The Devil's Bargain

by Karen Harbaugh

  Fantastic masks, like creatures from an unknown land, flashed past Eveline as their owners danced and laughed and drank. The heat was oppressive, and Eveline waved a fan at herself. She wished she could take her mask off as well, for it pressed against the bridge of her nose, irritating her, but she felt it was wise to keep it on. She was not used to such revelry—she had gone only to the balls and assemblies in Bath, chaperoned by Lady Brookland, all highly respectable. But Wyvern, indeed Sir John, assured her and Marianne that the gaiety here was not unusual for London, although they also assured them that it was best if they stayed with their escorts. Eveline could easily see that not all the people came to dance and talk, but to take shocking liberties with each other as well.

  In truth, she wished she were gone from this place, for she did not want to meet this Teufel who threatened her husband and herself. But it seemed that she’d meet him sooner or later, and she’d reasoned sooner was better, so that she could get a good measure of her enemy before much time went by.

  She looked at her sister-in-law and envied her unconscious enjoyment. Marianne looked lovely in her new peach-pink dress and matching domino, and her eyes sparkled with merriment behind her mask, enchanting her betrothed all over again—and more than a few other gentlemen who looked on as well. Eveline sighed and fanned herself, then looked at the watch pinned to the bodice of her dress. It wanted but ten minutes until she was to meet Teufel. She moved restlessly and then touched Marianne’s arm.

  “It is so oppressively warm here, do you not think? How refreshing it would be if we could walk in the gardens!” she said, smiling.

  “Oh, yes, do let’s!” Marianne said. She glanced up at Wyvern at her side. “I have never been to Vauxhall, you know, and have heard much about the gardens.”

  The earl smiled at her, but shot a quick look at Eveline. “I have heard much, as well, which is why it is a good thing both Jack and I are escorting you ladies.”

  “What have you heard?” Marianne asked, her eyes wide with interest.

  Wyvern turned eyes equally wide with innocence. “Why, nothing, of course.”

  She tapped her closed fan smartly upon his arm. “Odious, provoking man! If it is something scandalous, why do you let us go out at all?”

  “To see how red you become when you blush, of course,” Wyvern replied. Marianne’s cheeks turned pink.

  Eveline laughed. “You are right, Marianne! He is odious. Are you sure you wish to marry him?”

  Sir John leaned toward Marianne. “Say no, Miss Clairmond. You cannot let such a wicked man as Wyvern keep you away from more virtuous fellows—such as myself.”

  Marianne cast a provocative look at her betrothed. “I shall not say no, but I will teach him a lesson and not go out into the gardens with him. If you would be so kind, Sir John—” and here she smiled prettily upon him. “If you would be so kind as to escort me instead, I think he might mend his ways.”

  “Alas, Wyvern, you are left with me,” Eveline said. “Small consolation, indeed!”

  “Not at all, Lady Clairmond,” the earl replied. “However, I shall find out if it is true that absence makes the heart grow fonder—or whether it’s out of sight, out of mind.” He gave Marianne a wicked look from under his dark brows that made her cheeks grow more pink than ever, though a smile trembled on her lips. Marianne lifted her chin defiantly and took Sir John’s arm, leaving their box before Wyvern and Eveline.

  It had turned out quite well, thought Eveline. She was with Wyvern as she had wanted, and Marianne was with Sir John. She glanced ahead of her. It should be easy to lose them. She slowed her steps and looked up at Wyvern.

  “The Dark Walk, he said in his letter.”

  Wyvern grimaced. “Of course. It would be. It is an odd path, with a few twists and turns, and an easy place to be private with someone. Confusing, also; there are some paintings on the walls that lead you to think it is yet another path.”

  A sense of unease came over her. “Will there be somewhere you can hide so that you can hear me?”

  “Yes. As I said, there are plenty of places in which to be private and conceal one’s self.” Wyvern glanced to the right. “This way, if you please.”

  Eveline nodded and looked ahead for Marianne and Sir John. They were gone. She felt more nervous than ever and looked up at her companion. Even in the dim light, she could see Wyvern’s saturnine face turn even more stern as they progressed toward the Dark Walk.

