A Dance with the Devil (The Devilish Devalles)

by Gayle, Catherine

  With each word from Julianna’s mouth, Miss Hunt’s jaw dropped further. Julianna spared Lord Blackmore a cursory glance, just long enough to catch the astute smirk gracing his otherwise dangerously dark visage.

  Miss Hunt wrung her hands together, pulling the satin of her gloves so hard that her lady’s maid would likely have an absolute fit in trying to sort them out. “But, I-I—”

  “But you were just on your way back inside?” Julianna finished for her. She closed the last of the distance between them, curling her arm through the other lady’s. “Excellent. I should very much like to join you. It is a trifle cool out here, and I fear I might catch a chill if I remain too long.”

  She took off toward the double doors between the veranda and the ballroom, practically dragging Miss Hunt beside her. Deep masculine laughter rolled over her from behind, warming her all the way through to her toes.

  Luke was still laughing when he returned to the ballroom a few moments later, following behind Miss Hunt and the mysterious young woman who’d interrupted them.

  Only a week ago, it has been Miranda “rescuing” his brother, as she’d been inclined to put it, from her sister’s attempts to entrap Gabriel. Now this other chit, whose identity Luke had yet to discern, had done the same for him.

  This was, to be plain, utterly perplexing. Luke had been in no need of rescue. He’d recognized Miss Hunt’s plan for what it was the moment he’d caught her brother’s unflinching stare from halfway across the ballroom. At that precise moment, he’d proceeded to dance the two of them out of the man’s view while making certain they remained fully within sight of any number of his guests—not to mention within a safe distance to be overheard should their voices rise. Luke refused to be caught alone with her, and not just because of the bet he’d made with Gabriel. He’d spent more than enough time in Miss Hunt’s presence to know how predatory she could be in terms of position, whether she had reason to be so or not, and her insistence upon scheming was enough to put the Devalles to shame.

  Yes, she’d kissed him on the veranda. Because of that, he needed to be cautious about what she might yet tell her father of their interactions. But now Luke had a spectator to the entire ordeal who could attest to his innocence in the matter, and he was certain this young lady would prove a far better witness than Miss Hunt’s brother. His witness had not only seen what had transpired but had also heard every word to come from Miss Hunt’s mouth.

  Luke wouldn’t reveal Miss Hunt’s indiscretion. He had no reason to do anything of the sort. If she chose to do so that would be done of her own accord.

  He was rather curious about the young lady who’d stepped in, though…

  She’d had a delightful playfulness shining in her eyes when she’d come upon them in the garden, as though she was filled to the brim with secrets she couldn’t wait to share. He wanted to know who she was, and even more than that, he wondered why she had been sitting alone in his garden instead of dancing inside. Had one of his guests behaved in an ungentlemanly manner toward her? Was she hiding from someone’s unwanted attentions? What had brought that mischievous gleam to her eyes, and how could he ensure there would be more of it in the future? It really wasn’t any of his business one way or another, and yet his curiosity about the young lady seemed to know no bounds.

  His eyes followed her all the way across the ballroom, and he couldn’t stop himself from watching the gentle sway of her curvaceous hips and the way the silken peach fabric of her gown swished with each movement. The mystery woman deposited Miss Hunt with Lady Calstock, her mother, and after exchanging a few brief pleasantries, she stepped away.

  A moment later, his unknown rescuer joined Lady Selwyn near the marble statue just inside the main entry to the ballroom. Luke had only a passing acquaintance with Sir Henry Selwyn. He was far more familiar with the baronet’s heir, Phillip Selwyn, who’d been a year behind Luke at Eton—an exceedingly tall and thoroughly upstanding chap, and exactly the sort of man who had made it a habit to avoid Luke and his less-than-upstanding friends back when they were all at school.

