A Deal with Lord Devlin

by Jennifer Ann Coffeen

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Praise for Jennifer Ann Coffeen and…

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  About Author

  Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  A Deal

  With

  Lord Devlin

  by

  Jennifer Ann Coffeen

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

  A Deal with Lord Devlin

  COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Jennifer Ann Coffeen

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com

  Cover Art by Tamra Westberry

  The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

  PO Box 708

  Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708

  Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com

  Publishing History

  First English Tea Rose Edition, 2013

  Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-840-0

  Published in the United States of America

  Praise for Jennifer Ann Coffeen and…

  LOVER’S GAMBLE

  “A delight to read.”

  ~The Romance Reviews

  ~*~

  PRICELESS DECEPTION

  “Big on thrills.”

  ~RT Book Reviews

  ~*~

  “A solid, enjoyable read and I’ll be looking forward to reading something more by Jennifer Ann Coffeen.”

  ~Romancing the Book (4 Roses)

  Dedication

  To F&S

  Chapter One

  Lord James, the Earl of Devlin, smoothed down the front of his double-breasted tailcoat, tailored obscenely close to the body and dyed the color of crushed plums, before carefully placing a diamond-rimmed monocle over his left eye.

  He looked like a damned fool.

  “Tell me the truth, James. Does le gateau de fruit look crooked to you?”

  Squinting through the monocle, he stared past his mother in the direction of the monstrous fruit-and-pastry swan sculpture that festooned the entrance to the dining room. The Dowager Countess of Devlin stood next to him. A long, elegant finger tapped against her lips as she critically studied her decoration.

  He cocked his head to one side. “Is the swan supposed to look alive or dead?”

  “Don’t be impertinent,” she snapped. “It is meant to be a symbol of Andrew’s love for Francesca.”

  “A dead swan symbolizes the marriage of idiots?”

  That comment gained him a sharp glare over her shoulder. “Our livelihood depends on making Andrew happy tonight. Without him we are penniless and your sisters will be forced to marry beneath themselves.” With a quick snap of her fingers, she signaled the servants to add more cherries.

  “It’s obviously leaning. I fear the goose lard is beginning to melt.”

  Before he turned away, he muttered something about reducing the number of candles around the hideous thing.

  Personally, James would prefer a French guillotine to hosting this ridiculous engagement party. His mother was right, though. Due to an unfortunate turn of events, Sir Andrew Greenshaw now held the Devlins’ future in his hands. Unless James wanted to be known as the poorest earl in England, he had little choice but to hold his tongue.

  With a deep scowl, he turned his attention to the entrance of the ballroom. A few early guests were beginning to trickle in, mostly young debutantes and their chaperones, in awe of his mother’s bizarre decorations and overly lavish supper table. James didn’t recognize anyone, but that wasn’t much of a surprise. The most fashionable of London’s ton wouldn’t dare make an appearance at Devlin House until past midnight.

  He shifted uncomfortably in his butter-colored silk breeches, wondering how a man was ever supposed to breathe in such restrictive clothing. He let the ridiculous monocle drop from his eye, leaving it dangling on its gold chain.

  “Put that back immediately!” Lady Devlin tore her gaze away from the melting animal fat and sugared fruit to glare at her only son. “Didn’t we discuss this? You are to wear your monocle tonight. It’s all the fashion.”

  James sighed, obeying his mother. For now.

  “Much better.” Her blue eyes took him in as though he were another one of her decorations. “I’m happy to see you’ve managed to dress yourself fashionably, for once. Lucy and Penelope said you even allowed for your hair to be done.”

  James silently cursed his younger sisters, who felt it their duty to inform Mother of his every move. Was there no privacy in this house? He jerked a hand through the mass of hair that had been forcibly curled and combed to the front of his head.

  “Perhaps I’m finally setting my sights on marriage,” he said, knowing how sensitive the topic was.

  Her lips puckered. “It’s not the worst idea to take a wife with a large fortune. Then you can set aside a sizable inheritance for your sisters—and a sum for your dearest mother, of course. These things are terribly important, James! Your father thought he would live forever, and look what happened.”

  I became the new Earl, he thought bitterly. James’s life turned upside down the day his father challenged Lord Vestin to a high-speed race down Oxford Street. Both gentlemen were well past their youth, drunker than goats, and oblivious to an oncoming mail coach. The crash had been horrifying. His father had died on impact, while Lord Vestin retreated to his country home with crushed legs. It was the talk of London for weeks, but what followed generated even more gossip.

  Since the late Earl of Devlin had always doted on his nephew Andrew (“treats him like his own bastard!” moaned Great-Aunt Hilda), he apparently had decided to leave the bulk of his personal fortune to a mere nephew instead of his son. Of course the title went to James along with Devlin House and the country estate, both being entailed, but the family fortune was for the late Earl to do with as he pleased. And he obviously had no qualms about leaving his wife, son, and two daughters without a shilling. The Devlin family had been thrown into a panic.

