Susanna could feel herself paling. For a second the floor seemed to swoop and plunge beneath her feet and it was Dev who caught her arm to steady her.
“It seems,” he said, with grim satisfaction, his eyes riveted on her face, “that I was right. Sir Edwin is pure invention.”
For one long, terrifying moment, Susanna’s mind was a tangled mass of apprehension and doubt. She scanned Dev’s face trying to ascertain just how much he knew, but his expression was impassive. She would get no help there. In fact, he would be waiting for her to stumble, to give more away, to reveal those secrets he had tried to charm from her only a moment earlier. If one method failed then he would turn to another. Her only defense could be to stand up to him, to brazen it out.
She straightened her spine and looked him straight in the eye.
“Very well,” she said lightly. “I confess it. I invented Sir Edwin. He was … an embellishment.”
Dev grabbed her arm and pulled her behind a pillar, away from prying eyes. “What was he—a lie to give you respectability?” he said harshly. “The rich widow who was nothing of the sort?”
“Precisely that,” Susanna said coolly. It was a lie—just another lie—but at all costs she had to prevent Dev from getting close to the truth that she was in league with the Duke and Duchess of Alton. Her whole future depended on preserving that facade. Far better that Dev should think her an unprincipled adventuress on the make.
“You understand how it is, Devlin,” she said. “A fortune hunter has to give the appearance of wealth even if there is precious little to support it.”
Dev’s gaze traveled over her thoughtfully and lingered on the diamonds at her throat.
“Those are real,” he murmured. “They must have been paid for somehow.”
Marvelous. Now he thought her a whore plying her trade on the streets of Edinburgh, or perhaps a paid mistress, a courtesan. Susanna shrugged mentally. There was no way that she could refute it, not if she wanted to keep the name of her paymasters a secret.
“Oh, yes, they have been paid for,” she said wearily, and saw the disillusion deepen in his eyes. “How did you find out about Sir Edwin?” she added.
“I asked around,” Dev said vaguely. She could see he was not going to tell her. “A number of people claim to know him but it seems their imaginations are almost as vivid as yours.”
Susanna shrugged. She brought her gaze up to his face. “And what are you going to do with the information?” she asked bluntly.
Dev’s gaze warmed into amusement. “What would you like me to do?”
Damn him. Susanna mentally piled curses on his head. Dev knew full well that she could not afford for him to make trouble for her with Fitz. Even if he hinted to acquaintances that she was not the widow she seemed, awkward questions might be asked. And the only thing she could do to stop him was to threaten to spoil his future if he hurt hers.
She smiled. “I ask only that you think about your own situation before you try to change mine,” she said sweetly, and saw his lips thin.
“Blackmail,” he said. “That’s not pretty, Susanna.”
“Call it insurance then,” Susanna said. “You do not want to lose your heiress, do you? Well then …”
A faint smile curled Dev’s lips. “What a piece of work you are,” he murmured. “I almost admire you.”
“And you, Sir James,” Susanna countered. “You are scarcely a lily-white innocent, are you?”
He laughed then, the devilry leaping in his eyes. “Oh, Susanna,” he said under his breath, “I want to carry you out of this ballroom and make love to you until you are begging me for more—”
The sensual heat blazed through Susanna, making her catch her breath. Dev heard it and the wicked light in his eyes intensified. “Come with me,” he murmured. “You know you want to. That at least is no lie.”
Susanna’s reticule fell from her shaking fingers and spilled open. With a muffled curse she dropped to her knees, trying to push the contents back inside before Dev saw them. But it was too late. As she tried to force the last cream puff back inside, her hands trembling, she realized that Dev had seen.
“What on earth—” His tone had changed completely. So had the expression in his eyes. He was looking at her with puzzlement and something Susanna feared might be pity.
“So now you are stealing food, as well?” he murmured. “Perhaps you really are in trouble.”
“It’s nothing,” Susanna snapped.
“Susanna,” Dev said, “your purse is full of cream and pastry.”