  Luke faintly recalled that Selwyn had younger brothers, but he couldn’t remember anything about a younger sister. There could be no doubt that was who his mystery lady was, though. Not with her bright blue eyes that had twinkled with merriment in the moonlight moments ago. There could be no mistaking that familial resemblance, now that he’d made the connection. And then there were all those delightful curves, which matched those of Lady Selwyn completely and made Luke think about pulling her into his arms and holding tight while he kissed her—Phillip’s sister, not his mother, of course. There was something entirely kissable about a woman with just the right curves. Not that he intended to kiss this young lady. He simply wished to obtain a formal introduction and perhaps claim a dance with her so that he could properly thank her.

  Without even thinking about what he was doing, or what the ramifications of his actions might be, Luke made his way along the outskirts of the dance floor, heading in the direction of the blue-eyed Lady Selwyn and her shapely, entirely too memorable daughter.

  He didn’t stop until he stood directly before them. His mysterious rescuer’s clear eyes widened, and a faint blush stole over her cheeks. She still had that bit of merriment dancing in her eyes, however, which pleased him to no end. He fought the urge to wink at her, as that would be entirely too familiar. He was not supposed to have already met her, and he sincerely doubted she’d informed her mother about their brief garden interlude, at least not as of yet. “Lady Selwyn,” he said with far more confidence than he felt all of a sudden, “I fear I have not yet made the acquaintance of your lovely daughter.”

  “My apologies, Blackmore.” The baronet’s wife very nearly preened with pride upon his seeking an introduction—a reaction he might be more familiar with if he didn’t spend most of his time during balls whiling away his time in the card room. Her eyes lit up and stood tall and straight upon his appearance. “My only daughter, Julianna. Julianna, this is the Earl of Blackmore.”

  The lovely brunette allowed him to take the fingers of her gloved hand. She dipped into a curtsey as he lowered into a bow before her. Her dance card hung from her wrist by a string, swinging before his eyes in such a way that he could see it was almost empty. He certainly couldn’t allow it to remain so.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord,” she said softly, and her eyelids fluttered a few times in a manner that could never be confused with coyness. Another point in her favor. Not that he needed to pay attention to such things.

  “The pleasure is all mine,” he said when he’d regained his composure. “But I hope you might grant me even greater pleasure. Tell me you still have a dance free upon your card that I might claim.”

  “I…” She seemed prepared to lie to him and tell him her card was already full until her eyes flitted up to someone standing in the distance behind him. In an instant, she jerked her gaze back to meet Luke’s eyes and nodded, lifting her wrist to him. The playfulness was all gone. “Of course. You may have your pick of dances, my lord.”

  Now Luke’s curiosity piqued even more. He glanced over his shoulder to see what had changed her mind. Medeley, a marquess nearly old enough to be Miss Selwyn’s grandfather and a man as big around as a townhouse, was coming their way, the crowd creating a wide berth for him to pass through.

  No wonder she’d seemed almost desperate in her response. It was no secret the man was desperately seeking a new bride so he could finally obtain an heir. Luke could only imagine how his own sister would react if an old goat like Medeley decided to pursue her. Luke would never allow it in Amelia’s case, but the panicked expression covering Miss Selwyn’s visage told him all he needed to know about whether her parents would allow such a man to court their daughter.

  She held her wrist out to Luke, and he penciled his name on the line for the very next dance. When he felt Medeley’s presence behind him, Luke allowed himself to look once more in Miss Selwyn’s eyes before he added
his name to every other empty line.

  Her mouth fell open to form an O, but she said nothing to stop him. She should have. His actions were audacious, to say the least, and the scandal it would cause should he follow through and claim each of those dances would be undeniable and thorough. Any more than two sets danced with a single lady within the course of an evening was as good as a gentleman declaring his intentions in front of the entire ton. Perhaps Luke could claim three were they attending a country affair, but things in Town were quite different.

  Lady Selwyn was not as obliging as her daughter. “Good heavens, Blackmore! You cannot possibly think I would allow—”

  “I believe this is my dance,” Luke said, cutting off the Lady Selwyn even though it was unspeakably rude of him to do so. He held out his arm to her daughter.

