The Devil to Pay (The Devilish Devalles, Novella #1)

by Gayle, Catherine

  “Oh! I’m so sorry, Samantha,” the younger girl said dramatically. She fidgeted with the torn flounce, which only caused it to tear more completely. “I can be so clumsy. I’m afraid you’ll have to go off to the retiring room to have this repaired.”

  The elder Miss Hunt huffed repeatedly, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to form words without success. Then without another word, she spun and fled from the ballroom. Her escape was so hurried Gabe might have thought her an illusion if not for the younger sister still standing sheepishly before him, and his absolute certainty that he’d just seen what he thought he had seen.

  He hadn’t the faintest idea what to say to her, as the contrivance which had just taken place before him was so unconventional and unexpected…and, if he were being honest with himself, so utterly delightful. Instead of speaking at all, he merely raised an eyebrow in question toward the young lady. This one would be a worthy adversary.

  For the first time in their entirely too brief acquaintance, she looked as chagrined as she ought to appear after such a display. Her eyes darted left and right as the color rose in her cheeks, but she didn’t back away.

  “Ask me to dance,” she hissed at him after a moment.

  Gabe nearly choked, as that was the furthest thing from the response he’d expected. “Beg pardon?”

  “Everyone is staring at us, sir,” she whispered just as heatedly as before. “Ask me to dance.”

  For lack of a reasonable excuse not to, and equally because he was half-desperate to discover the meaning behind the charade, he supposed there would be no harm in complying. Well, at least there would be less harm to her reputation in asking her to dance than there would be if he were to leave her standing where she was, gaping like a fish.

  Yet Gabe couldn’t resist toying with her, if only just a bit. “If I do as you wish, will you explain what just happened?” he asked impishly.

  The lady harrumphed with fervor, causing her brown eyes to turn such a dark shade as to resemble a luscious chocolate. “That is hardly an honorable thing to ask of a lady, sir.”

  “Alas, ripping your sister’s gown was hardly a ladylike thing for you to have done, yet you did so.”

  The black look she passed in his direction was nearly comical in its intensity, at least in his perspective. He doubted she would agree, but that only made him wish to laugh more.

  “I’ll have you know, I just saved you from being compromised.”

  On that ridiculous statement, Gabe couldn’t contain his bark of levity, which only served to garner him further haughty, disdainful glares from the little pixie before him. She’d saved him from being compromised? Every head in their general vicinity turned sharply in their direction, scandalized expressions on some of the matrons’ faces. Never before in his memory had he been as curious about a young lady as he was about this one.

  “As you wish,” he said once he had curtailed his laughter. “Might I have the honor of this dance, Miss…Hunt?” He held out his arm for her to take.

  “Miranda,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “Miranda Hunt. And you may.” She clapped her hand onto his arm with such force she might have scared a lesser man.

  “I’m sure I’ve never been more delighted.” And that was the absolute truth.

  With her hand clenching Mr. Devalle’s arm like it was a buoy and she was drowning, Miranda walked out onto the dance floor at his side.

  Actually, walked might be too generous a sentiment. Tromped would be better suited, as her feet felt as though they’d suddenly added several inches in length and weren’t moving as they should, and her heart was still pounding so hard that it seemed as though the floor had become unsteady beneath her.

  Gracious, but she wished she’d known enough in advance what Samantha had intended to do. If she had, then perhaps she could have devised a better solution for the situation. Instead, it seemed she’d only created a new problem. Worse yet, she doubted she’d actually stopped Samantha. She’d merely delayed her sister’s schemes, but for how long was anyone’s guess.

  The string quartet had just completed a set. All around them, couples were taking their places for the new dance to begin. Miranda cringed when she realized they were not in lines as for a country dance, but in pairs set to waltz.

  “Do you not have permission to waltz, then?” Mr. Devalle asked with far more levity than was called for.

  She glared at him. “I’ve had permission for more than two Seasons. I merely didn’t intend to…” Her ability to think clearly, or at least to speak clearly, fled when his hand took her by the waist and he drew her closer, closing her other hand in his.

  Good heavens. The heat in the ballroom intensified, or maybe it was just the heat surrounding Miranda. It was difficult to tell, as she was staring up at his strong, square jaw over the top of his snowy cravat. The laughing line of his lips revealed just a hint of white teeth, and even his deep blue eyes seemed to mock her. His near-black hair was cropped short in the Brutus style that was so fashionable, making it impossible to mistake his expression in the slightest. All in all, he cut an imposing figure.

  He raised a thick eyebrow and angled his head slightly, his lips curling up at the corners just enough to reinforce her sense of being teased. “Didn’t intend to what?”

  “I didn’t intend to get so close to you,” Miranda said on a breath, then immediately wished she hadn’t said anything at all.

  What was she doing? Papa would have her head if he knew she was dancing with so scandalous a gentleman at all. But to waltz with him? And this after she’d already created a spectacle by ripping Samantha’s gown.

  As the quartet began the strains of a waltz, Mr. Devalle nudged her into motion.

  “Pray tell, what did you intend with all of this?” His tone was just this side of jocular, which only aggravated her nerves further.

