The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
A Dance with the Devil
Copyright © 2014 by Catherine Gayle
Cover Design by Lily Smith
Image credit: razoomgames/123RF stock photo
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.
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Dedication
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Epilogue
About the Author
Other Catherine Gayle Titles
For Melissa.
Lucas Devalle, the sixth Earl of Blackmore, took a sip from his glass of whiskey and grimaced as the liquid filtered down his throat. The path left in its wake burned as much as it soothed. His brother, Gabriel, repeated the gesture in so similar a fashion they might have been the very same man. They both stared out across the sea of faces surrounding them, Gabriel sporting a grin while Luke bore his usual, perfect mask of boredom with the proceedings. Typically, there was very little that could take place within a Season that could jolt him out of that boredom, apart from a good game of chance.
“Miranda seems certain her sister will attempt to entrap you, just as she tried with me,” Gabriel said as a matron passed by them with her debutante daughter, both decked out in gaudy jewels and elaborate headpieces. The corner of Gabriel’s mouth quirked up on one side, and he raised a single brow at Luke. “My intended would love to protect you from her sister’s schemes. She thinks it’s her duty, as she will soon be your sister-in-law, but I’ve forbidden it. The last thing we need is for her to inadvertently start some scandal in which the ton can pit one brother against the other. You should be on your guard.”
The two of them stood side by side along the fringes of the ballroom at Blackmore House, staring out at the sea of well-wishers who’d come to celebrate the impending marriage between Gabriel—who was no stranger to scandal in its many varieties—and the altogether agreeable Miss Miranda Hunt. Miranda was a perfectly proper and respectable young lady. No one in his right mind would have thought she would ever be caught doing anything with a Devalle, least of all marrying one of them.
At least reveling in the upcoming nuptials was the generally accepted reason for the presence of so many at the ball tonight. In all honesty, Luke believed with every fiber of his being that the vast majority of those attending were here with an entirely different purpose in mind: they wanted to discover what scandal had finally forced the hand of Gabriel Devalle, as it was commonly agreed among those knowledgeable about such things that none of the three Devalle siblings would ever come willingly to heel.
In terms of the numerous and seemingly never-ending gossip-worthy tidbits surrounding Luke’s family, the one that had brought Gabriel and Miranda together was rather pedestrian, all things considered. Gabriel had done nothing more than take the young miss off the beaten path at Hyde Park so that they were alone and away from the prying eyes of everyone who’d been out to enjoy the afternoon sun. Soon after their brief disappearance, her father and brother, and Gabriel and Luke’s mother, had come upon them—soon enough that Luke couldn’t believe anything more untoward had taken place than what the two guilty parties swore. They had claimed there had been nothing more than a kiss.
Granted, a simple kiss in private would have been damning enough to necessitate their marriage, of course, and a hasty marriage at that, lest the young lady’s reputation be left in tatters. Hell, the mere fact that Gabriel had removed her from the main path was all that was required to bring about their imminent marriage in short order.
The fact remained that leaving her reputation shredded to bits in such a circumstance was exactly what the ton would have expected of Gabriel or either of his siblings. There was little wonder all the gossipmongers’ tongues constantly wagged about them, calling them those devilish Devalles—a moniker they’d come about quite honestly. No one would ever accuse their sister, Amelia, of being a prim and proper young lady, and both Luke and Gabriel had done a fair bit more than was considered acceptable for a gentleman sowing his wild oats before settling down to become a respectable member of Society.
The fact that Gabriel had readily done the right thing by the chit, despite having only known her for two days to that point, had taken the beau monde by surprise. Needless to say, everyone and his cousin had accepted the invitation to the betrothal ball, which Mother had insisted Luke must give in Gabriel and Miranda’s honor. The revelers wanted to bask in Miranda’s downfall, yet they would soon be disappointed that they must instead be relegated to witnessing only Gabriel’s fall.
Luke’s one and only brother was, to be plain, thoroughly besotted with his intended. Luke had never imagined he’d see Gabriel in such a state, fully head over ears in love with the girl. That discovery had made it much easier to stomach doing as Mother had insisted when he would rather spend the evening holed up in some gaming hell or another.
In general, he preferred to avoid doing anything that might lead to Mother thinking he agreed with her or thought she was right. If not for the fact that they needed someone to oversee Amelia during the Season, someone who could chaperone her at balls and accompany her to the various other outings a debutante must attend, Luke would banish his mother to some distant estate and wish her to the devil. Lord knew she wished all of her offspring to that very same devil on a daily basis and had done so ever since the day Father died, as though they had been responsible for taking him away from her.
How could his children have had anything to do with him going off to spend time with his mistress, for God’s sake? Luke thought that responsibility ought to rest on his mother’s shoulders, not his own. Yet, she somehow blamed them for the fact that Father’s carriage had hit an icy patch of road on his way home in the dark and had flipped over and killed him.
