The Devil's Bargain

by Karen Harbaugh

  Richard’s hand shook. Quickly, awkwardly, he put down his cup on the edge of the table, and it tipped and fell to the floor with a crash. He ignored it. Yes. His soul would still be lost, but it was something he could live with, live with himself. Eveline. He must tell Eveline.

  He rose from his chair and then stopped. Eveline had gone to London. A sense of chagrin came over him, but he shook it off, and smiled. When she returned, he would give her back any money she spent on Marianne, and perhaps even buy a little trinket for her.

  Well, the next thing to do then was to call upon Wyvern and see if he would be open to such an offer. Hurriedly, he rose from his chair and rang for Lescaux.

  “I need a change of clothes,” he said when the valet entered the room. “I must call on the Earl of Wyvern … business matters.”

  Lescaux looked at him curiously, then raised his eyebrows at the broken teacup. Richard followed his gaze.

  “Oh, that! I am sorry,” he said, giving a breathless laugh. “Clumsy of me.” He felt impatient now. “I will go to Wyvern now—or as soon as I am ready.”

  The valet hesitated. “There is another thing, Milord. Madame le Vicomtesse has given me this for you.” He held out a folded piece of paper.

  Richard waved it away. “Not now, Lescaux. I think it can wait.” He walked swiftly to the door. “Oh, and have the carriage waiting for me within the next half hour, Lescaux.”

  “Half the hour!” cried Lescaux, aghast. “And you expect to look comme il faut in such a time! No, no! It must be an hour!”

  “Half an hour, Lescaux! No more.” Richard left the study, ignoring his valet’s violent imprecations on the impossibility of his master.

  But when Richard went to Wyvern’s house, it was to find the earl had gone to London—with Eveline and Marianne, Wyvern’s butler said. Richard frowned. Eveline had not told him that the earl was to accompany them. Uneasiness unfurled within him, but he pushed it aside.

  The butler cleared his throat. “I believe, my lord, that he wished to accompany Miss Clairmond.”

  “Ah, of course.” The better to keep an eye on his acquisition, thought Richard sourly. He wished his sister well, however, and she, certainly, was in alt over her betrothal. That was something to be glad about, however temporary she might find that happiness. He nodded to the butler and left.

  Richard entered the great hall of his home and paused, looking around the room. It seemed very empty to him, for he knew that Eveline would not come through one of the doors, or that he would hear her voice before a fortnight passed. He sighed, then remembered the letter she had left behind for him. He smiled to himself. Perhaps it was a note, wishing him well while she was away. He would go back up to his study and read it.

  The note was still there on the table on which his scones and tea had once sat. He picked it up and opened the seal. A crumpled piece of paper fell out. He retrieved it, and his breath left him as if he’d been hit in the stomach. It was Teufel’s letter tucked in Eveline’s note. With trembling hands he read her note. Oh, God. She’d gone to confront Teufel; she didn’t know who he was, but she was sure he was some enemy of her father or of hers. Teufel. And Eveline. He crushed the letter in his hand. Oh, God, not Eveline. Not Eveline!

  Violently he rang the bell, and both Tilton and Lescaux came at his summons. “Tilton, have Dickon saddle Satan for me! Now!” he barked. “Lescaux, my greatcoat! I want you to pack my clothes and follow me to London, Grosvenor Square, the Seton town house.”

  “Yes, yes, my lord!” gasped Tilton, clearly alarmed, and hurried off again.

  Lescaux cast the viscount a sharp glance. “Madame la Vicomtesse, Milord?”

  “Yes, damn it! She’s in trouble. I’ve go to go now!” Richard strode to the door.

  Satan was saddled and ready by the time Richard came down by the stables. Lescaux was also there, sitting on Marianne’s Jupiter.

  “Damnation, Lescaux! I told you to pack my clothes and follow me!” Richard shouted.

  “But I did, Milord!” The valet pointed to two large saddlebags attached to his saddle. “La voilà! Your clothes and all the necessary accoutrements for the journey.”