  The day had been warm, and Vauxhall’s ballroom even warmer, but here in the gardens it was quite cool. Eveline drew her shawl closer around her. Indeed, though it was early summer, the night air chilled her as if it were early spring instead. She looked above at the sky and saw the stars did not twinkle brightly at all, nor could she see the moon shining as she had seen upon her arrival at Vauxhall. A mist had descended instead, and soon the Dark Walk was shrouded in uniform grayness instead of the varying shades and shapes of shrubbery, earth, and architecture. The grayness seemed to absorb everything: light, dark, sound. Eveline could no longer hear the music and voices from the ballroom. All sound was damped, although she was sure they could not be that far from the ballroom. The air was still cool, cold, in fact, and yet it was oppressive, as if it were pushing down upon her.

  “Deuce take it!” exclaimed the earl. His voice sounded as if he spoke in a small, closed room. “We must be at the place Teufel had said he’d meet you, but I cannot tell because of this mist.” He released her hand from his arm. “I am sure there must be a hedge here.” He reached out his hand to the side of him and moved a little away from her.

  The mist enveloped him, and suddenly he was gone. Eveline froze. “Wyvern! Come back this instant!” There was no sound, not even a footstep, though she strained her ears to hear. “Wyvern!”

  She turned around, her arms outstretched, but she could see nothing, feel nothing. Fear curled up around her heart, pressing upon it and making it beat harder than before. “Wyvern!” she called again, but there was no sound, no movement in the unvarying grayness around her. Finally, there was a sound, a shifting in the mist. Footsteps. She sighed with relief. No doubt the earl had turned back from his exploring. She frowned. She would give him the scolding of his life for scaring her so!

  The footsteps grew closer, light and quick, and the mist stirred. But it was not Wyvern at all who appeared, but a young man dressed impeccably in black, carrying a diamond-topped walking stick. Eveline drew back, then stared. She had seen handsome men before, but this man was beautiful. His hair was as black as his coat, and he was tall and well-built. His pale skin seemed translucent, almost as if a light glowed through it from within. Eyebrows, thin and straight, slanted above eyes that were extraordinarily fine and large and dark. He gave her a smile, and she was almost charmed, for his lips were finely molded as if carved by a master sculptor. And yet that smile did not reach his beautiful eyes—eyes that were bottomless pools of ancient rage and despair.

  He is old—fundamentally so, she thought, then shook her head, for surely he could be no more than five-and-twenty. No doubt he was old in debauchery. She looked away from him, and her breath came out in a sound that was almost a moan, for the oppressive mist around her seemed to sink into her heart and press upon it unbearably. She forced her gaze back up again and stared defiantly at him.

  The young man bowed elegantly. “Lady Clairmond, I presume?”

  “Yes.” It was all she could say. She took a large breath and let it out again.

  “I am Teufel. You summoned me, and I am here, at your command.” He bowed again elegantly and mockingly.

  “I found your letter to my husband—a foul letter that threatened him and my sister-in-law.” Eveline let the outrage and anger boil up within her. It warmed her and forced out the creeping chill that had insinuated itself into her flesh.

  Teufel shook his head sadly. “Foul? Oh, dear. And I had worked so very hard over it, too.”

  “Yes, I can tell,” Eveline said coolly. “Just the right amount o
f slyness, a pinch of arrogance, a touch of vulgarity, and enough cowardice to threaten two ladies who have done you no harm.”

  Affront and fury flickered on Teufel’s face, and then he smiled an appreciative smile that actually reached his eyes. “Touché. Do you know, my lady, I do think your cleverness is wasted in marriage—a horribly dull and overrated institution, in my opinion. You should be a courtesan, instead, and hold salons. You would be feted for your intelligence and admired for your undeniable beauty.” His smile widened, and his gaze wandered down her body and back up again to her face.

  Eveline gritted her teeth. “Answer me!” she cried. “Who are you, and why do you threaten me? Are you an enemy of mine, or my father?”

  “Really! Such emotionalism.” Teufel took out a small snuffbox and took snuff. “How can I be an enemy, when I have brought you and Clairmond together? My, my, my.” He shook his head musingly. “Such … passion.”