  “I intended,” she said with more heat than was necessary, “to prevent my sister from doing something she would regret. Something which would have—”

  “Which would have compromised me,” he finished for her, twirling the pair of them around another couple with surprising ease.

  Miranda straightened her spine. “Do pray stop mocking me, sir. My sister had every intention of trapping you, of forcing your hand.”

  His features softened slightly. “I apologize. I can see you’re very earnest even if you are equally misguided.”

  “Likewise I can see that you are very flippant even if you’re equally arrogant.” Oh! Where had her manners gone? She’d never insulted a man before other than her brother, and even then only on very rare occasions because she loathed herself afterward.

  “You are quite a contradiction, aren’t you?” His eyes narrowed somewhat, staring at her intently as though memorizing her every feature. “You demand I ask you to dance, and yet I get a very strong sense that you don’t like me in the least.”

  “I don’t dislike you.”

  “Perhaps not. But you don’t like me either.”

  It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t respond. If she tried to, she’d likely stumble over her words as surely as she felt close to stumbling over her own feet. He twirled her around again, moving her between the other couples with an ease which felt alien and unnatural.

  “Tell me,” he said a few moments later, “have I done something in particular to cause your dislike? Or do you dislike me simply on principle?”

  From the way he asked, he clearly believed the latter to be the case.

  “And now you’re being obtuse,” Miranda said. Blast. She said a quick, silent prayer for her usual patience to return.

  “Am I? I’d thought I was merely being observant.”

  He twirled her around again, and then another time, and then they had gone out one of the open doors to the gardens. Though the music could hardly be heard any more, he continued dancing. The path beneath her feet was unsteady, but there were torches lighting the way.

  She ought to go back inside. She really shouldn�
��t be alone with a gentleman who was so scandalous. It was bad enough that she’d danced with him, but Papa would never let her hear the end of it if he learned of this.

  Mr. Devalle smiled his mischievous smile at her again. “You felt honor-bound to prevent me from being compromised by your sister. As I’ve never come close to being compromised in my life, I have to assume that you hold me in very low esteem and made the assumption that I would compromise a lady. And that means you were really trying to protect her, not me.”

  Despite the haughty appearance of such an action, she felt her chin tipping upward. “Is it a crime to wish to rescue a sister from potential ruin?”

  “Not in the least.”

  Mr. Devalle spun her again, and before she recognized his intent, he’d led her completely off the path and into the dark recesses of the garden. She could no longer hear anything at all coming from the ballroom. That meant no one inside would be able to hear her if she needed them to. Her pulse took up a panicked gallop through her veins.

  He slowed until they were no longer waltzing but still rocking in place. The hand at her waist drew her in closer until the heat of his body left her trembling in awareness and the warmth of his breath fanned over her cheek. “But you gave no thought to your own ruination, it would seem.”

  Good heavens. He was going to kiss her. Miranda had never been kissed before. She’d dreamed of it, of course, but her dreams had never been of kiss from a scandalous rake who’d waltzed her out of a ball and straight to her ruin. It had always been a good, honorable gentleman who’d swept her off her feet and followed all of the proper rules of courtship, and they’d always been well and truly betrothed before he’d even attempted to steal a kiss.

  Yet judging from the furious pumping of her heart and her complete and utter inability to take a decent breath, Miranda rather thought she might prefer to have her first kiss come from a rake than from a more honorable gentleman.

  He leaned closer to her, and she could do nothing but stare at his lips. They were full and silken-looking, and his tongue darted out to wet them slightly.

  She shivered, but realized she was leaning closer to him when she ought to be pulling away. In fact, it took every bit of restraint she possessed to refrain from pushing up on her toes and stealing the kiss she wanted.

  He tightened the hand at her waist, and with his other he slid his thumb along the angles of her jaw. “Do you want me to ruin you, Miranda?” His question brushed over her lips like a caress, sinful and sweet, all at the same time.

  Yes. The voice in her head said the word like a prayer, but it didn’t come from her mouth. Nothing did, aside from deep, shuddering breaths of frustration.

  The corners of his lips jerked slightly downward just half a moment before he pressed both of his lips together into a thin line. He released her so suddenly she nearly fell forward from the loss.

  Why hadn’t he kissed her? Had he merely been amusing himself by teasing her?

  “We should return you to the ballroom before you’re missed,” he said. All hints of mirth had fled from his tone. “I’m sure your sister’s gown should be repaired soon.” He held out his arm for her to take.

  Before she did so, she fought with her racing heart and shallow breathing to set them back to rights. She smoothed her hands over her gown to gain another moment, though the silk fabric hadn’t been mussed in the slightest. When finally she felt in control of her faculties once more, she took his arm gingerly, touching him as little as was possible.

  He led her back to the lighted path through the gardens in silence. When they could see into the ballroom again, he looked in every direction as though checking to make certain they wouldn’t be noticed.

  “Thank you for the dance,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

  Then he stepped across the threshold.

  As they made their way back into the throng of dancers, Miranda felt a strong urge to cry, though she fought it with every bit of fortitude she could muster. How had her attempt to stop Samantha from doing something she would regret turned into…into this enormous, muddled affair? She wished the night was at an end, because she wanted nothing more at this precise moment in time than to curl up under the coverings on her bed.