  Richard could not help the brief grin he gave Lescaux. “You amaze me! I did not think you would be content with crushed clothes in a bag.”

  Lescaux raised his brows haughtily. “I have been in the army, oui? I have learned to live with what is given to me.”

  The viscount nodded. “Of course.”

  “Besides which,” the valet continued, “the footman follows with the coach and remains of the clothes.”

  Richard grinned. “Remaining clothes, you mean.” He gave Lescaux a challenging look. “I warn you, however: I will not wait if you lag behind!”

  Lescaux looked offended. “Not I, Milord le Capitaine!”

  Satan’s ears pricked forward at Richard’s approach, and the horse nickered softly. Richard mounted, gathered the reins, and patted the horse’s neck.

  “You’ve got to give me everything you’ve got, old boy,” he said. Satan reared his head as if to acknowledge his words, and at Richard’s nudge leaped into a gallop.

  Lescaux gazed at his master for one moment, gave a firm nod, and spurred his horse after him.

  Eveline had settled her affairs with her father’s solicitors quite easily. It was as she had thought: Her great-aunt had left her a legacy of ten thousand pounds to do with as she wished upon her marriage. This had not been part of her inheritance from her father at all, and as such, had not been tied up when he had negotiated the marriage settlements with Richard’s solicitors. She was surprised that her father had forgotten this legacy. She smiled. It could very well be that he had overlooked it on purpose, for though he had often promised her retribution whenever she had misbehaved as a child, he never did follow through as harshly as he had said he would. She was sure it was thus, now. Well, she would not tie it up with the rest of her inheritance, and she would do with it as she wished.

  Her first wish was to help Richard on the estate, to bring some measure of comfort, especially to his tenants. Perhaps she would put it to him as her duty as mistress of Clairmond Hall. Was it not the responsibility, after all, for the lady of the land to take care of the ills of her own people? Surely he would understand it in this light and not object when she used her money for this purpose.

  But she could do nothing about that until she returned to Clairmond Hall. She could, however, have her second wish immediately. Indeed, she had already secretly taken one of Marianne’s dresses and sent it to a dressmaker’s shop as a pattern for other dresses. There was one shop that featured dresses ready-made in different sizes; all that was needed was to take in or let out the seams according to the size of a lady if one wanted a dress or two quickly. And that she did, for Marianne would accompany her to Vauxhall.

  Immediately upon her arrival in London, Eveline had penned a note to the address in Whitechapel from whence Mr. Teufel’s letter had come. As soon as she sent it off, however, unease overcame her. She castigated herself for not thinking of it sooner: If this Mr. Teufel was so powerful that he had the ability to threaten Richard with Marianne’s ruin, most certainly he could be a threat to Eveline. She wished she knew how to use a pistol, but neither she nor her father ever thought she’d have an opportunity to use it. She was sure it was because she had been so ill with anger and anxiety that she had not thought of protecting herself earlier. And yet, she could not have asked Richard to come with her, for it seemed Teufel had some hold over him from which he could not escape.

  There was, however, one man who would perhaps help her—the Earl of Wyvern. Eveline did not like to confide in someone who to her was a relative stranger. She smiled. However, he would soon become a relative, and not a stranger at all. And if she told him this Teufel was someone who had threatened Marianne, then most certainly he would wish to help.

  So she wrote another note, this time to the earl, who was staying at a lodging nearby. He came promptly, and so did Mar
ianne’s dresses at the same time—very opportunely, indeed, for it meant Marianne was upstairs in her room excitedly trying them on, which allowed Eveline to talk privately with Wyvern.

  She directed him to sit on a comfortable chair, and then she, too, sat, trying to think of how to broach the subject; but the earl was a keen man, and so spoke first.

  “There is something troubling you, Lady Clairmond?” he asked. His voice was kind, but not curious, and his deep-set eyes seemed sympathetic. Eveline was grateful for that. She smiled at him.

  “Yes … yes, there is. There was another reason I requested you come with Marianne and me to London.” She hesitated and decided on bluntness. “There is a man, Teufel by name, who apparently seems to have a hold upon Lord Clairmond. I came upon a letter from this Teufel the other day, which threatened my husband with Marianne’s ruin because he married me.”

