Edith Layton

by The Devils Bargain

  He’d planned his revenge for years. It had been his whole life, until Kate. She’d be with him for forever after.

  …After he’d had his revenge.

  She deserved better.

  But he could walk fast, he could talk fast. He’d relished revenge long enough, it was time to end the thing, quickly, cleanly, the way you killed a dangerous serpent, by simply snapping its neck. He could face them and tell them, and leave them, triumphantly.

  But even that would take time. And his love lay waiting in his bed. His bride expected him upstairs. Kate, his wife, his love, his future, awaited him there.

  Alasdair paused on the stair.

  Then he turned, stepped down, and strode out the door.

  27

  The question was, how should she wait for him? Kate stood in the center of Alasdair’s bedchamber, seriously considering it. There was that great red-and-gold, lavish, sumptuous, exciting bed of his, just waiting to be used. Just looking at it made her cheeks the color of those outrageous satin bedcovers. But hadn’t she been thinking of that bed all these weeks?

  So she reasoned that if she, now his wife, waited for him all ablush, dressed to her chin and still in her wedding dress, it would be both foolish, craven, and a very bad start to their life together. What a woman of spirit would do would be to surprise and thrill him by stripping off her clothes and lying back upon that bed like a fine necklace in a velvet-lined box, awaiting him.

  She giggled nervously. She wasn’t a fine necklace. She was human, had her flaws, and knew them too well. Hadn’t she spent last night in the bath, washing and mourning every one of them?

  And he’d said he looked forward to helping her off with her clothing. But it would be such fun to surprise him, so delightful to shock him. After all, once he arrived he’d be the one who’d do everything. She knew what the procedure entailed. But that was like knowing how to drive a coach and four by watching. And she’d never even watched such a thing! She giggled again at the nonsense of that. No, when he came to her she’d follow his lead. So why not have the upper hand just once tonight? she thought with a spurt of hilarity, fueled by the wedding toast she’d drunk.

  She quickly stripped off her gown, looked down at herself, gave a little muffled yip of dismay and amusement, flew to his bed, hopped up, and burrowed under all its sumptuous red satin covers.

  She waited a second, then in a burst of sheer bravado, raised herself up until only her naked breasts showed. Well, half of them. As much as a man would see if she wore a daring gown. Alasdair had certainly seen more. Well, half a loaf was better than none, she thought, and, flushed and merry, lay back and waited.

  And waited.

  Where could they have put that cold collation, on the moon? she wondered grumpily, then anxiously. Her body grew as cold as her resolve as she watched the sunset fade outside the windows. The windows! She sat up, about to hop from the bed and draw the draperies over them. But she’d set out to be daring, and so she would be. The day was dying anyway. She lay back again and waited.

  And waited.

  Her jest had grown as cold as she was when the door finally opened. She held her breath. Alasdair stood there at last. She drew in her breath. She’d expected laughter, maybe a leer, certainly interest. He only looked distracted. Until he saw her, and stared.

  Alasdair gaped at his bride, all his well-rehearsed words forgotten. He’d run from the house, but had stopped halfway down the street and turned around again. And stood still, then turned back. And turned round again. When he saw passersby looking at him curiously, he realized he was starting to resemble a weather vane. He felt like one, unable to set a true course. There were things he had to do. But he couldn’t just leave her without a word. With all he must do, he could never do that.

  As he’d climbed the stairs he’d thought of what to say to her, before he left again. But the sight of her made him forget.

  She peeped up at him from his bed, smiling mischievously. Her gardenia garland, obviously forgotten, was still perched on her tousled curls, her breasts glowed pink from the reflected shine of the crimson covers they emerged from, she was rosy with delight at her jest, obviously naked beneath those covers, and looked like a slightly tipsy nymph waiting for her satyr.

  He smiled, then frowned.

  Her smile quavered, disappeared. She tugged the covers up, sat up, and tugged them higher, crossed her arms over her now blameless breasts, and cleared her throat. But she didn’t get a chance to speak.

  “I have to go out for a little while,” he said.