But that was neither here nor there. Their guests were certain to be disappointed when they departed in the wee hours in the morning, as Luke was sure nothing even remotely scandalous would take place at this ball. Further, he had no intention of falling prey to the elder Miss Hunt’s attempts to ensnare him. Miranda had already personally given him the same warning Gabriel was now relaying.
“I’m certain if you successfully avoided her trap, I can do the same,” Luke said. He let his eye fall meaningfully upon Miranda across the ballroom before turning back to Gabriel with a smirk. “I daresay I can even manage it without ending up betrothed to some other young lady as you did.”
His remark earned him a wicked smile from his brother. “Care to make a wager on that?” Gabriel drawled.
“Do you doubt me?”
“No, but neither do I underestimate Samantha Hunt’s desperation. Nor her willingness to go to extreme lengths to get what she wants, for that matter.” Gabriel took another draw from his whiskey, eyeing the woman in question.
Luke followed his brother’s gaze and found Miss Hunt staring straight at him with a determined gleam in her eye. He had to admit that Gabriel had a point—the young lady seemed decisively undeterred. But she’d yet to attempt anything, and he had the advantage in that he already knew her aim.
Gabriel swallowed the last of his whiskey and chuckled. “And then there’s the fact that you’re always ready to gamble. What harm will it do to place a friendly wager on this, particul
arly when it is all in the family?”
Gambling had been Luke’s preferred vice for almost ten years—ever since their father’s death when Luke had inherited both the earldom and the care of the family. He hadn’t been ready for either of those obligations, and yet they’d been his whether he’d wanted them or not, and his they remained to this day. He’d taken to his duties as well as anyone could expect of a young man, then a mere twenty years old, but he’d needed an occasional distraction from familial responsibilities and pressures the earldom afforded him. The gaming hells had provided that distraction for him. Though gambling had been responsible for earning him a rather healthy reputation as a ne’er-do-well, it had also given him that much needed freedom from the less enticing aspects of his life, however temporary the respite might be.
“What sort of wager did you have in mind?” Luke asked, never removing his eyes from the vexing elder sister of his brother’s intended bride.
“Ten quid?” Gabriel suggested. “I say you’ll find yourself caught in the parson’s mousetrap alongside Miss Hunt—or some other young miss as a result of Miss Hunt’s machinations—and you say you’ll remain free.”
That should be a simple enough wager to win. Luke narrowed his eyes upon his brother. “Since she has given every indication she intends to act tonight, I suppose whatever end shall result from her endeavors will make itself known within the fortnight, wouldn’t you agree?”
Gabriel chuckled and stared at his betrothed, who was standing next to her duplicitous sister. “With all my heart. The loser will hand over his blunt in two weeks’ time. I look forward to having it line my pockets.”
“We have a deal, although I’m afraid you’ll be emptying your pockets. Are you ready to open the dancing with your lady, then?” Without waiting for his brother to respond, Luke caught the eye of the lead violinist of his hired string quartet and gave a nod. He made his way across the ballroom to the two sisters, his brother close behind him, as the first strains of a country dance filled the cavernous space.
He reached for the elder Miss Hunt’s hand and bowed low over it. “Would you do me the honor of the first set?”
She might have plans to entrap him, but that didn’t mean he could ignore his responsibilities to her family. Gabriel was claiming a dance with Miranda even as Miss Hunt’s eyes glimmered with a devilry that made him think she belonged in the Devalle family more so than her sister. Not that he intended to let her have her way. Gabriel might be ready to settle down and become a respectable gent, but there was no rush for Luke to follow in those same footsteps—even if he must someday wed and beget an heir. He could take his time and find the perfect lady to become his countess.
Miss Hunt curled her fingers around his and smiled as wickedly as a wanton widow. “You do me a great honor, Lord Blackmore.”
With that, he led her out to the center of his ballroom and took up his place alongside his brother. All the while, he watched as Miss Hunt’s eyes scanned every corner of the grand room, though for what she was searching, he did not know.
She might be a devious little thing, but he was a Devalle. Perhaps tonight he would give her a lesson in what it means to truly behave devilishly.
It would be on his terms, however.
Few things in life would make Julianna Selwyn practically trip over her ball gown in hasty avoidance, but Lord Medeley’s continued pursuit was certainly one of them.
She righted herself as she escaped the Blackmore House ballroom and fled to the garden, glancing back over her shoulder to be sure he hadn’t witnessed her exit or—heaven forbid—heard her panicked squeak when she almost fell. There was no sign of the marquess anywhere near her, thank goodness, so she scurried away as quickly as she could. With any luck, Medeley would find some other unmarried miss with wide hips with whom he could dance the next set instead of looking for Julianna.
Two marchionesses had already failed to bear him an heir, although he was now the proud father of nine daughters. Though the man was easily older than Papa, he was on the hunt for his third marchioness so he could avoid passing on his title and holdings to some distant cousin. Apparently he thought that Julianna’s more than ample curves and the abundance of male offspring in her family combined to make her the perfect match for his need.
