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

by Gayle, Catherine

  “But we’ve already established that you are no gentleman, Mr. Devalle.”

  “Indeed. So perhaps you should call me Gabe.”

  A furious wave of heat flooded her cheeks. “That seems rather familiar, doesn’t it? We’ve hardly known one another for two days.”

  “You didn’t seem to have any problem with me calling you by your Christian name.”

  She was fairly certain there was laughter in his voice with that response. It was decidedly irksome that he aggravated her to the point that she lost control of her temper, and yet her temper tantrum merely amused him.

  But he was correct. He’d called her Miranda on several occasions already, and she hadn’t come close to correcting him. What had come over her to allow him such freedoms?

  Miranda crossed her arms over her chest, flummoxed more than she knew how to handle, and stared straight in front of her without allowing her eyes to drift back in his direction. “Papa would be furious if he thought I was allowing you to speak thus with me, Mr. Devalle, without having a proper connection.”

  “Gabe,” he reminded her with a wink that sent shivers racing up her neck. “A proper connection such as a betrothal, do you mean?”

  Good heavens! What was she doing? His question was beating her upon the head with horrific implications before the fullness of what she’d said had sunken in.

  He wouldn’t possibly propose to her, would he? Surely not. Why would he wish to marry her? The very thought was more than just a little bit absurd. He was a scoundrel of the first order for even implying such a thing!

  “I…”

  He tugged on the reins again, until the pair of horses turned them to yet another path, this one more secluded than the last. Miranda looked around her, pulling her arms in closer to her body and crossing them over her chest when she didn’t recognize her surroundings at all. Not another carriage was to be found, nor a horse, nor even a walker.

  She should never have come to the park with him today. He was a devilish cad, a gentleman almost entirely without honor or else he would never be spoken of in the ways Society so often mentioned him. More than that, if he had even a shred of integrity, he would never have ensured she would have no chaperone with her and then brought her to such a secluded place. Even if she’d saved Samantha from ruination at his hand, she had little to no hope of doing the same for herself now.

  That last sentiment wasn’t entirely fair. Samantha’s potential ruin would have been at her own hand, not that of anyone else. Miranda’s would be at his…and at least somewhat her own.

  Papa would want her head on a platter when he found out what had happened. Miranda’s heart felt as though it weighed five stone and was sure to plummet and land upon her toes at any moment.

  “You still haven’t answered me,” he said quietly.

  Her breath caught and she tried to swallow, feeling her throat close over the failed attempt. Was he really, truly asking her to marry him? She opened her mouth, but nothing came from her lips.

  Heavens!

  Gabe chuckled heartily at the fresh wave of discomfiture washing over Miranda. No doubt her thoughts were still focused upon the idea of a betrothal, which, now that he thought of it, was not an altogether awful thought. If he must marry someday, and Mother was adamant that he must, why not marry a chit who delighted him as she did, even if she also left him feeling more puzzled than a man ought ever to feel?

  Now was not the time to allow her to worry over such things, however. It would behoove him to redirect her line of thought to what he’d really been asking.

  “Why does your sister think she must trap someone into compromising her?” he asked, leaning closer to her ear as though gossiping in a crowd even though no one could possibly be within earshot of them. “Have you no dowries? Is there a horrible, secret scandal in your family? Has your father or brother made grave enemies amongst the ton and so no honorable gentleman will have either of you?”

  As the series of his questions progressed, the high color drained from her face until she stared at him, her brown eyes wide and as unblinking as a startled doe. He’d struck upon a nerve, then. But which of his myriad questions held the answer? None of those things would sway him, at least he didn’t think they would, but he still wanted to know as much as he could about her.

  They had arrived at an open pasture deep in the recesses of Hyde Park. He pulled back on the reins, slowing the horses to a near crawl.

  Gabe glanced around him to be certain they were as alone as he believed them to be. “I did not bring you here to destroy either you or your family, Miranda. I simply need to know.”