The color flamed into Susanna’s face. “I’m hungry,” she said.
“That is the purpose of the supper room,” Dev pointed out.
Susanna pulled the reticule drawstring tight. Some cream squished out.
“You need to lick that up,” Dev said.
Susanna looked up at him. Suddenly, oddly, she felt like crying as though this one foolish thing was finally the last straw.
“You don’t understand,” she said, and heard the betraying quiver in her voice. “Don’t you remember what it was like never to have enough to eat and to long for it with so deep a craving you could not resist?”
She saw the frown snap down in Devlin’s eyes. “Yes,” he said softly, after a moment, and there was a wealth of emotion in his voice. “I do remember that.”
Their gazes locked. “Then—” Susanna started.
“This is a damned tedious crush.” Fitz, sounding disagreeable, had shed the flirtatious countess and come looking for her. Susanna jumped, hiding the reticule behind her back. Dev straightened up and gave Fitz the most immaculate bow. The dark frown on Fitz’s forehead deepened still further as he saw whom Susanna was with.
“How do you do, Devlin.” Fitz was sounding churlish and Susanna thought what a spoiled little boy he was. “Your sister not here tonight?”
“Francesca attends with Lady Grant and her party,” Dev said. “If you wished to beg a dance from her—”
“Don’t think I’ll bother,” Fitz said, rudely cutting him off. “Dashed slow, these debutante balls.” He turned to Susanna. “Come, my dear, let us go to Vauxhall. Some music, a little dancing, a stroll down the Dark Walk …” He smiled meaningfully. “It is far more to my taste.”
Susanna could feel Dev’s gaze on her and feel even more acutely the tension emanating from him. She saw Fitz’s flushed, determined face—she knew he must have drunk several glasses of champagne down as though they were water in the short time since their arrival, on top of the brandy he had already consumed—and felt her heart sink. This was the critical point. She had to reel Fitz in. If she turned him down now she might as well kiss her commission from the Duke and Duchess of Alton goodbye because Fitz could only be thwarted to a certain point. On the other hand, the thought of Fitz touching her made her skin crawl. A little while ago the idea of allowing him to steal a kiss or two had not seemed so bad. Now it felt impossible. And if he wanted to take further liberties … She repressed a shudder. Dev was still watching her, his blue eyes cold, awaiting her response as much as Fitz was. She realized that Dev’s reaction mattered to her more, far more than Fitz’s. Her heart was bumping against her ribs. She felt horribly trapped. She wanted to deny Fitz, hated the thought of conceding, and yet what choice did she have? This was what she had agreed to do when the Duke and Duchess had paid her to take Fitz away from Francesca Devlin. Tonight, if she was clever and played her cards aright, she could turn Fitz up very sweet indeed and seal the deal. But she felt sick at the thought. The idea of Fitz’s kiss, when she remembered Devlin’s, Fitz’s hands on her, when all she could think of was that she ached for Dev’s caress …
She raised her chin. In truth there was no reason to turn Fitz down for there was no future for herself and Devlin. Her senses had been bewitched by Dev’s lovemaking and that was all. She had been captivated, seduced by no more than physical pleasure. If she denied Fitz now she would be sabotaging all that she had worked for. This was just a job, like the
ones that had gone before.
She smiled. “Vauxhall?” she said. “That would be charming, my lord.”
Fitz smiled, his good humor restored, and tucked her hand through his arm in an ostentatiously possessive gesture. Susanna risked a glance at Dev’s face and wished she had not. The brief moment that had drawn them together over shared memories had vanished. Now the contempt she saw in Dev’s eyes seared her to the soul. He thought her a whore, which was scarcely surprising. She should not care for Dev’s opinion, of course; it should be a matter of complete unconcern to her. Besides, he was no better than she.
“Enjoy your evening,” he said very politely.
“You, too, Sir James,” Susanna said. “I am sure you will find someone to divert you.”