  James and his cousin Andrew Greenshaw were born the same year, but the similarities ended there. For the men of the family, Andrew was the obvious favorite. He had just the right amount of looks, charm, and self-indulgent laziness to make him extremely popular with the ton and with the late Earl. James, on the other hand, had been little more than a thorn in his family’s side since he was old enough to prefer hunting in the country to drinking brandy in gambling hells. After several weeks of arguments and threats, including Great-Aunt Hilda nearly impaling the family solicitor with a knitting needle, it was decided that the will was indeed legitimate, and Andrew was a very wealthy man. James’s life of peaceful independence came crashing to an end.

  “How could Melvin have left his entire fortune to Andrew?” Lady Devlin burst out, launching into her favorite topic. “What is the point of my son being Earl if we are too poor to throw parties?”

  “You are throwing a party right now,” he informed her.

  “Entirely on credit, my dear,” she replied. “We are in debt up to our ears trying to impress Andrew. You had better be on your best behavior.”

  His lack of funds was only one of his many shortcomings as the new Earl of Devlin. James was also expected to find the perfect wife, produce an heir, and rebuild the fam
ily home. The fact that Andrew now held almost all of the Devlin fortune made this task next to impossible.

  “Of course, you could always marry for money, if you don’t wish to be nice to your cousin. Have you been introduced to Pippa Maybury? She is seventeen and plays the harp.”

  A worse combination he could not imagine. “Isn’t Pippa Maybury the girl who ran screaming from the Prince Regent’s garden party?”

  “She has a terrible fear of squirrels.” His mother turned back to scrutinizing her sculpture. “I’m only trying to help. Everyone is quite fearful you’re not up to par for your new position, especially dearest Andrew. He has his hopes pinned on becoming Earl someday.”

  “I won’t accommodate Andrew by dying.”

  “Well, no one expects you to do that,” she sniffed. “Still, you should apologize to your cousin.”

  He ignored her continued chatter, instead turning his gaze toward the perfectly coiffed guests being forced to step around the wilting rose garland placed in front of the entryway. It would only be a matter of time before Andrew arrived, and James wanted to be as far away as possible.

  “My God.” A bony hand gripped James’s arm like a talon. “What is she doing here?”

  He followed his mother’s venomous gaze to the entryway. Stepping under the garland was the infamous Lady Mallen. James spent most of his time at his mother’s country estate, but even he had heard the vicious rumors circling Lady Mallen this past year.

  “You didn’t invite her?”

  “I most certainly did not!” Lady Devlin looked panicked, glaring at an eavesdropping servant until the girl scurried behind the swan. “What impudence that woman has! She should know better than to show her face in good society after divorcing her own husband.”

  James felt a flash of irritation. Hypocrites, all of them. He had yet to meet a married couple of the ton that had managed to stay faithful to one another. Including his own father, he thought grimly, who had not been the least bit secretive about his mistress, even setting the woman up in her own townhouse in Bath. A gesture James found utterly distasteful. His mother had turned a blind eye to it all, preferring to focus her attention on spending her husband’s money on gold candelabras and gilded armchairs for her lavish homes.

  But Lady Mallen was different; she had publicly denounced her husband for his rakish ways and left him. James had heard she even took his dog. The thought made him smile.

  “The Marquis of Mallen is a real bastard and, if I recall, about three times her age.” He found himself unable to resist defending the woman everyone seemed determined to shun. Independence certainly seemed to agree with her. Her long honey-colored curls shone gold beneath the candlelight, and even from across the room he was entranced by the soft smile on her lips. Charlotte, he recalled suddenly. Her first name is Charlotte.

  “It matters not, darling! The woman is considered damaged goods. Now,” his mother surveyed the room, “how on earth can we get her out of here without causing a scene?”

  Adjusting his monocle, James watched as Lady Mallen drifted through the crowd like a long-lost queen. She certainly knew how to make an entrance; there wasn’t a single head that didn’t turn in her direction. Despite all the whispers and stares, Charlotte’s slightly bored, haughty expression didn’t crack. She stared straight ahead, making her way toward the back of the ballroom where James stood with his mother.

  “Outrageous.” Lady Devlin made a clucking noise with her tongue. “And after all the trouble the family went through to end her little dalliance with Andrew.”

  “Andrew was courting Charlotte?” The very idea of this bold, beautiful creature with his dandy of a cousin annoyed the hell out of him.

  “I didn’t realize you were on such intimate terms with Lady Mallen.” His mother’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Do you know her?”

  James shrugged. They’d shared a dance several years ago at a small supper party, but he scarcely knew her. Still, he took offense at his mother’s outright dislike.

  “I hope you aren’t planning to fall for her bewitching ways. Andrew actually claimed to be in love with her!” His mother clutched at her heart. “Can you imagine? Luckily, our Andrew came to his senses and tossed her aside.” She shuddered. “A divorcée has quite the nerve to show herself here tonight.”

  Lady Mallen passed by them at the exact moment his mother loudly made this statement. The damage was done. Every eye in the room turned to her, their glances ranging from curious to downright hostile.