  The maddest part was that it didn’t feel like an exaggeration to tell her he needed to know. He felt such a strong compunction to discover every tiny thing about her he could, and the more time he spent in her presence, the stronger this overwhelming urge became. It was a curious new obsession he’d discovered.

  “But why?” The words were only a breath. She pursed her lips together for a moment, filling her lungs before answering. “It seems as though you already do know.”

  “Will you tell me anyway?”

  The horses had come to a complete stop and had begun grazing on the verdant grass. Miranda didn’t answer him immediately, so he climbed down from the curricle and reached up a hand to assist her in descending.

  She looked at him shyly, but then stood to do as he wished.

  Gabe didn’t truly know what had come over him, but instead of merely assisting her in exiting the conveyance, he placed one hand on each side of her waist, marveling at how his hands could span the tiny breadth of her before lifting her out and down to the ground. Her hands fell upon his shoulders, gentle wisps of warm pressure holding her steady.

  He’d pulled her closer to his body than he should have done, close enough that the slight space between them filled with their mutual warmth. And he didn’t release her as he ought, reveling in the delicate flare of her hips beneath his hands, the tiny gasps of surprise issuing from her lips, the hint of rose water wafting toward him from her skin.

  Devil take it, he wanted to kiss her. He almost hadn’t stopped thinking about it since the ball two nights ago, and the urge only continued to grow. That might be playing into his latest obsession.

  But first, he needed answers.

  He released her.

  Stumbling slightly, she nearly fell forward into him before setting herself to rights. “Oh. I’m so sorry.”

  The innocent didn’t even realize that she had nothing—nothing at all—to apologize for…or how much he ought to beg forgiveness for simply allowing his thoughts to stray as they continued to do. She couldn’t help the fact that she absolutely captivated him beyond repair. It was not her fault in the slightest.

  He firmed up his resolve to refrain from taking things too far, too fast. Then he held out his arm for her to take. Tentatively, she reached up and allowed her fingertips to lightly dance upon his arm near the bend. Placing his opposite hand over hers in a gesture that he recognized as being both possessive and protective, he started them off on a path among the trees.

  “I’m not quite as scandalous as the gossips would have you believe, Miranda,” he said a moment later when she remained as quiet as a church mouse. None of the Devalle siblings were. True, Gabe had engaged in a bit more debauchery than the average London gentleman, Luke frequented gaming hells more often than he visited his own home, and Amelia had been known to flout convention at nearly every possible turn. But they weren’t heathens.

  “I know what they say,” he continued, “but the truth is far less savory than all that. I’m sure after I spoke with him, your father would be more understanding than you seem to imagine him to be.”

  Miranda’s hand fell away from his arm. She stopped abruptly so that he must stop as well lest he leave her behind. When he turned to face her, all the color had drained from her face and she had an emotionless stare fixed within her eyes. “And you care that Papa will be understanding because you
intend to comply with Samantha.” She hadn’t asked it as a question.

  Good God. Why would she think that? “If you’ll recall, I made you a promise.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. But your speaking to Papa couldn’t possibly have anything to do with me, and you still haven’t named your price, and I’m not even the slightest bit certain I can pay whatever it is you require, and even if I can afford it I don’t know if I should allow it, and everything you do merely confounds me more than I already am, and—”

  With a single finger, he touched her lips until she stopped talking. “Slow down,” Gabe said. He knew he shouldn’t chuckle at her lengthy discourse on her confusion, but it was all he could do to refrain. “I intend to keep my promise, and I assure you, my price is one you can pay. I’ll name it as soon as you tell me why your sister wishes to destroy any potential she might have for making a reputable match.”

  Which, by Jove, was an entirely reasonable expectation.

  Her answer was not forthcoming. In the blink of an eye, she spun on her heels and dashed back along the lane in the direction of his curricle.