She couldn’t say she agreed. Nor could she say that Lord Medeley matched any of her needs in a husband. Papa would be thrilled for her to marry a marquess, of course, as he was merely a baronet, not even a peer, and there could be no doubt that Medeley’s fortune was vast. Her parents were counting upon her to make a good match, one that could potentially elevate their status within Society, as she was their only daughter and they had more sons than they knew what to do with. Julianna hoped she could make a love match, though, and preferably not with a man who was so terribly far above her reach as a marquess and who had daughters older than she was to boot.
Allowing herself a breath now that she was safely out of his view, she skirted around a hedge and found a bench near the rose bushes. Nothing but the moon lighted the area surrounding her, so it was the perfect spot to spend a few minutes collecting herself. She took a seat on the smooth, chilly slab of stone and fingered the lace trimmings of her gown. Surely Mama would not miss her for a few minutes. Julianna could return to the ballroom once she could be sure Lord Medeley had moved on to some other poor girl. Maybe then she could actually dance with a gentleman who did not repulse her.
She could hope for that, at least.
A linnet landed in a nearby willow, singing a doleful tune that suited Julianna’s mood much better than the strains being played inside. She could just make out the bird’s shape in the moonlight.
This was her fourth Season, and she was no closer to securing a husband than she was when she debuted. Well, with the exception of Lord Medeley, of course. But she had promised Mama and Papa she would do her very best to make a match before they returned to Surrey for the summer.
Not that she had the first clue what would achieve that other than what she’d been doing all along. It seemed as though every gentleman who appeared interested at first quickly lost interest when he discovered she was, regrettably, not an heiress and only had a small, but reasonable, dowry to recommend her. Fortune hunters seemed to fill every ballroom in London.
Her pulse and breathing had finally returned to normal, and she knew Mama was bound to grow anxious if she didn’t see Julianna soon, so she pushed up from the bench to return indoors. No sooner had she regained her feet, though, than she heard voices on the path heading her direction.
“It is so kind of you to understand,” a young lady said. Julianna didn’t recognize the voice.
“I could not have you succumb to a fit of the vapors on my watch,” a gentleman replied. “Certainly not in my home.”
In his home. That meant he must be Lord Blackmore. Julianna searched the garden, hoping to find a way to return to the ballroom without having to go past Blackmore and his female companion, but there were no lanterns out here. Nothing but the moon and stars lit the area, and it was so dark that she could hardly see anything but the space surrounding her bench.
It was probably better to simply stay put for now, then. She edged back toward her seat but then thought better of it. What if they kept coming in her direction? An unmarried lady oughtn’t to be alone outside at night, and the moon shone brightly down upon her stone bench. If they were to come upon her…
“I daresay I might still succumb, simply from being near you,” the young lady said with a silken, seductive tone that caused Julianna to blush. “I’ve been hoping to get you alone all night.”
They didn’t seem to be coming any closer to her, though. Maybe she would be safe.
“I know you have,” he replied. “Both my brother and your sister warned me, not that I needed any such warning.”
“I just…”
Both voices went quiet for a moment, making Julianna half desperate to know what was going on, even though she didn’t make it a ha
bit to eavesdrop as a general rule. She’d almost made up her mind to get up and head toward their voices, keeping herself to the shadows, when Lord Blackmore spoke again.
“You should know I have no intention of letting you trap me into marriage. There’s a reason we’ve only just stepped out onto the veranda and not gone deeper into the garden, Miss Hunt.”
Miss Hunt? Wasn’t that the lady whom Lord Blackmore’s brother was to marry? Julianna was almost certain.
And he wouldn’t allow her to trap him? Good heavens, the things one overhears when one escapes into the garden for a bit of air and a respite from an unwanted pursuit. She supposed nothing should surprise her after four Seasons hobnobbing with the ton, but this was the last thing she would have expected to overhear.
“It’s too late,” Miss Hunt said. “Even now, I’m certain my brother is watching through the windows to catch you as you attempt to ravish me.”
“I’m not going to—”
Whatever Lord Blackmore intended to say was cut off, and Julianna knew it was her opportunity to act. She jumped up from her seat and raced around the hedges until she saw them, Miss Hunt throwing herself bodily against the earl while she kissed him.
“Excuse me,” Julianna said loud enough that she knew they would both hear.
Miss Hunt finally separated herself from Lord Blackmore and took a step back. He looked livid, his eyes nearly black against the darkness of the garden. She, however, had a victorious expression upon her face.
“Oh, gracious heavens,” Miss Hunt said, casting her eyes from Julianna to Lord Blackmore and then back again, as though she was chagrined over what had just happened instead of perfectly proud of herself. “Thank goodness you came upon us, Miss. I daresay Lord Blackmore forgot himself. You have just saved me.”
Julianna had to fight to avoid rolling her eyes. “On the contrary, I daresay I have just rescued Lord Blackmore. I overheard everything you said.”
A Dance with the Devil (The Devilish Devalles) Page 1