Alasdair and Kate stepped back to let them by. They stood arrested as Lord Scalby passed, staring at his empurpled face, rolling eyes, the thick lips wet with drool, as he shambled away on the arm of his keeper.
“A little something he picked up on our travels,” Lady Scalby said in a brittle voice. “A souvenir of past delights. I told him and told him to stay within our class for his sport, or at least to inspect the treats he bought before he sampled them. But in time, he grew bored with that. Rash fellow. As to that, it started as a rash, can you believe it?” she asked conversationally. “Then a sore, then many sores, then…but any medical manual can tell the course of the thing, can’t it? One day he lost his balance, then he began to lose little things. He lost his temper frequently, and then he lost his entire mind. Now he remembers nothing but rage and hunger. Syphilis is an interesting disease, is it not?” she asked Alasdair. “You were far, far luckier than you knew that night. I was not. As for me, why, my husband was most generous.”
She picked up the candle and held it close to her face.
Alasdair winced. Kate looked away. She’d heard sermons on the rewards for evil living and the miseries of those afflicted with the pox. Nothing prepared her for the ruin she’d glimpsed. It was as if every evil thing Lady Scalby had done had been imprinted on what had been her face. Kate glanced at Alasdair, wondering if this was what he’d looked for in his dreams. Surely it was a more fit punishment than any he could have imagined.
Lady Scalby laughed. “So sorry to disappoint you, but if you sought utterly to destroy us, you are a little too late.”
“In this, you win,” Alasdair said, bowing. “Congratulations. I couldn’t have done more. Indeed, I doubt even I’d have done as much.”
“So you really are not going to lay information against us?” Lady Scalby persisted, anxiety finally creeping into her voice.
“No. Not if you never trouble me or mine again. But that could change. I caution you to stop your games now. I’ll keep the papers, and use them if I must. I suggest you pray for our continued good fortune and health, too, because should anything happen to me or mine, those papers will be made public instantly. Keep your Name then, and may it bring you joy. I leave you to live, or die, in peace. At least from me. I’m done with you. Good evening, good-bye.”
The lady inclined her head in a semblance of a bow. She was close enough to the candlelight for it to show her smile. Kate shivered, because that smile was a reptilian thing to match the bright, flat eyes of its wearer. A turtle’s grin, etched in flesh, but not by emotion, made only of lines and creases. Now the lady wasn’t capable of more. Kate wondered if she’d ever been.
Alasdair took Kate’s hand, and they left her cousin sitting in her chair, staring blindly into the candlelight.
They stepped out of the town house into the night, and it seemed brighter than where they’d just been.
Alasdair shifted his shoulders. He stretched. “Lord! I actually feel lighter now that I’ve put down that burden. And cleaner, out in the fresh air. I know it’s midnight, but I need a walk. And you?”
“Oh, me too,” Kate said.
“Go on,” he told his coachman. “The night’s advanced, but the weather’s fine, so we’ll walk. But this is London, so follow behind and keep watch.”
“If it were just me, I wouldn’t care,” he told Kate, as he took her hand, “but I take no chances with you.”
They strolled home to the sound of the carriage horses’ steady clumping along the cobbles just behind them. They held hands, walking in thoughtful and companionable silence.
“I worry,” Kate finally said.
“About what?” he said quickly, turning to her. “It’s done. She won’t trouble us again.”
“Oh, I know that,” she said softly. “It’s not that.”
“Then what?” he asked, coming to a halt, holding both her hands and gazing down into her face. “What worries you?”
“Oh, well,” she said sadly, looking everywhere but at him. “The thing is, this walk is very pleasant, but it’s getting later. I worry about how long it will take us to get back, because there’s not much left of our wedding night, and I so was looking forward to it!”
He gave a shout of laughter, swept her up into his arms, and waved to the coachman. When the coach came abreast, Alasdair laughing, carried his laughing bride inside.
“Home!” he called to the coachman, “And hurry! We’ve a lot of time to make up for,” he told Kate as he settled her on his lap, “and only a lifetime left to do it in.”
“Not long enough,” she whispered, touching a hand to his lips.
“No, not nearly long enough,” he agreed, then found a better use for their lips.
About the Author
EDITH LAYTON wrote her first novel when she was ten. She bought a marbleized notebook, her goal being that the story fit between the covers. Now, an award-winning author with more than twenty-five novels and novellas to her credit, her criteria have changed. The story has to fit the reader as well as between the covers.
Graduating from Hunter College in New York City with a degree in creative writing and theater, Edith worked for various media, including a radio station and a major motion picture company. She married and went to suburbia, where she was fruitful and multiplied to the tune of three amazingly creative children. She also shares her life with the gorgeous Bernese Mountain Dog, Georgette; a foundling parakeet, Little Richard; and assorted pond fish, which too often provide impromptu sushi for wandering herons at her Long Island home.
Ms. Layton purely loves anyone who visits her website at www.edithlayton.com.
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Edith Layton
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Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE DEVIL'S BARGAIN. Copyright © 2002 by Edith Felber. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
ePub edition June 2007 ISBN 9780061747922
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Contents
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
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14
15
16
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19
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About the Author
Other Books by Edith Layton
Copyright
About the Publisher
Edith Layton Page 33