Dev gave her an ironic smile, sketched a bow and turned away, and Fitz steered Susanna toward the doors, one hand on the small of her back to guide her, his palm sliding lower over the slippery silk to cup her bottom in a brief but telling gesture that indicated exactly where he was planning the evening to end. Susanna kept her smile pinned on her face whilst her mind spun frantically. She was not only going to have to be clever tonight but she was going to have to be extremely careful. For one brief but intense moment she wished with all her heart that she had never come to London and never taken this role. But it was too late. She was in far too deep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MISS FRANCESCA DEVLIN stood outside the house in Hemming Row and stared at the tiny sickle moon caught up in the branches of the cherry tree in the square opposite. She had been there for three hours, waiting for her lover. It was a warm summer night, a beautiful night, and a night made for romance. The scent of blossom was on the air. She almost expected a nightingale to start singing. No doubt there were many lovers plighting their troth under the midsummer moon but she had a feeling that there would be no happy ending for her. She had suspected it for a while, known how foolish she had been to risk all on the one throw of the dice and give herself to a man in the hope that it would make him love her. Love did not work that way. He had taken all that she had offered but he had given her nothing in return and the cold, creeping dread in her heart told her that he never would. She had gambled and lost.
She remembered her childhood again and how gambling and losing had always stalked her happiness. She thought of Devlin, who had always tried to protect her from the danger and despair that had threatened them. Dev would be so disappointed in her now.
Chessie swallowed a sob. Dev must never know what she had done, the risk she had taken, the gamble that had failed. She could not bear for him to look at her with horror and shame in his eyes.
Fitz was not coming back. She knew it. She had seen him leave the ball with Lady Carew and she had known this really was the end and that the beautiful, mysterious widow had snatched Fitz from under her nose once and for all. And she could not even blame Lady Carew. Not really. A few days ago she had been filled with hatred for the beautiful Caroline Carew. She had wanted to blame her for everything. But Chessie was fundamentally honest and she could not deceive herself. She knew no man could be snatched against his will. Fitz was weak. Chessie had always known it and yet she still loved him, stubbornly, stupidly, but loved him all the same.
She put up a hand to wipe the tears from her cheeks and in the same moment there was a clatter of hooves on the cobbles and Chessie shrank back into the enveloping shadows. A hackney carriage drew up outside the house and she saw Fitz jump down and give his hand to the lady inside to help her down. He put an arm about her waist and swept her up the steps to the door. Chessie could see his impatience and see, too, how the lady—if lady she was—laughingly protested at his haste. The moonlight fell on her golden ringlets as she paused to reach up and kiss him, a long, deep, passionate kiss.
“So this is how you celebrate your betrothal!” Chessie heard her say as they drew apart. “What a charming arrangement, Fitz darling!”
Not Lady Carew, this painted and pouting hussy. Chessie had never seen the woman before but she had no problem in identifying her for precisely what she was. She felt a huge sadness well up inside and a weariness that sank into her soul. She even felt a tiny, unexpected flicker of sympathy for Lady Carew. There had been something about Caroline Carew that she had wanted to like, despite knowing from the very first that she was dangerous to her. It was odd and inexplicable but she wished that matters had been different.
She squared her shoulders. Matters were not different. Both she and Caroline Carew had lost in their separate ways. Perhaps Lady Carew would not care that on the very night of her betrothal to Fitz he was betraying her with another woman. Chessie did not know. She only knew that she cared for all that she had lost and it hurt. It hurt like nothing she had known before.
IT WAS PAST THREE IN the morning when the carriage turned in to Curzon Street and stopped before number 21. Susanna was swaying with fatigue as she descended the steps and walked slowly to her front door. She wanted nothing more than to kick off her shoes, sink into her feather bed and sleep for as long as she needed, preferably forever. She was bone weary and she felt sick in her heart.
