there before him, silently flourishing a lace handkerchief.

It took a few minutes, but she finally captured the rogue’s attention.

Curious silvery blue eyes slowly traveled her foppish form.

When his sights fell to her powdered wig and heavily rouged face, the mild curiosity turned to a frown. It was her cue.

Leaning forward in a sweeping bow, Ginny addressed him in a nasal, trilling voice. “Reggie Moore at your service, my lord.”

With a sardonic grin Tyler arched an eyebrow.

“Not at my service, young man.” He turned abruptly away. The woman on his lap cackled shrilly.

The curt dismissal grated on Ginny. How dare he?

His casual disregard only made her wave her perfumed hanky in his face all the more! A barnacle by nature, she firmly attached herself to the confrontation.

“You misunderstand me, sir. I believe we are to be kin.”

The annoying woman rolled her eyes and snorted.

Tyler nuzzled her neck. “Not in a million years, boy,” he muttered back.

By this time Lord Henry had joined her, his expression wary.

“La, there you see, you’re quite wrong,” Ginny smiled beatifically, gesturing to both Henley and herself. “We shall be your cousins! And we wanted to make you most welcome to the family. Personally.”

Tyler’s eyes widened “The devil you say.”

Ginny feigned confusion. “Why, you are marrying our cousin, Lady Thomlinson, are you not, sir?”

Tyler’s mouth dropped open as he took in the two outrageous fops standing in front of him. “Well, I–”