  He wouldn’t claim all of the sets he’d placed his name beside, but Medeley was fast approaching. While he and his siblings were well accustomed to being on the receiving end of gossip and censure, he couldn’t drag a young lady into such a circumstance when she had just gone out of her way to assist him, whether her assistance had been required or not. Not only that, but he was the host of this ball. He needed to spread himself around, dance with as many young ladies as he could.

  That didn’t mean he couldn’t do his damnedest to protect her from Medeley’s pursuit as a return favor of sorts.

  Her previously faint blush raged full force now, making her consternation as evident as the button nose upon her face, but he was pleased when she put her hand upon his elbow and gently curled her fingers around it. He led her out to the dance floor, despite her mother’s indignant huff, before Medeley could come upon them and attempt to whisk her away. The old codger should thank Luke for doing him a favor. Luke doubted Medeley could make it through a set without collapsing into a heap or succumbing to an apoplectic fit.

  When he and Miss Selwyn joined the lines of dancers, Luke noticed that Gabriel was several places down from them with the elder Miss Hunt as his partner, thank goodness. Amelia had joined Lord Jasper Niven; the two of them were at the end of the line in the opposite direction from Gabriel and Miss Hunt.

  Luke deposited Miss Selwyn in the line of ladies and took his position across from her. She was still blushing, her porcelain skin becoming the most delightful shade of pink, but she met his gaze.

  “You aren’t truly going to claim all those dances, are you, my lord?” Her soft voice barely spanned the distance between them to reach his ears.

  “A gentleman would never do such a thing.” He couldn’t help but notice that he hadn’t outright denied what she’d asked. He’d merely stated that a gentleman wouldn’t do so, but after what he’d just done in front of her mother, no one would confuse Luke with being a gentleman.

  She hadn’t failed to mark that fact, either, if her sharp intake of breath as the string quartet began to play was any indication. Yet, a sparkle had returned to her eye.

  The corner of his mouth twitched of its own accord. He inclined his head toward her, and they each turned the first figures of the dance, meeting between the rows of other dancers a moment later. Miss Selwyn placed her hand gingerly atop his as he guided her through the path created by the lines of ladies and gentlemen.

  “Would you prefer for me to step aside so Medeley can claim a set or two?” he asked before they were forced to part and allow another couple to come together in the middle.

  She stood in position, her eyes never leaving his as they waited to meet again, almost issuing him a challenge with the glimmer of impishness shining in her expression. It seemed a longer wait than usual—was his quartet playing slowly to torment him?—before it was again time for Luke and Miss Selwyn to meet.

  “I do not wish to dance with Lord Medeley,” Miss Selwyn whispered harshly, “but surely you realize the implications of a lady dancing with any gentleman so frequently. It would mean I was showing you particular favor.”

  “I do realize that. But I also recognize Medeley’s intentions and had hoped I could perhaps assist you in a similar manner to the way you assisted me earlier.”

  “So you think—” The figures of the dance forced them apart again, and Miss Selwyn cut herself off, her eyes scanning the dancers around them as though looking for a spy among the crowd. Then she stared at him, her lips slightly upturned. It seemed a lifetime before they once more came together, during which she kept her lively blue gaze fixed upon him so firmly it started to feel almost natural. As soon as her hand landed gently atop his, she spoke again. “So you think to rescue me by causing a scandal, my lord? I realize such behavior is not terribly uncommon in your family, but I cannot say that my parents would approve. Nor would my brothers. My family is counting upon me to make a good match, and a scandal such as that…”

  Her brothers might indeed prove problematic, as there were at least a few of them. Even though Luke’s sister didn’t care one whit about certain proprieties that would cause other young ladies to faint dead away, neither Luke nor Gabriel would allow any man—gentleman or otherwise—to treat her in a manner which would embroil her in scandal. She was capable of creating them well enough on her own. Nonetheless, Luke couldn’t imagine the Selwyn brothers would be any different with their Julianna. If he caught her up in a scandal, undoubtedly her chances of making a decent match would be greatly reduced.