  Eveline could feel her face grow hot with embarrassment and anger. She took a step forward. “You told him to seduce me and the intent was that he abandon me as well, though he did not. I think that is enough to tell me that you wish me ill!”

  “Oh, that. Just our little bargain. He was in dire straits, you know. I thought it a good thing to help him a little—charitable of me, was it not?”

  “He should bring you in front of the magistrates. What blackmail have you put upon him?” she demanded. The oppressive chill of the mist seemed to press upon her more, dulling her thoughts. She shook her head to clear it.

  Teufel threw back his head and laughed out loud. “Blackmail! Oh, my dear Lady Clairmond! How could it be blackmail if I saved his estates and his sister from ruin?”

  “Then why? Why did you direct him to ruin me? And why threaten Marianne?”

  The young man stared at her speculatively for a moment, then said with a charming smile, “I wanted his soul, of course.”

  The chill finally penetrated her heart, becoming a seeping dread. No, he could not mean that, of course, she thought. He mocks me.

  Anger returned to her. “Nonsense! Speak to me plainly, if you please! Lord Clairmond’s soul, indeed!” She pressed her lips together in disgust.

  “Oh, don’t do that, Lady Clairmond! It ruins the line of those lovely lips.” Teufel came forward, and the mist swirled away from him. He took her chin in his hand, but she turned her face away. “Such haughtiness! But one often gains that with a title, yes?”

  “Tell me what you forced upon my husband.” Eveline’s voice was low with controlled anger—and fear. She could feel the oppressiveness more now when he came close to her. It was almost as if it emanated from him.

  “I?” Teufel’s voice sounded hurt. “I forced him into nothing. It was an agreement. He would give me his soul and do a few tasks for me, in return for the restoration of his estates and keeping his sister from ruin.”

  Eveline did not bother to hide her fear now; she could not. It rolled over her like a wave, and she felt she could not breathe. She stared at Teufel. “Who … are you?”

  He smiled tenderly at her and ran his finger down her cheek and neck and the tops of her breasts, leaving a cold pain upon her flesh. “I am Teufel, as I told your husband. But I have other names. Lucifer is one of them. Perhaps I will use that one. Much less harsh-sounding than Teufel, don’t you think?”

  She took in a gasping breath. “You are mad!” Surely that must be it. He must have escaped from Bedlam. Anger cleared away her fear, and she thrust his hand away from her. But his hand closed on her wrist like a vise, and pain coursed through her arm.

  “Oh, please!” he said plaintively. “Clairmond thought the same thing. How unoriginal. I am not mad at all. Shall I prove it to you?” He waved at the mist, and it swirled and came apart. A hole, black as a starless night, appeared, and then flames flickered in it. There she could see two figures entwined, a quilt twisted about their bodies. It was herself and Richard in the cottage. How could Teufel show her this?

  Teufel sighed sentimentally. “How … romantic, yes? And such unrestrained … passion. My, my, my.”

  She looked at the young man again, at his unearthly, beautiful face, and his ancient pitiless eyes. The mist curled around him in a caress, and she realized she could see him clearly, as if in daylight. Yet, she knew it was night, and there was no light that could glow from an indefinable source as it did here. The mist closed in around her, chill and oppressive. Eveline drew in a large breath, trying to feed her lungs with air.

  “Who … are you?” she whispered again.

  Teufel smiled gently at her. “I told you. My name is Lucifer.”

  Eveline shook her head in denial. “No,” she said. “No.”

  He pulled her closer so that the buttons of his jacket pressed against her. He looked at her consideringly. “Yes,” he said. “Oh, yes. You really should consider becoming a courtesan. Think of the respect you would receive, the adulation! You would command the attention of every male eye; you would be irresistible. Riches—no, you have that already, eh?” He flicked her chin with his finger. “Ah, definitely hold the salons. You are a fairly clever woman, are you not? You could invite the most famous minds to your house and have them converse, admire your intellect, and write sonnets to your most delectable lips.” He smiled again and bent toward her, and Eveline’s mind filled with horror at the idea that he was going to kiss her. But Lucifer stopped, his expression arrested, and straightened himself. He looked past her as if in expectation, then raised his eyebrows.

