Chapter 17

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

I t was possible Lady Beatrix was trying to be the death of him.

“So, this kiss…” Dev attempted to grab hold of the thought that had been hounding his heels since their kiss in the conservatory. “This kiss was an exercise?”

She blinked, drawing his attention to the dark fringe surrounding her gray eyes. They were more beautiful in this moment than he’d remembered.

“Pardon?” she asked.

Oh, how to articulate to her something he hadn’t fully articulated to himself.

“The first kiss had been a show for others, and this one a confirmation for yourself?”

“Yes.”

And it struck him like a thunderbolt… “That’s not how kisses are supposed to be.”

There.

That was his nagging thought articulated.

“Not a first kiss,” he continued. “And certainly not a second kiss.”

And Dev understood.

He had a kissing situation to rectify.

His hand slid around her waist, to the small of her back and snugged her against him. With his other hand, he cupped the back of her head. The breath had caught in her chest. He knew because if it hadn’t, it would be whispering across his mouth. “A kiss shouldn’t be a cold exercise,” he muttered nearly against her lips. “A kiss should be hot and messy and desperate.”

How small she was in his arms. Delicate, even.

“A kiss,” he said, “should be like this .”

And he lowered his mouth onto hers.

Slow and deep, this kiss was for her.

And perhaps for him, too.

For with this kiss, there was confirmation he sought, too.

Of an ineffable something that sparked between them.

Objectively, Lady Beatrix St. Vincent was pretty. There was nothing special about her scent or the color of her hair or the mode of her dress, which when left up to her was decidedly indifferent. Yes, her eyes were beautiful, but even so, beauty abounded in the world. Beauty was a superficiality that, in truth, had never held much interest for him.

But now, as he held her against his body and tangled his fingers through rain-damp hair and ran his tongue across her lower lip and pulled a feminine sigh from her parted mouth, he understood at a fundamental level there was something special in this .

In the spark between their bodies.

In the spark between their minds.

It was the latter spark he found most alluring.

That had him pulling her tighter to him and easing her until her back met the stable wall, tangling his tongue with hers, bending his knees so to press his cock suggestively against her, leaving no doubt about what effect a kiss—a proper kiss—should incite.

Her body’s instinctive response only stoked the flame, as her hips gave a reactive swivel and her fingers wove through his hair. Breathless with newly discovered urgency, here was a woman entirely given over to a kiss— his kiss.

To make a woman so reliant on her intellect lose all control… Gratification soared through him, even as an elemental determination stirred.

The determination to see her completely undone.

This determination was wholly carnal, and he understood how close he was to taking it even farther—to completion.

No .

The voice in his mind was firm and final.

He couldn’t take her against a stable wall.

No .

Before he could argue away what he knew was right, he placed his hands on her shoulders and broke away. A cry of frustration escaped her, as she slumped against the wall for support. Eyes bright, cheeks flushed, lips swollen, she stared out at him in obvious shock.

All he wanted— body…mind…soul —was to lean forward and kiss her again.

For confirmation.

No small amount of irony there.

She lowered her gaze, as if to gather her thoughts, and gasped.

And Dev became aware—of his raging cockstand.

Any attempt to cover it or shift his stance would only foreground the fact of it further, possibly render it a conversational topic.

Simply, there was no diminishing it.

She swallowed, and her gaze remained fixed.

When her gaze didn’t lift of its own accord, he cleared his throat. Wide, gray eyes startled up and met his. So many emotions battled within those eyes— guilt…curiosity…knowledge…

Desire.

She might’ve been an innocent, but she understood the meaning of a man’s raging cockstand.

“The, erm ,” she began on a croak. She cleared her throat. “The Countess of Bridgewater.”

Dev hadn’t been sure what her first words would be after what had transpired between them these last five minutes—one never knew with Lady Beatrix—but it hadn’t been those.

“What about her?” he asked, wary.

“She’s your reason.” The sentence stood on its own for a beat of time before she expanded upon it. “For the acquisition of Little Wicked. For entering the world of horse racing. For our pretend engagement.”

Dev held his silence.

She rightly took it as confirmation— annoyingly . “She’s why you’re out to prove yourself to the ton , no?”

Now, there , she’d missed the mark. “I have nothing to prove to those people.”

She smiled, chastened, but undaunted. “You’re correct. You don’t. Take it from one who was born into their ranks, you’re better than the lot of them.” A slight pause before she amended, “With a few exceptions.”

He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. She had yet more to say.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that all this is about her. You’re trying to prove something to the countess.”

The certainty with which she spoke facts she couldn’t, in fact, be sure of irked Dev. “ Imogen ,” he said, the correction a reflex—a telling one.

Beatrix shook her head, firm and clear-eyed. “The countess will never be Imogen to me.”

He could see there would be no getting out of this conversation without a spilling of the truth. “Imogen and I have known one another since childhood, but it wasn’t until our teen years that friendship turned into something else.”

