by Devon, Eva
Still, it was part of Heath’s modus operandi, to allow people to speak and hang themselves with their own words.
He swirled the brandy slowly, more for show than to actually drink. He liked a sharp mind.
Slowly, he crossed to the fireplace mantle and leaned against it. “Go ahead, Lady Mary,” he said. “I’m most intrigued to hear what you have to say.”
She folded her hands before her fully cloaked body. Good God. She was such a little nun. She clearly knew nothing of men, and she knew nothing of the fact that she was beautiful. He let his gaze sweep over her. Her dark hair curled about an elfin face. Yes, elfin.
That was the only way to describe it.
He had not been raised on stories of the wee folk, but he still understood that in the country, people thought bewitching creatures came out of their fairy mounds and lulled one to their destruction.
He was not one to be lulled.
Still, her bright eyes were razor-sharp at the moment. She tilted her head to the side.
Hell and damnation. He couldn’t even see the color of her gown. He wondered if she was dressed as prudishly as she appeared.
Still, she was no prude.
Not if she was here. Not if she was about to do what he thought she might.
He needed to hear her say it, though.
Perhaps it was unkind of him, but he would make no assumptions. Besides, he wasn’t particularly given to kindness. A man in his position could not be.
“I will spend a night with you,” she said in a rush.
“A night?” he echoed. “My goodness,” he drawled in faux plummy tones. “What ever are you suggesting, Lady Mary?”
She rocked on her feet. The muscles of her throat worked as she clearly dared herself to get the words out. “I-I am suggesting that I give you the company of myself for an evening, and then we will have done.”
The boldness of it! The sheer cheek. It was a beautiful thing to behold. And yet, he could not stop his simultaneous amusement. She clearly had little knowledge of the way the world worked. And so, he arranged his face in all seriousness. He could mock her. . . But, in this moment of her great courage, he did not wish to.
He had a terrible feeling; a man like her father had likely mocked her daily.
“You must think very highly of yourself,” he pointed out simply, neither an insult nor a condemnation, but a fact.
Her mouth dropped. “I beg your pardon?”
“30,000 pounds for one night,” he explained. “That is an astronomical sum for any woman. Do you really think you’re worth it?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes,” she replied.
A slow sensation spread through his chest, warming him, filling him up, making the room seemed smaller and entirely filled with. . . her.
Admiration. That was the damned sensation. He admired her.
She was a corker. A real comer. And damned if he didn’t think it a glorious thing to behold.
“You do know that the going rate is not nearly so high. Even for a virgin. Perhaps a hundred pounds?”
Her cheeks flamed, and she looked like she might march over to his fire and skewer him with his own poker.
His admiration increased tenfold.
“That will not do,” she countered firmly. “I need my father out of trouble.”
At that, he snorted. “Your father will never be out of trouble. That’s the kind of fellow he is.”
Something dark took him then. A need to make Lady Mary understand her situation fully. “You’ll get him out of it, and he’ll get into it again. Will you offer yourself for another night to another fellow then? Is that to be your life?”
She let out a gasp of air. Her shoulders rounding with a moment of defeat before she squared them again.
“My father is a very difficult person, true, but you’ve been threatening him.”
He shoved away from the mantle. “I threatened him because he owes me a great deal of money, and he seems to think you are the answer to it.”
“Am I?” she asked softly. And if he hadn’t known better, he would have thought temptingly.
She stared at him, her gaze searching his face. “The answer to it,” she continued.
“I don’t know.” He sighed.
And he meant it.
He surveyed her.
This was a dangerous game, indeed. If Lady Mary was willing to offer herself to save her father, she’d soon be doing it again with someone else if he did not take her father up on the offer of marriage.
That was when it struck him.
Bloody hell, he was considering it.
He could easily just eradicate the debt and send Lady Mary on her way.
It wasn’t the sort of man he was, nor would he prostitute a young woman. He had a particular abhorrence for prostitution. He’d seen the damage it could do to women, and it was why he did not allow the plying of female wares upon the gambling floor.
He did all he could for the women, women probably like the mother he’d never known, in his general area, trying to protect them as best he could from the worst of the pimps and the culls.
“I have no desire to take you to bed,” he gritted. A lie.
A lie. Oh, he could see himself ripping that prim cloak off her body, baring her pale limbs. . . Stretching her out and taking her with his rough body. . .
She winced. “Am I not worth it to you, then?”
His blood pulsed through his usually controlled frame. It pulsed for her. “Lady Mary, you are worth a great deal, I’m sure, but this? This is madness. You cannot come here, offering yourself to me to pay off your father’s debts. Your father will always be in debt.”
A look of understanding and pure horror crossed her face. Then defeat. A moment of defeat, on this glorious, fairy creature.
His very insides roared against it.
“Then, what do I do?” she asked. “I’m in a most difficult position. Father wishes me to marry you to make his financial situation better.”