  The beautiful woman came to a sudden stop and very slowly turned toward his mother.

  “I beg your pardon, Lady Devlin,” she said, her voice as sweet as sugared fruit. “Were you speaking to me?”

  Quite the nerve, indeed.

  Not known for his sunny disposition, James broke into a wide smile as his mother tittered about in a panic.

  “Oh, Lady Mallen! I didn’t see you arrive, so busy tonight, you see. How lovely you look this evening. Have you noticed our gorgeous fruit sculpture?”

  The whole room seemed to freeze while Lady Mallen gazed at the dripping swan.

  “A fitting tribute for Sir Greenshaw’s marriage.”

  She ended her statement with a deep curtsey just as the orange adorning the swan’s eye fell from the top of the melting sculpture and rolled beneath the sweets table.

  “Lucy!” James’s mother yelled for his eldest sister. “Tell Cook we need more goose lard!”

  James’s gaze followed the beautiful Charlotte as she swept through the whispering crowd. She didn’t look the least bit damaged to him. In fact, she looked like a goddess, strong and proud, as she turned to give his mother one last smile before disappearing from the room.

  He could easily see what drew his cousin to her, divorced or not. Lady Mallen might be the perfect one to help him get his fortune back.

  ****

  Charlotte despised the Devlin family.

  All alone in one of Lady Devlin’s hideously decorated drawing rooms, the divorced wife of Lord Mallen seethed with anger and humiliation.

  “The Devilish Devlins,” she muttered into the silence. A nickname long whispered behind their backs, though not even the Prince Regent himself would dare say it too loudly. The power and wealth of the Devlin family gained them a respect they certainly didn’t earn with their goodwill or manners. Charlotte didn’t know which member of the massive family she disliked the most. Certainly Andrew should be at the top of her list. He was the reason she was in this horrible predicament, after all, and the object of tonight’s revenge. Following a close second would be his aunt, the Dowager Countess of Devlin. That woman could melt snow with her evil glare. She, along with the rest of the ladies in the family, seemed to think it was their duty to make others feel as low as snakes. And her son! The black-haired Earl of Devlin might well have been the most devilish of them all. He certainly looked like a villain, staring down at her through his monocle. He had the absolute gall to just stand there and smile while his mother insulted her in front of everyone. The man actually looked like he could barely hold in his laughter! Well, she’d had enough. Charlotte no longer cared to impress the devilish Devlins. She came here tonight to make Andrew pay for casting her off like a bit of muslin. She had planned to throw his crumpled love letters back into his face, but her anger gave her a much better idea.

  The fireplace.

  “Of course! I shall burn Sir Greenshaw’s letters!” she cried, ripping the papers one by one into tiny pieces to toss into the fire on the hearth.

  How dare the man! After two long years of hiding away in the country, she was finally dipping her satin slippers back into the terrifying waters of London society. And now it was all destroyed. “Horrid Andrew and his faradiddles!” She crushed a rather tedious love poem in her fist and tossed it into the roaring flames.

  After much consideration, she had allowed Sir Andrew Greenshaw to court her this season. Andrew was Charlotte’s perfect match in every way. Not a single whiff of scandal at
tached to his name, no gambling debts, no little indiscretions, not even a side-slip to cover up. Everything had been perfectly planned for a timely engagement that would redeem Charlotte’s reputation.

  Well, Andrew was certainly getting married, but it wasn’t to her. This should be Charlotte’s engagement ball. With a sharp pang of despair she ran a hand down the length of her blue silk jacquard gown. She may as well toss that in the fire too! A pity such a gorgeous gown was going to waste. It was the very softest color of blue she had ever seen, almost silvery in the right glow of candlelight. Charlotte had instructed the seamstress to add a gold-colored rope trim across the neckline, sleeves, and directly below her bodice for decoration, a perfect match for her eyes. She would have looked stunning in the gold-and-blue gown, twirling around the dance floor in the arms of her adored fiancé—

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a shrill scream from the doorway.

  “Lady Mallen, do take care! You are much too close to the fire!”

  Charlotte spared a glance to see a dark-haired girl of about seventeen standing at the doorway with a giant tray of oranges.

  Lady Devlin’s daughter.

  “Please step back before the flame catches your gown!” The youngest Lady Devlin (or was she the middle one? Charlotte could never tell them apart) was hopping about with her oranges like a rabbit with ringlets.

  “I will not be stopped.” Charlotte tore another strip from her letter, intent on her task. “And afterwards, I shall dump the ashes on his gold-buckled shoes!”

  “Oh, please do stop!” Lucy begged. “Your skin will turn the most unsavory color if you burn.”

  Ignoring the girl, Charlotte pushed past the grate to reach closer to the dwindling flames, paying no attention to the hem of her gown when it brushed up against a stray piece of coal. “Thoughtless, deceiving man! He thinks he can just court me for weeks and profess his love—”

  “Your gown…” Lucy tumbled forward, scattering oranges everywhere. “Oh, Mama’s sculpture! This is awful!”