  “Ah, yes,” he said, and the mist slowly parted. Eveline could see night again, though the glow that seemed to come from Lucifer still remained. He held her arm less tightly now, but firmly nevertheless. “Ah, yes. It seems we have more players now in this game.”

  The music and the noise from the ballroom came hard and sharp to Eveline’s ears once again after the muffling fog. The last of the mist curled away, and the hedges and walls came into sharp focus.

  “Eveline!” came Richard’s voice. Eveline swirled around and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Richard, here!” she called. She half expected Lucifer to keep her from crying out, but he only stood still, as if he were waiting.

  The viscount appeared at last from around a wall of shrubbery. He caught sight of her, and he smiled, relieved. Then he saw her companion, and his expression shifted to that of alarm, then anger. He strode toward them.

  “Your business is with me, Teufel, not my wife.” Richard pulled Eveline away and held her tightly to him. “Leave her be.” He bent his head to her. “Go, Evie, now. I will deal with him.”

  Eveline raised her eyes to his and grasped the lapels of his coat. “No, Richard. You will not deal with him. Not again.”

  Richard looked at her, his eyes despairing. “So, you know.”

  “Yes.”

  He closed his eyes briefly as if in pain. “I see,” he whispered. “I see.” He let out a long breath. “Go, Eveline.”

  “No. I will not leave you here with him.”

  This time it was Richard who grasped her arm tightly. He shoved her toward the noise of the ballroom. “You will go, Eveline. It is too late for me, for I’ve sold my soul to the devil and there’s no retrieving it.”

  Anguish, cold and sharp, clutched her heart in a way that the deadening mist had failed to do. She gazed into his eyes and saw they had grown more shadowed and cold than ever, his expression chill and remote. Her own Richard, the laughing one who loved her, was dying, slowly being replaced by this cold and dreadful creature. He had to come back to her, he had to! Eveline let out a wild sob and grasped the sleeve of his coat “No. Listen, only listen to me, Richard! Come back with me! There must be another way,” she cried desperately.

  Lucifer smiled and shook his head. “He is mine, Lady Clairmond. Most certainly, he is mine. He will come to me—not to you. I need only crook my finger”—he curved his finger—“and he will do as I say.”

  Richard stared down at her, his eyes old and tired. H
e pulled Eveline’s fingers from his coat sleeve. “I must, Eveline. You can see that, can’t you?”

  “No, I cannot! What has he done for you that you owe him anything?”

  “He offered to restore the estates and ensure Marianne would live a good life.”

  “I have not seen any evidence of it!” Eveline retorted. “It seems to me that if anything has happened on the estate, it was through your own efforts!”

  “My efforts were nothing, Eveline; not enough to keep my tenants from starving. You must see that.” His voice, remote and icy, chilled her, and his face seemed almost as inhumanly cold as Lucifer’s. Richard shook his head and took a step toward Lucifer.

  “Richard! Oh, God. Don’t go! Please don’t go!” Eveline ran and seized his arm again, but he shook her off and she stumbled to the ground.

  “Lady Clairmond!” A hand grasped her arm, helping her up again, and she looked up into the face of the Earl of Wyvern. “Are you hurt?” Before she could reply, she was thrust aside.

  “You!”

  Clairmond’s voice came hot and angry, and when Eveline looked at his face, the stonelike expression had transformed into one of fury. But she was glad, for his face seemed human again, and he had taken a step away from Lucifer.

  “Wyvern, you must stop him!” she cried. “He is going with this … demon, this Teufel, who is trying to hurt us!” Neither Wyvern nor her husband paid her any heed, for Richard had seized the earl by the neckcloth. Wyvern, his face startled, then angry, pried the viscount’s fingers from his neck, then punched him in the stomach. Richard reeled backward, staring furiously at the earl.

  “You bastard! It wasn’t enough that you wanted to buy my sister from me, you had to bring my wife here, too! I could kill you for that!” His breath came swift and heavily, his eyes narrow with rage.

  “Stubble it, Clairmond! I did nothing of the sort.” Wyvern’s hands tightened into fists, however, as if ready for the next attack.

  “Don’t lie! I know you’re in league with Teufel; why else come to me about Marianne right after I met with him? And why else bring my wife here, where he could get to her?”