  “What?”

  “There’s an errand, not of my making.”

  “Leave me now?” she asked incredulously. “Go out?” She gasped. “Has anything happened to my parents? My brothers?”

  “No, certainly not. This is something altogether different. I just must go.” He lowered his head, avoiding her eyes. “Your cousins, the Scalbys, have summoned me. I have to see them and settle this matter between us for once and for all. I don’t want it haunting us the rest of our lives.”

  “But you can do that tomorrow,” she protested. “This is our wedding night.”

  “It’s only late afternoon,” he said, glancing at the window, frowning to see that the sky had lost the last blush of sunset and turned the flat gray of first night.

  “And it can’t wait?”

  “No, really it can’t. The thing is ripe to be settled. Wouldn’t you rather I come to you with a clear head and heart?”

  She stared at him. He didn’t look himself, she thought, but couldn’t tell just why. Then she realized what it was. He looked unsure, and Alasdair St. Erth, unsure, was a very different-looking man. It went beyond a matter of facial features; however upset he was, he was still amazingly attractive. But differently so. He’d worn his certitude like a second skin. Now, without that poise, that cool, amused facade and air of absolute command, he looked like a tragic poet, not a clever man about town. He seemed vulnerable, lost. His features stood out starkly, his eyes dark and blind with despair.

  “What is it?” she cried, throwing back the covers, climbing down from his bed and running to him. “Alasdair? What is it?” She stood in front of him, her nudity forgotten by both of them, and peered up into his face as though if she looked hard enough she could see what was troubling him.

  He looked at her, really seeing her again. “Oh, God,” he groaned, “What in God’s name am I doing?”

  Her eyes searched his. “What are you doing, Alasdair?”

  “I’m lying to you,” he said softly. “Time, past time I stopped. Before it’s too late.”

  He stepped to the bed, snatched up a cover, and dropped it over her shoulders. She stood still, shocked and confused. With a sound of impatience, he scooped her up and carried her to a chair by the window. He sat her on his lap and tucked the coverlet around her.

  “Now, we talk,” he said. “We should have before this, but it’s not too late. We’re married in name only. There’s still time for you to get out of this. Kate, I’ve kept things from you. I told myself it wouldn’t matter. It would, it does, and if I’m right, tonight your cousins will see it does even more.”

  He heaved a great sigh and laid his head on the back of the chair. “Kate,” he said, and closed his eyes, pausing before he spoke again. “I told you about my vendetta against the Scalbys. I just didn’t tell you all of it. I left out a part, the part that’s been eating away at my heart all these years.” He looked down at her again, raised a hand, and stroked back a curl from her face, as tenderly and sexlessly as if she were a beloved child he was about to tell a bedtime story to.

  “My father got into debt with them, you know that. When I came home from school, they were at our estate with a party of their friends, as I said.” His voice was calm, too calm. “Everyone knows that. No one knew the rest. No one but me, the Scalbys, four of their friends, now gone, and now, you. You see, your cousins came to me one night and told me the extent of my father’s debt. I was appalled. The
y said he’d be beggared trying to pay it, and that they doubted he could pay it all, even so. So they offered me the chance to do it, all at once.”

  Kate frowned. “But you were only…sixteen, you said.”

  “So I was. I had no money, but what I had was more important to them. I was fully grown, fully matured, if not in mind, then certainly in body. They’d noted that, they said, and very much approved of how I’d grown.” His voice became wry. “They were younger then, too. She was considered attractive in her fashion, he was…active, in his. They informed me of exactly how active they both were, what they and their friends liked to do, and what they wished to do, with me.”

  Kate swallowed a gasp as he went on. “They proposed sealing the bargain that very night. My father had gone to a friend in the next county to try to raise money. He wouldn’t be home ’til morning. They had enough money, they said. But never enough sport. They planned a party, an orgy, to put it plainly, which they did, because they were honest, in their fashion. A party, with me as centerpiece.”

  “Oh, Alasdair,” Kate breathed.