  Mr. Devalle stopped when they’d come to the edge of the dance floor. He turned to her. “Thank you again, Miss Miranda.”

  When he dropped into a bow, she caught sight of Samantha across the ballroom behind him. Her sister had a very determined set to her jaw, and she was making her way in their direction. She was going to attempt to entrap Mr. Devalle again, and so soon after her first failed attempt.

  By Jove, Miranda was not going to allow Samantha’s plan to come to fruition, no matter what specifically her plan might be.

  “I need you to promise me something,” she said urgently to Mr. Devalle as he rose from his bow. An icy look came to his eyes and he opened his mouth to speak, so she rushed on. “Whatever my sister might do, I need you to promise me that you will not allow her to trap you—”

  “You want me to promise not to let her compromise me,” he drawled disdainfully.

  “Yes.” She put as much sincerity into her tone as she could, never allowing her gaze to drop. “Please.”

  He stared at her so long and so intensely she felt she might melt beneath his focus. “Very well,” he finally said. “But my agreement comes at a great price.”

  What sort of payment might a man such as Mr. Devalle demand? But there was no time for Miranda to discover the answer to that question. Samantha had come close enough that she’d be able to hear their conversation.

  Miranda nodded, though she had sincere doubt she’d like his price. “Anything,” she whispered. “But please…”

  “You have my word as a gentleman,” he murmured just before Samantha reached Miranda’s side.

  His word as a gentleman. But what was that worth when the gentleman in question was likely no gentleman at all?

  It must have surely been madness and not anything even relatively reasonable that drew Gabe to stand before Lord Calstock’s home on Curzon Street the next afternoon.

  Despite his realization that madness had drawn him there, he still climbed the steps and used the knocker. Would giving in to insanity serve to compound it? He couldn’t be certain, at least not without asking Mother. She was surely an authority on that matter, as she believed herself to be on all others. But before he could think any further on the subject, the butler opened the door to him and looked through spectacles down his long nose. Gabe handed over his calling card.

  The butler took the card, glanced briefly at it, and then spoke in a pinched voice. “I’m afraid Lord Calstock is not at home this afternoon. He’s not expected to return for many hours yet, after a day serving in the Lords and then some time at his club,” he said, attempting to close the door. “I will be happy to let him know—”

  Before the butler could block him out, Gabe put his foot in the way. The butler sneered, but that was hardly something that would bother Gabe on any day. Pompous butlers were a species he’d grown rather accustomed to in all his time visiting certain widows.

  “Is Miss Miranda Hunt receiving callers?” he asked.

  The butler’s gray eyebrows drew together as he truly studied Gabe for the first time, then actually read his card, then looked at Gabe again. “I’m not certain if Lady Calstock and the young ladies have returned from their outing,” he said slowly, drawing out each word as though he was weighing it before letting it pass through his lips. “Allow me to enquire within.”

  The aging servant did not offer to allow Gabe to wait inside. No doubt, this was related to the gossip floating through the ether about that doxy who’d died at his feet, but he hadn’t quite expected such a reaction from a servant. Then again, in most London homes the servants knew everything before their employers did.

  Nearly fifteen minutes passed before the butler returned, during which time dozens of Gabe’s acquaintances passed by on Curzon Street. He did
his best to appear nonchalant, acting as though there were nothing remotely abnormal about him standing alone outside a peer’s home (and particularly, a peer who had young, unmarried daughters still residing with him), but no doubt there would be even more gossip circling drawing rooms before the hour had come to a close.

  Finally, the door opened. Somewhat. Well, really not much at all.

  The butler’s nose was virtually all that could be seen through the tiny crack in the door. “It appears that her ladyship and the young misses have not returned from Bond—”

  “Really, Perkins, let the poor man in!”

  It was a female voice, but one which reminded Gabe far more of the elder sister than the younger…though he wasn’t entirely certain it belonged to either. It probably did, though. There hadn’t been any other Hunt sisters at the ball last night, had there? Were there more Hunt sisters? He really didn’t know. Calstock was not a peer Gabe had ever really paid much attention to, much preferring to spend his time in more diverting pursuits. Last night, he hadn’t really paid much attention to anyone at Leicester’s ball apart from these two sisters.

  After he’d made his promise to Miss Miranda, he’d studiously avoided her elder sister. In fact, when it seemed he would have no choice but to ask Miss Hunt to dance if he didn’t do something drastic, he’d taken himself off to Leicester’s study, where he’d found Luke and several other gentlemen playing cards. There he’d remained until it was time to collect Amelia and Mother to take them home. Throughout the entire carriage ride, he’d been forced to listen to Mother extoll all of Goderich’s supposed virtues of which Amelia ought to take note, whilst his sister failed to refrain from rolling her eyes repeatedly.

  Subtlety was a virtue which all three Devalle siblings lacked, much to Mother’s vexation.

  Nevertheless, he had upheld his end of the bargain with Miss Miranda Hunt. Now he had every intention of collecting the payment she had promised him.

  Instead of allowing him entry as the voice had pleaded with him to do, however, the butler closed the door firmly.