Heath set his snifter on the mantle, facing her squarely. “Yes. He told me this, and apparently, he discussed it with you, but it is very clear he did not tell you that I was not necessarily amenable to the proposition.”
She gasped. “I beg your pardon? That’s not at all what he implied.”
Heath blew out a breath. “Your father will say whatever he needs to say to make himself feel as if he’s secure. I have no desire to bed a chit of a girl.”
“I’m not a chit of a girl,” she defended tartly.
He cocked his head to the side then heard himself saying, completely without plan, “Prove it to me. Let me sample the wares, then.”
Her lips parted slightly. “Sample the—”
“Yes,” he said. “If you’re going to give yourself to me, surely, I should know what it is I’m going to be having. A kiss perhaps?”
She tensed, but then it was clear she was drawing herself up, summoning her resolve. She gave a tight nod and crossed over to him, offering her face up.
He laughed.
“Do not laugh at me,” she all but shouted. “Do you realize how much courage it has taken me to come to this place?”
He folded his arms across his chest, determined to make her understand what she was doing. “A great deal, I should imagine. My God, you’re lucky you weren’t snatched up on the street.”
“Perhaps you’re right, but there are worse fates, I think.”
“Worse fate than being snatched up on the streets in the East End?” he spat out with sudden and unbidden anger. Anger at her for her own lack of knowledge of the danger she’d put herself in.
“Clearly, my girl, you know nothing of London, and you know nothing of life.”
“I am not your girl,” she returned hotly. “I know a great deal of life. Far more than most young ladies my age.”
His anger slowed as he considered her words. “I’m sorry for it. I don’t wish people to know suffering.”
She nodded her acceptance of his relent. “Well, I
have known it, and I’m here to stop the suffering.”
“You can’t,” he replied without mercy. “Life is suffering.”
Again, she narrowed her fiery eyes. “That is a very dark view.”
“A dark view, but the truth,” he countered. Now was the moment. The moment to cause her to run. To hie off. To forget her madness.
“A kiss, then,” he ordered. “To see if you’re. . . worth the debt.”
Even as he stood there, towering over her, daring her, he couldn’t believe he was doing this.
It was certainly not what he had intended.
He had intended on sending her on her way after having a moment with her, seeing what she wanted, seeing what she was willing to do.
Now, he found himself wondering, how far exactly would she go to save her father?
Too far. Too bloody far. . .
“Come on, then,” he said. “Do your best.”
She hesitated before she bit her lower lip. Then she rushed, “I don’t really know how to proceed.”
“You do not know how to seduce a man?”
“No,” she admitted. “It is not in my purview. Young ladies are not allowed to pursue such things.”
“You wish me to seduce you?” he asked, showing the absurdity of her pursuit.
“No,” she said, perplexed.
“Then, we are at an impasse, for I have no desire—”
“You do not desire me?” she broke in.
He stopped at that.
Did he? Yes. God. He hated to admit it.
He did not generally find ladies to be appealing, but there was something about her that drew him. He studied her carefully. Once again, taking her in from the top of her head to the tips of her slippers, which were peeping out from beneath that long cloak.
“Lady Mary, a man would have to be dead not to find you desirable. Now, show me. . . Show me what you’ve come to sell.”
She stilled.
Then she lifted a hand to her cloak tie, pulled it, and let it open.
As expected, she wore a simple gown. Pale blue linen, the stuff of ladies just come out, and barely a tempting view of her body could be found.
“You know,” he finally said. “I’m not very much interested in inexperienced misses.”
“Well, then,” she said, letting her hand drop from her cloak. “I suppose we are wasting both of our times.”
“Yes, I think we are,” he agreed, suddenly feeling. . . out of control. He was losing his upper hand, for his body was responding to hers in a way it never had before. . . He felt as if, if he was not careful, he’d devour her whole.
“And I think you should go. This is not a path I particularly wish to go down.”
“What?” she cut. “Debauching a young innocent? Surely, you’re accustomed to such a thing. I’ve heard of the horrors from this place.”
“Horrors from this place?” he mocked at last. “What horrors have you heard?”
She met his gaze fearlessly. “I’ve heard you’re a terrifying man. That you’re a businessman who will not yield. That you’re merciless.”
“All of that is true,” he said. “But no one could accuse me of debauching a girl in my club.”
She stopped at that. “Truly?”
“I have no time for such things, let alone an affinity for it.” He held her gaze before he shook his head at the madness coursing through him. “I’m done with this temporary amusement. It’s time that you went.”
“But—”
“No, Lady Mary.”
“Please,” she begged. “Please do not send me away so quickly. Surely, there is something that I can do, that we can do, some understanding that we could make.”
The desperation in her voice clawed at him.
She was desperate, and if he sent her out now, that desperation would continue. While he usually had no inclination to help people, he suddenly felt an inclination to help her.
He held out his hand then.
“Come here,” he urged. She lifted her chin but did as bid.