  “Oh, indeed. And if I agreed, they’d forget my father’s debt, tell him it was charity on their behalf, and bother neither of us again—unless I found their play to my taste. I agreed, of course.”

  He paused for her protest, and when there was none, nodded, and went on. “I bathed like a bridegroom that night,” he said with a small smile. “Then drank as much as I could hold. I wasn’t used to spirits, but brandy seemed to smell the strongest, so I grimaced and downed it. I didn’t want to join them, you see. I was new to my body, it perplexed and embarrassed me. I didn’t want to be naked in front of strange adults. Especially those. I hadn’t any sexual experience and recoiled at the thought of having it with them. I suppose I was a backward youth. I had enough lust, of course, most sixteen-year-old fellows do. But I had illusions about love. I was, as I said, mature in body and not mind.”

  Kate noticed he never mentioned her cousins’ given names, as if by so doing he removed himself from them further. “And he…” Alasdair paused. “You see, they told me he’d join in the sport, too.”

  Kate’s breath stopped. “I certainly didn’t want that,” Alasdair said in cold flat tones. “But if I didn’t agree, it was debtors’ prison for my father. Who could I tell? What could I do? I seriously contemplated killing them. But what good would that do my father? In the end, I drank the brandy, dressed, and went to the party.

  “They were entirely ugly people,” he said wearily. “I remember only bits of it, because they had liquors as well as opium to help them and me get on with it. I stripped as they asked, and felt stupid and shamed, my body looked like a plucked chicken to my own eyes, my shoulders too wide, my limbs too bony. They didn’t agree.”

  He paused, gazing past her at something she couldn’t see. “I drank and smoked whatever they gave me, though I don’t think it was necessary. There’s an Eastern philosophy,” he said quietly, “a practice that allows men to travel out of their bodies. It takes years of discipline to achieve. It took me only that night. I hardly needed all the drugs. I don’t know whose they were, thank God, I remember only hands and mouths and bodies on mine. At some point, I left them, though of course, my body remained.

  “I woke,” he said dully, “and it was over, they were gone. I grabbed my clothing, dressed, and ran out into the morning. I ran hours before I realized I’d never run far enough from myself to forget. I went home. They’d gone. I went into the house. The neighbors were there, the vicar was there. They told me my father had come home, gone into his study, and killed himself.”

  Kate sat still, unable to speak until she knew what to say.

  “I tried to save him and I killed him,” Alasdair said simply, helplessly. “The money didn’t matter after all. I’ve since paid all of it back to them, I refused to honor that part of the bargain, or take one cent from them for what I’d done. It took time, but I did it. Once my father was gone, there was no need for their money. I vowed I’ll pay them back in kind, though. I vowed I wouldn’t rest until I’d done worse to them. The others there that night are long gone, to their graves or what amounts to it: disgrace and permanent exile. But the Scalbys caused it all, and they remain. But not for much longer.

  “Now I’m ready to repay them, that’s why I must go to them tonight. I should have told you long ago. In my defense, I didn’t want you to ever know and thought you never would. But now it occurs to me that they’ll find a way to tell you—scorpions can sting even as they are crushed. I’d much rather you heard this from me.”

  Now Kate could speak. “You killed him?” she cried. “Of course you didn’t.”

  “In a sense, I did,” Alasdair said wearily. “The Scalbys were seen leaving his study that morning just before they left. He was found dead after they drove off, slumped over his desk, his pistol still in his hand. The butler discovered him, he’d gone to tell him that his guests were leaving. My father had already left. They must have told him about our bargain. A bargain with the devil always has a trick to it. The money was paid, but I’d incurred a larger debt for him. Poverty he could bear, his son’s disgrace, he could not.”

  “Nonsense!” Kate said angrily. “If he felt anything about what you did, it was guilt, his own. He was probably already sick with worry at what his folly had done to your inheritance. You tried to save him. I don’t know if I’d have been that brave in your place, even now. I doubt I would have been at sixteen!”

  “Brave?” Alasdair asked with a twisted smile.