  Wyvern raised his eyebrows. “I would think Lord Clairmond would be more than capable of handling such a person.”

  “Of course he is!” Eveline said instantly. “But it must be that this Teufel is some enemy of mine or my father’s—why else would he try to do Marianne harm because of me? And think! Now there is not only the threat to Marianne, but also to me! How is Richard to keep an eye on both of us?”

  “I think you have been very foolish, Lady Clairmond.” Wyvern pursed his lips briefly in disapproval. “If this Mr. Teufel is one who wishes both you and Marianne harm, what is the sense of coming here, where he is? It would have been better had you stayed home, and Marianne, too.”

  “No, it would not have been!” Eveline rose from her chair and paced the room impatiently. “It also seemed from his letter that either he or some accomplice was spying upon us at Clairmond Hall, as well. So it would not have made much difference, do you see?” The earl gave a reluctant nod.

  She clasped her hands tightly in front of her. “Richard could not do anything without either myself or Marianne coming to harm. What choice did I have? I could not wait, knowing that at any time someone at the Hall might do us some harm, while we waited passively for it. At the very least, I had to come and confront the man, here, in London. But then—not being as foolish as you might think”—she smiled ruefully at him—“I did not want to come to harm at the same time. So I asked you here. You, after all, have a stake in this, do you not?”

  Wyvern smiled wryly. “Yes, indeed I do. However, I should rightfully send both you and Marianne packing for home.”

  Eveline gazed at him assessingly, the corners of her lips lifting upward briefly. “But you will not, will you? For you cannot bear the thought that there is someone who means to harm Marianne, and in fact would much rather deal with him now than later.”

  The earl’s smile fell away. “You are very perceptive, Lady Clairmond; uncomfortably so. How much more do you know of me?”

  “That you have been in love with Marianne for a very long time; that you have taken great precautions for her reputation, not as if she were a governess, but a lady you intended to wed; and that you are obliged to go with me if you wish to further protect her, for you do not have Teufel’s direction nor can you identify him.” Her smile became broader. “Among other things.”

  Wyvern grimaced. “Perceptive indeed. I am thankful that your husband is not so.” He sighed. “It seems I have little choice but to help you. What do you propose to do?”

  Profound relief flooded through Eveline. “Thank you, my lord. I have requested that Mr. Teufel meet me at Vauxhall tonight, as it seems it is one of his haunts. He has replied and has said he will find me. I would be pleased if you and Marianne could accompany me to Vauxhall.”

  “Marianne? I think not, if you believe she also may be in danger.”

  “And she would think it most peculiar if you went with me to Vauxhall without her. Besides, if she stayed here, how easy it would be for Teufel or his associates to strike at her at this house while you and I went to Vauxhall.”

  A frustrated expression crossed Wyvern’s face, then he nodded. “You are right, of course. It is better that I keep an eye on both of you. Or, better yet, ask an acquaintance along. I have in mind my cousin, Sir John Grey, who is also in town.”

  “He is your cousin?” Eveline said, surprised, for she remembered him as one of Richard’s closest friends.

  Wyvern grinned. “Yes, a very distant one, which is why your husband doesn’t know it, and Sir John keeps forgetting it. But he’s a valiant sort, with a ready wit, a boon companion to ladies and gentlemen alike. He will, of course, be your escort—at first. After which we shall contrive to lose both him and Marianne, so that both of us can seek Teufel.”

  Eveline hesitated. “I think it better if I confronted him alone.”

  Wyvern’s grin twisted into a grimace. “Both brave and foolish, I see. I do not think it better at all.”

  “And how forthcoming do you think he’ll be with you glowering next to me?” Eveline retorted.

  “Very well! I will, at least, stay at a distance, close enough to hear what is said, easily at hand should trouble occur.”

  Eveline pressed her lips together, then nodded. “Agreed.”

  Marianne walked in then, lovely in her new dress, and Wyvern’s expression lightened.