“Infatuation.”

“If you want to call it that.” Obsession might’ve been more fitting. “I went away to school, and she?—”

“Got married.”

“Not that quickly. After school, I went into business with Mr. Shaw, and we started our steam engine business. We’d even made a success of it before she married.”

Realization dawned across Beatrix’s face. “You only lacked one thing.” He didn’t care for the hard, sharp glint that had entered her eye.

“And what was that?” he asked, even as he could predict the answer.

“You weren’t an earl.”

“What a very cynical lady you are.” He wasn’t above deflection. Still, she needed correcting. “It was Imogen’s father who wanted an earl in the family.”

Beatrix shook her head. “Women cannot be forced into marriage.”

Dev was growing decidedly irritated with this woman. “You know nothing of the matter.” Each syllable dripped ice.

“Oh, I know a few things,” she said, undeterred by his sudden coldness. “Over the last several years, you’ve grown rich as Croesus. So, you thought what better use for all that hard-won blunt than to insinuate yourself into the ton —into your Imogen’s world—and win your beloved back the way you’ve won everything.” A beat of time calculated for drama ticked past. “With your money.” A triumphant, little smile curled about her mouth. “Am I close?”

Though Dev’s back teeth wanted to grind together, he didn’t deny it. The blasted woman had hit the target close to dead center.

Close , but not quite.

“What you’ve described is the first step.”

Beatrix’s brow lifted, then realization lit within her eyes. “You mean divorce.”

He nodded. The woman was quick, he would give her that.

She shook her head. “It would be next to impossible for her to secure a divorce from Bridgewater. They don’t have children, but even so, the laws are notoriously strict.”

“Imogen won’t be applying for a divorce.”

Beatrix’s eyebrows winged together. “Pardon?”

Dev didn’t owe her this explanation, yet he felt compelled to offer it. “Bridgewater needs money.”

The words hung in the air while Beatrix’s mind raced through them. Her brow released, revelation writ clear. “And you have money.” As he’d known she would, she’d worked it out. “You’re planning to offer Bridgewater money to divorce the countess.”

“A fortune, in fact,” he clarified. “I’ve made several; I won’t miss one.”

Beatrix’s brow lifted with plain skepticism. “You truly believe Lady Bridgewater will cause the biggest scandal the ton has seen this century by agreeing to divorce the earl she worked so hard to secure?”

The question was blunt—and genuine.

“Imogen”—the Imogen Dev knew in his heart of hearts—“doesn’t give a toss about any of that,” he growled. “Her father worked for that title. It means nothing to someone like her.”

“So, you’ve made yourself so successful and so impossible to ignore that she will leave Bridgewater to take up with you?”

Did she have to make it sound so… tawdry ? So lacking in romantic feeling?

She crossed her arms over her chest, and the cant of her head shifted to the other side. She wasn’t finished. All Dev could do was brace himself for the impact.

“And you would want someone like that?”

The breath stopped in his lungs. The blood might’ve stopped flowing in his veins. “Someone like what?” He’d never wanted anything else.

“Someone of such little substance that she would be swayed by money and… things . Someone who can be bought.”

How was it that someone as intelligent as Beatrix couldn’t see this? “I’m not proposing to buy Imogen. I’ll present her with the option of a better life.”

“What if she likes the life she has?”

Dev snorted. “Satisfaction with a life spent with the Earl of Bridgewater? Let’s be serious.”

Though disbelief shone in her eyes, Beatrix, at last, gave a nod. It wasn’t curt, but firm… decided . She’d made up her mind about something.

Dev now knew her well enough to detect the signs.

“I know what you must do.”

The statement was delivered with such certainty that he had to ask, “You do?”

She nodded, slowly, contemplatively. “Here’s the thing about aristocrats. We love a country house party, and it so happens late summer is upon us, which is the season for house parties. And it also so happens that you own the perfect country estate for hosting a?—”

“ House party ,” Dev finished for her.

Though clear doubt sounded in his voice, Beatrix was becoming visibly more convinced of her rightness by the second. “It’s actually perfect. You’ll have every opportunity to flaunt your enormous wealth, and the ton will have every opportunity to be the recipients of it, which is a favorite pastime. You simply cannot lose.”

“And inviting a parcel of aristocrats to Primrose Park will help me win Imogen?”

“The Earl and Countess of Bridgewater will be at the top of the guest list.”

“They might not accept the invitation.”

“As the owner of a moderately successful racing stable himself, the earl won’t be able to resist a look at your stables, and the countess won’t be able to resist getting a look at…”

She let a meaningful lift of her eyebrows finish the sentence.

“ Me? ”

“Presumably.”

A laugh startled from Dev—it couldn’t help itself—and though Beatrix’s plan was bold and unexpected, he thought it might be a good one.