  “Miranda!” Gabe took three long strides and reached for her arm, pulling her to a stop before she could completely escape him. His fingers encircled her wrist, surrounding a bit of open skin between her glove and the sleeve of her pelisse. The heat of her skin warmed him through his glove.

  She glared up at him. “Unhand me, sir.”

  “Gabe,” he reminded her yet again. “And I’ll release you when I have the answers I seek.”

  “But why does it matter to you that Papa cannot provide either of us with a dowry?” As soon as the question left her lips, she pulled both hands to her mouth and covered it. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Papa’s business is his own—”

  “Your father’s business might concern me in due time,” Gabe replied.

  “Only if you intend to go off and do exactly what you promised me you wouldn’t!”

  “Why in God’s name would I even consider allowing your sister to trap me into marriage when it is you I can’t stop thinking about?” He hadn’t meant to shout at her—truly. But the words had most definitely been a shout.

  Not to mention the fact that they’d been more honest than he’d admitted even to himself to this point. He really couldn’t stop thinking about her, envisioning her, imagining himself with her more and more often.

  What on earth had come over him? He didn’t know, but he also didn’t want it to stop.

  Miranda gave a tiny shake of her head, her big eyes a listless cloud of confusion as though she’d been unable to comprehend the meaning of his words. Her lips parted, breathless flutters of air slipping between them in random intervals.

  But then her tongue darted out briefly to wet them and he was lost. On a groan, Gabe dipped his head down and pressed his lips against hers. A tiny sigh escaped her. With both arms, he drew her closer to him and held her close, each of her soft curves finding a home among the harder planes of his chest. Her kisses lacked skill, to be sure, but she kissed him in return with a fervor that matched his own.

  It was only when he slid his tongue along the seam of her lips in an attempt to gain entry that she pushed away.

  “Mr. Devalle!” Miranda’s expression was one of pure innocence. Her lips were properly pink and swollen, her gown ever-so-slightly mussed as she used both hands to push his away so she could step back.

  Despite the furious pounding of his heart, he allowed her some distance. “Gabe,” he reminded her again.

  “I couldn’t possibly call you by your Christian name.” In her haste to set herself to rights, she knocked one of the pins in her hair free, causing her coiffure a great deal of damage which he’d been careful to avoid.

  With both hands in the air to prove he wouldn’t grab her again, Gabe slowly closed the space between them. “You can,” he said carefully, taking the pin she’d been frantically attempting to push back into her hair and correcting the placement of it. “You could agree to be my wife, and surely then you would have no more qualms about something as silly as that.”

  The words left his mouth, and he was surprised to discover he had no desire to immediately take them back. It actually felt right somehow, which was more puzzling than all of his previous reactions to Miranda Hunt combined.

  “Marry you?” she spluttered, taking yet another step back from him. It was shock, however, and not disgust that had forced her eyebrows high and caused her mouth to take on the shape of a perfectly formed O. “Surely you jest again.”

  But he wasn’t jesting at all. Gabe closed some of the distance between them and reached for her hand, which shook when he held it between both of his. “I’m afraid not,” he drawled. “In fact, your agreement is the price I require.”

  For the first time in her life, Miranda really, truly did have the devil to pay; it was no longer just some silly saying to mean she’d stumbled into more trouble than she could rightfully pull herself out of, as she so often seemed to do.

  Mr. Devalle—no, Gabe—wanted to marry her. Well, he might not want to marry her, but if he didn’t, why would he ever dare to demand such a thing as the price for his compliance with her request? She’d never heard anything more absurd in all her years, and yet there was something very deep within her soul that was desperate to say, “Yes.” It felt almost like that night when he’d very nearly kissed her at the ball…only now, he had kissed her.

  Her very first kiss.

  It had been heavenly. And scandalous. And everything she’d ever imagined a kiss could be, and then so very much more. His warm lips had felt firm and smooth over hers, and his arms wrapped tightly around her had felt somehow right, like there was nowhere else in all of England that his arms ought to be other than holding her close to his long, strong frame. His tongue had pressed against her lips, and she’d felt as though her entire body would melt right alongside her resolve if she didn’t put a stop to it.