“What? Will you not touch my hand?” he teased dryly. “You were about to kiss me. Don’t you think touching my hand is far safer?”
She gave a nod and did as he bid once more.
She slid her gloved fingers into his and gasped at the touch.
“Oh, Lady Mary, I can shock you with a touch of a hand.” He folded his large palm about her small one. “Imagine what a kiss will do.”
“If you must know,” she replied, her breath hitching. “I’ve never been kissed, so I really have no idea what effect it will have upon me.”
Never been kissed.
Hell’s bells, she was an innocent. And she was ready to sacrifice that to him. . . For her bastard of a father.
He hated the fact that young women all over this world were put into such positions by the men who were supposed to protect them.
Perhaps if his own mother had. . . No, he wouldn’t think of it.
He’d never even known his mother.
He’d never seen her face nor felt her embrace.
As far as he knew, he’d been left in a gutter. He understood when that happened, why it had happened. It still hurt. He hated the fact that it still hurt. He allowed his hand to hold hers gently. He wished he could make her feel better, make her feel safe, and suddenly, that compulsion fell over him.
God, help him, he wanted to make Lady Mary safe.
He gazed down at her beautiful face. “We are truly in a difficulty.”
“I am the one in difficulty, sir,” she stated. “Not you. You have all the power here.”
“Do I?” he asked as he drew her close enough that the hem of her gown skimmed his boots.
“Yes,” she affirmed.
“I don’t think that’s true, Lady Mary, and I think that if we were to work together, you might have a bit of power too.”
“How the devil could I possibly have any such power?” she demanded.
“Power is largely a state of mind, Lady Mary.” He lifted his free hand and, oh, so slowly, reached out to caress her jaw. “Would you like me to help you change your state of mind?”
The idea took root in her. A small flame, catching spark.
He could see it.
Her brows lifted. “You could do such a thing?”
“Of course. Easily,” he said.
She shook her head, her dark curls dancing. “I don’t believe you. All my life, I’ve been at the control of my father. My mother has been destroyed by him, and my future will likely be in the hands of some other awful nobleman, if not yours.”
He bowed his head towards hers and whispered, “Then, you must stop being a pawn, Lady Mary. You are not destined to necessarily be that piece on a chessboard.”
“My father is the king on the board,” she pointed out, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “He’s the one doing the maneuvering.”
Heath tucked his thumb and forefinger under her chin, raising her face up. “Then, you must learn to play like the queen.”
Chapter 3
A queen.
One did not imagine themselves as such, did they?
Mary stared at the man who was offering up his help.
It wasn’t the sort of help she’d anticipated, but by God, she was going to take it. It felt utterly mad to accept the help of Richard Heath. He was the devil, wasn’t he?
But as he held her hand in his strong one, she knew he was powerful, indeed, and if he could help her, she would be a fool to turn it down.
“Teach me,” she said. “I am happy to be guided by you.”
“Happy to be guided by me?” he repeated, the words dripping off his tongue like heated honey. “Be careful what you say. I might guide you down a very dangerous path, indeed.”
“I’m already on a dangerous path,” she pointed out firmly. “You cannot take me down one worse than the one I am upon.”
Dear Lord, she hated that it was true, but her father had gotten worse with each day. Her mother was at
a breaking point for it. Her father had dared to bring opium and mistresses into their own home.
Mary spent half of her nights, locked away in her room, a pillow over her ears, desperate not to hear the goings-on, the shouting, the fighting, the crying of her mother.
The absolute audacity of her father to force them into his dark world. She needed to find a way out of it and into the light; otherwise, she was going to be absolutely destroyed as a person.
So she drew upon some hidden part of herself and said, “I am willing to take the risk.”
He gazed down at her, those eyes of his looking as if he could bare her soul.
It was terrifying, indeed.
She’d never had anyone look at her like that, not in her entire life.
He looked as if he could peel away all of the fears she had, and see inside her and glimpse her true self.
She did not even know her true self.
She’d been battling too many things to get to know it. Every time she tried to show it, her father beat it back, beat it down, but she was done with that now.
Now, she would have to do everything she could to stay afloat in her gilded, rotting world. She’d stay alive and away from a miserable future.
If Richard Heath could help her do that, well, she would give herself into his keeping.
“I think you should go now,” he said once more.
“Now?” she startled, surprised. “I thought you were going to help me.”
“I am going to help you, but here, in my office?” He shook his dark head. “This is dangerous, what we’re doing, Lady Mary. If anyone knew that you were here. . .”
“Would it matter?” she protested, realizing she did not wish to leave the devil’s company. “My father has already—”
“Yes, it would matter,” he pointed out quickly. “You would be ruined. So we must come up with a plan.”
“A plan?” she repeated, trying to understand the rapidity of his thoughts.
“Yes, one doesn’t throw themselves willy-nilly into battle,” he explained. “One must come up with a plan.”
“Is that what you have done? Planned?” she queried, wondering what had caused him to reach such summits.