  And then there was the small matter of what it would indicate were Luke to dance each of those sets with Miss Selwyn. If that was his intention, he might as well hand over ten quid to Gabriel right this very instant as he passed his brother in the line. He’d never given up so easily on any sort of bet.

  “Of course not.” Luke scowled, knitting his brows together as he tried to determine the best solution to this quandary. They were once more forced apart as another couple met in the middle.

  Miss Selwyn kept her gaze focused and bright, her eyes boring through him and her dainty lips set in a curved line that made him wish he could kiss her.

  Good Lord. What was coming over him? He’d merely thought to aid her in avoiding Medeley for a bit, not kiss her. Yet, it was already the second time he had thought of it this evening. That sort of behavior would only cause more problems than it solved. He’d hardly known her for a few minutes!

  But that very thought was what caused a brilliant idea to strike him.

  “Allow me three dances,” Lord Blackmore said when they resumed contact. There wasn’t even a hint of jocularity in his tone.

  “Three?” Julianna repeated, curiosity swarming her mind. She didn’t know much about Blackmore or his family beyond the fact that their names were always readily on the gossipmongers’ tongues, but she’d never gotten the impression that he was dim-witted. She must have been mistaken, however, because what man in possession of his faculties would set forth such an idea? Granting him what he proposed would lead to her ruin. Unless he would offer for her hand, of course, and she wasn’t certain she wanted to accept even if he did. She didn’t know him in the least, and any man who would make such a rash suggestion…

  “Yes, three,” he replied calmly, as though there was nothing even remotely inappropriate about his proposal. “This one, the first waltz, and the supper dance. If you grant me all of those, then everyone including Medeley will assume we have an agreement in place.”

  “Which I fear I must remind you that we do not,” Julianna returned just as they were once again separated. Heavens, but she had never been more frustrated while trying to have a conversation before at any ball she could remember attending. Usually, she spoke of the opera and the fireworks at Vauxhall and the latest musicale at some grand lady’s townhome or another such frippery with the gentlemen who asked her to dance. This was proving to be something else entirely. While she would happily entertain a ruse to throw Lord Medeley off the scent, she couldn’t convince herself something so thoroughly ruinous was the best option.

  The more they spoke, the more she was beginning to believe it might have been better if she’d kept
herself to the shadows in the garden. He may not deserve to be trapped into marriage by Miss Hunt, but neither did Julianna deserve to be punished for a good deed by being dragged into the earl’s next scandal. Mama and Papa would be so disappointed in her if she stepped a toe out of line, and what Lord Blackmore was suggesting would require her to fully leap over to the other side with nothing to catch her fall.

  She did want to avoid Lord Medeley—more than she knew how to handle—but taking on something as foolhardy as this with Lord Blackmore hardly seemed like a solution to her problem.

  The entire time the figures of the dance kept them apart, Blackmore stared across at her with a roguish grin fixed upon his face, one that made it abundantly clear how he would have come about being called a devil by so many people in the ton. His expression ought to offend her to her very core, yet she found herself intrigued.

  And that set off a warning in her mind like a chorus of church bells. Blackmore was every bit the charmer, and Phillip had warned her time and again to be careful around charmers as they, most often, were looking out only for themselves.

  Lord Blackmore placed his hand at the perfect height for her to rest hers upon it as the dance once more brought them to the center aisle.

  “You are correct. We do not have an agreement, nor will we. Not in truth, at least. Yet we can allow Medeley to think an agreement is in place. The Season comes to a close in a fortnight, at which point you can cry off. It will be too late for Medeley to renew his pursuit. The gossips will praise you for coming to your senses in my regard before it was too late, and everyone in Town will hie off to the country for the summer. By the time the next Season begins, our little ruse will be long forgotten, and your parents will be able to rest easy in that you will still be seen as quite eligible.”

  He was a madman. There could be no other logical explanation for why he would propose something so preposterous. And she was inexplicably drawn to him. Good heavens, she probably ought to be committed to Bedlam herself, but if she was, she might go there with a ridiculous smile upon her face after spending time with this incorrigible rascal.