She was aware that she should feel satisfied—more than satisfied, triumphant—that all her plans were coming together now. She had achieved what she had set out to do. Fitz was caught. He had made a formal proposal and she had, naturally, been delighted to accept. The Duke and Duchess of Alton would be overjoyed. More importantly they would pay her and then she could start to disentangle herself from this web of deceit she had cast, pay off her debts, begin afresh, reclaim the twins and make a new life for them all somewhere a long way away from the taint of dishonesty and fraud. The thought made the tears sting her throat. It was so unusual for her to cry. She could only attribute it to tiredness.
Susanna dismissed the footman and sent Margery yawning to bed. She did not need the maid’s help to undress and she had no intention of doing anything other than stripping off her clothes and letting sleep claim her. She ignored the letters that were waiting for her on the shiny walnut table—it would only be the usual invitations, another threatening letter from the moneylenders and possibly another anonymous note. Since the last one she had been waiting and waiting for her anonymous correspondent to write again. She knew he—or she—would demand something in return for her silence. Blackmailers always did.
For now she refused to think about it. Everything could wait until the morning. She made her way wearily up the stairs, carrying her evening slippers and allowing her feet to sink into the thick carpet. There were some aspects of this luxurious lifestyle that she was going to miss a great deal, she thought. It was delightful to live in such comfort. She was warm, dry and never without food. But the entire house, the entire life, was an illusion. Nothing belonged to her: the house, the clothes, even the name and the history of Caroline Carew. All lies. She was tired of it all.
She slipped into the bedroom. Margery had drawn the curtains and lit one candle and the room was all golden light and shadows. And in the center of the vast bed lay James Devlin, fully clothed, arms behind his head, watching her with a feral glitter in his blue eyes.
Susanna came awake with a jolt, feeling the excitement course through her body like lightning, banishing her tiredness and waking all her senses to sudden and vivid life. She closed the bedroom door very softly behind her and walked forward into the room. Dev did not move, nor did his eyes waver from her face. She felt naked beneath that cool blue gaze, vulnerable and stripped bare. Her pulse rate soared. She took a deep breath.
“What are you doing here?”
A foolish question when she knew the answer. She knew what he wanted; she wanted it, too. For the last two nights she had ached to hold him again, to feel the press of his body against hers, over hers, in hers. She wanted his kiss, his hands on her skin. For a moment she felt almost faint, light-headed, her heart hammering. She wanted Devlin and she could never, in truth, deny it. But she was never going to make the mistake of giving herself to him a
gain.
“You knew I was here,” Dev said. “You sent your maid away. Why would you do that unless you knew—hoped—that you would find me waiting?”
“I was tired,” Susanna said. “I did not need her.” She shook her head. “How arrogant you are, Devlin, to assume otherwise, especially when I told you earlier that I would never sleep with you again.”
Dev smiled, stretched. Susanna tried not to watch the ripple of muscle beneath his shirt and tried not to think about ripping it off him. She wrenched her gaze back to Dev’s face, saw he had read her thoughts and wanted to slap him for his conceit.
“How did you get in?” she said. “The servants—they do not know …”
Her voice trailed away as she saw him smile. “Of course not. I can be discreet. I climbed over the balcony.” He nodded toward the long window that looked out across the garden. “The Duke of Portland should have greater care in securing his house.”
“Clearly,” Susanna said coldly. She put her hands on her hips. “I think you should leave. You tried to seduce my secrets out of me earlier, if you remember. And you failed.” She turned a shoulder. “Go away, Devlin. Stop playing games. I’m tired and I want to go to bed. Alone.”
She slipped the cloak from her shoulders and let it pool at her feet in a velvet puddle. She saw Dev’s gaze follow the movement and then return to her bare shoulders, exposed by the low neckline of the cream silk gown. She knew without looking in the mirror that her skin would be stung pink from the ardor of Fitz’s kisses. She had had to allow Fitz some license that night in order to extract what she wanted. For a moment she felt cold and sick and used.
The wild glitter in Dev’s eyes intensified as his gaze swept over her and lingered on the telltale marks on her skin. Still he did not move. Susanna stood still, too, trapped now, pinned by the light in his eyes.
“I was not sure,” Dev said softly, after a moment, “if you would come back at all tonight.”
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