  So she had.

  Yet Miranda wanted him to kiss her again. Surely that was only a horribly wanton part of her which had somehow risen to the surface. Proper young misses such as those she strove to emulate would never take enjoyment from such an improper display with a man who might well be more rakehell than gentleman. She fought with herself to tamp the urge back down where it belonged so she could put on a respectable face for the world to see, even if her entire world at this very moment consisted solely of the two of them.

  The corners of his lips turned upward into a sly, seductive smile. “Well?” he said after she’d been standing stock-still, trembling and staring at him for what must have been five minutes or more.

  Miranda blinked. “Well?” she repeated, with her voice croaking over the word since her tongue felt thick and heavy. Subconsciously, she attempted to reach up and tuck her hair behind her ear, but she couldn’t. He had her right hand trapped within the warm confines of both of his, and he was absentmindedly stroking the leather-covered pad of his thumb over the very sensitive skin just where her glove ended on the inside of her wrist.

  “Will you marry me?” he asked, laughing gently—probably at her inane answer and inability to hold a thought within her mind for more than a fleeting moment. He had to know the effect he was having upon her. It wasn’t very kind of him to make light of the situation they’d found themselves in. He had probably been teasing her with everything he had said and done all afternoon. His behaviors made no sense at all otherwise.

  With more of her weight behind her than before, she once again tried to pull her hand free from his, but he merely tightened his grasp.

  Miranda scowled up at him. “I can’t imagine why you would ever want—”

  He tugged her closer, until only an indecent breadth of air separated their two bodies. “In all honesty, I don’t understand it. I just know I want it. I want you.”

  The amount of heat pulsating between them was liable to cause her a fit of the vapors, yet she couldn’t seem to pull herself away…couldn’t e
ven really want to pull away. The lure of looking into his vibrant blue eyes, of experiencing the ripples of sensation coursing through her body from his simple touch, of breathing in the musk of his cologne water as it wafted between them to envelop her—it was all more than her mind could take in at once.

  “This is highly inappropriate,” she mumbled after a moment.

  He leaned his head down until she felt certain he was going to kiss her again. But instead of touching against her lips, his pressed gently over her throat just below her ear. “It doesn’t have to be.”

  The promise in his tone was nearly enough to have her knees buckling beneath her.

  He rained kisses all over her neck, her jaw line, her cheeks. All the while, he kept up a constant caress with his thumb over that sensitive place on her wrist. Stopping the little sighs and sounds from coming through her lips was certain to be a losing battle, so Miranda didn’t even try.

  “Marry me,” he whispered just before he kissed the tip of her nose.

  “But Papa—”

  “Let me worry about your father.” One of his hands left hers to slip around her waist and draw her closer.

  It was tempting—sorely tempting—to stop worrying and give in to the electric waves racing from her extremities all the way to her very center. But Gabriel Devalle was not the sort of man she ought to allow liberties such as he was already taking, and she should never let herself feel this sort of excitement because of him. What would Papa say? The only reason she’d agreed to have anything whatsoever to do with him was because she was trying to rescue Samantha.

  Now look at the muddle she’d made of things.

  “I…”

  That was all she managed to say before his lips were pressed against hers again. Since she’d been mid-word, her lips were already parted. He didn’t merely slide his tongue over her lips as he had before, however; he pressed it into her mouth, between her teeth where it rubbed against hers in the most delightfully sinful way.

  Without releasing her wrist, he pulled her hand up alongside his, held the back of her head, and adjusted the angle to deepen the kiss. Each time his tongue stroked against her—the roof of her mouth, the back of her teeth, the inside of her cheek—a new series of ripples raced along her spine. Miranda lost her balance and fell forward, landing against him. She placed her free hand on his shoulder, clenching her fist tight to the superfine fabric of his coat to steady herself.