“We must act swiftly,” she continued, “as invitations need to be sent out within the next couple of days.” She nodded in time to an internal dialogue. “Before the end of the month.”

“That soon?”

“I see no need to wait.”

Ah… “All the sooner to collect the second portion of your payment.”

Even in the moonlight he detected the blush pinking her cheeks.

His own mind began making deductions. “I’ll need to hire someone accustomed to managing such parties.”

“You will, but I shall supervise.”

“Oh?”

A smile tipped one side of her mouth. “I’d hate to think all the blunt I spent on finishing school was wasted.”

“Blunt you spent on finishing school?”

“No one else was about to.”

“How were you able to do that?”

“When I was a child, it amused Lydon and his cronies to give me betting money at the races.”

“And you won?”

She shrugged a modest shoulder. “More than some.”

Dev tried not to let his surprise show. Lady Beatrix was an altogether different sort of lady.

“And I saved it all.”

“For finishing school?”

“A portion of it.”

She hadn’t quite answered his question. If she yet remained in possession of a farthing, she certainly hadn’t spent it, considering the near penury of her living circumstances.

The lingering question must’ve shown on his face, for she continued. “The remaining nine hundred pounds was to have been spent on one shining season on the marriage mart.”

No mistaking the irony there.

Her one shining season hadn’t gone to plan.

“You didn’t marry.”

“No one wanted to shackle themselves to the Marquess of Lydon, not even through his daughter.”

“Surely, that wouldn’t have mattered.” Dev’s hands found themselves wanting to clench into Destroyers of Worlds.

“At the first ball of the season, the gentlemen ranked all the young ladies who had come out.”

It was the flatness of her voice that gave her away—that gave away the residual hurt.

Through dread, Dev asked, “What were you ranked?”

“Oh, they didn’t bother ranking me.”

It was worse than he thought.

But with that answer, she confirmed her why for him—why she’d entered into their arrangement. “With the money from me, you’re providing yourself with a dowry.”

She didn’t deny it. “A chance at a good, solid future with a good, solid husband.”

Dev nodded, even as he privately thought good and solid sounded like a dead boring way to slog through one’s days. But he supposed her life until now had provided a certain motivation toward uniformity.

Lady Beatrix St. Vincent wasn’t only clear-headed, intelligent, and pragmatic.

She was strong .

A bemused laugh issued from her mouth that was yet a little kiss-swollen. “Well, that’s the air clear between us, isn’t it.”

Dev chuckled along with her. “Like old friends.”

Her eyebrows formed a quizzical line. “I’ve never had a friend like you , Lord Devil.”

That pulled another chuckle from him.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” He found he was in the mood to mean it.

“ Anything? ”

He spread his hands wide. “I’m an open book to an old friend such as yourself.”

She gave a wry shake of the head, even as her curiosity remained undeterred. “If you’re so in love with the countess, then why do you, hmm ?—”

She was searching for a word, and Dev couldn’t wait with any but held breath.

“Why do you kiss other women?”

She wanted to say more, that was clear, but she’d said enough with the aloud kiss —and implied yet more beneath her words.

Dev cocked his head. “Do you imagine me some sort of— what? —noble celibate?”

She blinked.

“Sir Lancelot, I’m not, I can assure you, Beatrix. I think you’re fully aware of that by now.”

Her mouth parted slightly and looked as if it wanted to gape open. She snapped it shut. Then opened it again. “Do you want to hear what I think?”

If he was being honest… “Maybe…” Or… “Possibly not…” But actually… “Yes.”

The fact was he wanted to hear what she thought— irritatingly .

“How you think of the countess…”

“ Imogen. ”

“What she represents to you is…” She looked as if she’d decided to leave the sentence unfinished. Then she said, “A fantasy.”

Dev might have to rethink the parameters of this friendship. “How I feel about Imogen is real.”

Beatrix considered him for the space of three uncomfortable heartbeats, then gave a noncommittal shrug—and let the matter drop.

“It’s getting late.” It couldn’t have been later than half eight. “I’ll walk you to your rooms.”

“I can see myself there.” She turned on her heel. Apparently, she was as eager to be rid of him, as she tossed over her shoulder, “I bid you good night.”

And he was content to let her have her way.

After a quick consult with his head groom to ensure all was ticking along smoothly in the stable, Dev made a slow journey toward the house, the night sky now bright and crisp with starshine, two women on his mind.

The one who had always been there—and the one he’d invited in.

A strange paradox had opened within him, and unlike the sky above, his mind was less clear than it had ever been.

It had to do with the kiss.

Not the first or the second, but the third.

The kiss that had naught to do with calculation or confirmation.

A kiss born of the stuff of the best kisses—pure, naked wanting.

A kiss with the power to crack open a dichotomy in a man’s mind.

And like the sky above, he suspected a storm would have to sweep through before all became clear again.