  “Of course,” she said indignantly. “You did whatever you could, bargained with what little you had. But it wasn’t little, it was yourself, and they should be crushed and damned.”

  “Kate,” he said gently, looking at her with regret, “I remember enough of that night never to be able to forget it. I didn’t want to join them, but I remember, indeed, cannot forget, that my flesh, at least, did participate. You’d have thought I’d recoil, shrink—physically as well as mentally. God! If a cold breeze can shrink a man’s flesh, you’d think his disgust and despair would do it, too. But I remember, and am damned for it, because I didn’t shrink from their demands. I don’t know whose hands, body, or lips were served. But I performed, I’m sure of it. There was, in all that shame and anger, still some pleasure for me, all unwillingly. I still despise myself for it. I’ve tried to cleanse myself in the beds of too many women, but I can’t forget. Neither should you.”

  He gazed at her steadily. “I’m no fit husband for you, Kate. I think I knew it all along. It’s only another thing I kept from you and myself. It’s as well they summoned me from you tonight—fitting, too. This time they served you well.” He spoke more briskly. “A special dispensation for annulment can be arranged if there was no consummation, and you should thank God there wasn’t. That much honor I had left. That much I leave to you. Claim whatever you want, I’ll agree. You can be free.”

  “Why should I want to be?” she demanded. “They used you. You were only a boy. A big boy, but not an adult, and drugged and drunk, to boot. As for that, Alasdair, you may know more about flesh than I do, but even I know that we control our bodies only by the most severe discipline of our minds, and they took yours away from you that night.”

  He shook his head. “Kindly thought, valiantly said, but you owe me nothing, Kate.”

  “Well, you owe me a wedding night, and a lifetime together,” she insisted.

  She was both frightened and angry, afraid of losing him, angry that he wouldn’t see the truth, and that truth was that she loved him. He’d been brave, but what had happened during his sacrifice was so long ago it was nothing to her, whatever it meant to him. She was so sorry for him she wanted to weep, but knew that would only convince him he was right. This sad, exhausted man wrung her heart and won it even more surely than the cool composed Sir Alasdair St. Erth had done. This man was like that poor abused boy again, she realized, once again sacrificing his body and his heart for someone he loved
. That heart was hers, she knew it. Now she had to win it back. Reason wouldn’t do it.

  Although she’d expected that this night he’d lead and she’d follow him into bliss, now she saw the tables had turned. She’d little experience at lovemaking, except with him. She was still shy, even in front of him. But he needed her, and she realized she had to show him how much she needed him. His grief was beyond words, they’d do her no good.

  She put both her arms around his neck. His arms, reflexively, went round her. She didn’t give him time to think of what he’d done, she lifted her lips to his. He didn’t move. She sighed against his mouth and placed hers over it. He didn’t open his lips. She touched the seam of those warm lips with her tongue, and pressed herself against him. He didn’t respond. It was like kissing his portrait.

  She paused, hurt and confused. Didn’t he want her? But then she realized she hadn’t shown him anything but willingness. He needed more. He’d always courted her, how did a woman go about seducing him? She couldn’t. She could only show him what she needed. He’d always responded to that.

  She shrugged the coverlet from her shoulders, so she was entirely bared to him. Then she lay her head against his chest, her hand over his heart. “I love you, Alasdair,” she said softly, “And I want to stay married to you, and bedamned to my cousins! Should I spend my life only remembering you with regret because of them? Please, don’t let them win again. I want you. I didn’t marry you mainly for your flesh. But, oh my, Alasdair! I was so looking forward to it!”

  Her head moved as his body jerked. And then he was laughing, her head bouncing against his chest. “God, you are amazing.” He laughed again.

  She sat straight up, nose to nose with him, delighted with herself, grinning at him.

  He gazed at her. Her face was flushed, and she looked triumphant, devilish, unutterably seductive, her head thrown back, her small arched breasts bobbing with her laughter, her slender white body rising from crimson satin, offering itself to him. And best of all, and most of all, her eyes filled with humor and love, and perfect fellow feeling. It was, all at once, too much for him.