  “Marianne,” Eveline said immediately, “Wyvern and I were discussing an outing to Vauxhall this evening. Sir John Grey may be accompanying us. Would you like to go?”

  “Ohhh!” Marianne’s eyes glowed. “Oh, Eveline! I don’t know what to say!”

  “Say yes, my dear, and we shall go,” Wyvern said with a chuckle.

  “Yes, oh, yes!” Marianne cried.

  “It is done, then.” Eveline smiled at Marianne’s excitement. She looked at the earl. “I shall send an invitation to Sir John straightaway.”

  Eveline rose to leave and so as to write her note, as well as to let the betrothed couple have a little time to themselves. But before she left the room, Wyvern turned to her and murmured with a smile, “Does Lord Clairmond know what a troublesome lady he has married?”

  Eveline sighed. “If he did not, he does now.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Satan was fast—as fast as a fire through dry brush—but Richard knew the horse was only flesh and blood, and not the lord of the fiery realms himself, despite the animal’s name. And because he could not afford changing horses, Richard had to pace his old friend and hope that he’d make it to London before Eveline encountered Teufel.

  Lescaux stayed with him as Richard expected; he’d ever been that way on the Spanish Peninsula. They slept at inns and in haylofts, depending on what was available when they were too weary to go on. The valet did not speak as much as usual, however, and his face was serious and solemn. Perhaps it was that he could clearly see Richard’s mood, and so knew it would disturb his master rather than divert him. For Richard paid little attention to his surroundings; eating, sleeping, and riding only for the purpose of getting closer to London and to Eveline.

  Eveline. Every time her name sounded in his mind, he could see her, smiling, laughing, or her eyes half closed in passion. And on the heels of those images were the ones he could imagine: fear, horror, dread upon her face—all the emotions he had felt in every encounter with Teufel. It was his fault. He should have told her when she had asked about the dread that must have shown on his face when he received Teufel’s letter; but he had wanted to keep her from the degradation that had already touched him. He could not bear that it touch her, and if truth be told, he could not bear that she think him so debased and degraded that he’d acceded to Teufel’s wishes. He had; what was done was done, and he regretted it. It did not matter; she was in danger now, and he must keep her from it.

  Night had fallen, and the light in the windows were dim when Richard and Lescaux came to the Seton town house in Grosvenor Square. Please, thought Richard. Please let them be here still. He pounded on the door and was answered by a startled footman.

  “I am Richard, Lord Clairmond,” Richard said. “I believe
my wife and my sister are here.”

  “Yes, that is—”

  “Take me up to them,” Richard snapped.

  “I cannot, your lordship! That is, they have gone out.”

  Fear lanced through Richard, and he seized the footman by the lapels. “Where? Where did they go?”

  “Vauxhall, my lord, with Lord Wyvern and Sir John Grey.”

  Richard released the footman and swore loudly. He turned to Lescaux. “Let’s go.” He strode back to his horse.

  The valet’s hand held him back. “No, Milord. You must wash and change your clothes first.”

  “I don’t have time for that, damn it!”

  “You will ’ave less time if they throw you out, Milord. You look like you ’ave come from une maison de fou! The Bedlam!”

  Richard looked down at his clothes, streaked with dirt and dust; there could be no doubt his face was just as dirty. “Very well!” he snapped and turned to the footman. “A room, and quickly, man!”

  Once they gained a chamber upstairs, Lescaux pulled from the saddlebags a complete set of clothes, wrinkled to be sure, but at least not dirty. Richard washed quickly, then donned the clothes. The valet gave a moue of distaste when he gazed at his newly dressed master, but shrugged his shoulders. “Eh, bien! There is nothing more I can do.”

  Richard cast an impatient look in the mirror. “Good enough. At worst they’ll think I’ve slept off a debauch in my clothes. Shouldn’t be any different from half the people there, I’m sure.” He strode to the door, then turned to look at his valet. “Wish me luck, Lescaux.”

  “Bonne chance, Milord le Capitaine,” Lescaux replied, but the viscount was already out the door.