Chapter 27

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

EVENING

I n the end, Beatrix had attended the evening meal.

But, oh, how she’d struggled with committing to the decision.

As fiancée of the host, she was the hostess by default. Her presence was expected by the guests—and the host himself.

Seated at one end of the long dining table, Dev at the other, she’d mostly conversed with Artemis to her left—as she’d fed a patient Bathsheba every other bite of her food—and to Lord Ipswich to her right, who was altogether too eager to relate in specific detail his most recent battle against a toenail fungus.

Every so often, her gaze had caught upon Dev as he continued to make the case that he had every right to breathe the rarified air of the haut ton . The fact was he made his case well. There likely wasn’t anyone in attendance who hadn’t come around to the idea.

Of course, that was all destined to change.

When he incited a divorce between the Earl and Countess of Bridgewater—for there was little doubt in her mind that he would be successful in the endeavor—the ton would close ranks around their own.

Not that Dev would care.

He would have what he wanted—and Dev always got what he wanted.

The thought inspired a slow shiver that made its sinuous way up her spine.

Now, she was stuck in the drawing room with the ladies while the majority of the men smoked cigars and drank brandy in the study. She lacked the patience for needlework, and the gossip being bandied about wasn’t all that fresh.

Her gaze caught on the only gentleman present. Lord Wrexford , positioned beside the piano, turning sheets of music for the eldest Miss Shaw while she played. Both were blushing as furiously now as they had been earlier.

Beatrix knew a blossoming love match when she saw one.

As for Artemis, the instant the meal had been over, she’d stood and declared Bathsheba in need of her evening ramble, after which, her friend would be taking herself to bed. “I keep country hours now.”

As Beatrix sat and smiled and nodded with distant agreeability, she found herself wishing she had a useful dog.

“Ah-ha,” came a jolly voice from the doorway.

Instinctively, Beatrix winced.

“Here’s where my lovely harem ran off to,” continued Lydon, producing a chorus of feminine titters.

Beatrix suspected they were less provoked by Lydon’s flattery than by the presence of Blaze Jagger at his side. The frisson of excitement that enlivened the air couldn’t be denied.

Her brother .

Blaze Jagger was her brother.

And he was here… Why?

To keep a close eye on his investment?

Or perhaps to prove something?

The latter felt as if it edged closer to the truth.

“Now, I know needlework gets you lovelies all het up,” continued Lydon. “But how about we enjoy an activity a little less exciting, like…cards?”

Of course, Lydon would suggest cards. Any form of gambling, really. He couldn’t be long away from it. Beatrix could only hope there were no roosters prowling about Primrose Park. He’d have them sparring by midnight.

Along with the other gentlemen ambling into the room, Dev entered. As he caught wind of the direction the evening was taking, he quietly conferred with servants. Soon, tables and chairs were being brought in to accommodate an impromptu evening of cards.

His gaze cut over and caught hers.

He winked.

So quick it was, she could’ve blinked and missed it, for he’d been immediately pulled into conversation with Lord Ipswich. Beatrix hoped he was prepared to become acquainted with the anti-fungal properties of apple cider vinegar.

“He’s quite a man, isn’t he?” came an admiring feminine voice.

Beatrix took the split of a second to brace herself before turning to face Lady Bridgewater. “I presume you’re not speaking of Lord Ipswich.”

Lady Bridgewater giggled, delighted. “You’re funny.” A smile remained perched upon her perfect bow-shaped mouth. “Congratulations on being the one to catch him.”

Beatrix didn’t feel like she was being congratulated. The glint in Lady Bridgewater’s eyes suggested curiosity and…challenge.

Beatrix was being tested.

“I’m not sure catch is the correct word,” she said. “I don’t recall him running away.”

Neither Lady Bridgewater’s smile nor the glint in her eyes faded. “A woman who fashions herself a wit.” She eyed Beatrix up and down. “I wouldn’t have thought Dev would fall for one of those.”

Beatrix was certain she’d been insulted to her face, but had no interest in taking offense. “And what sort of woman did you think Dev would fall for?” She hadn’t missed that use of Dev —and the familiarity implied.

Lady Bridgewater’s smile turned feline. She didn’t need to speak the answer aloud. They both knew it.

Me .

And really, that was all the answer Beatrix needed.

Lady Bridgewater yet harbored a passion for Dev.

“We grew up together, you know.”

“He mentioned it.”

Lady Bridgewater gave a subtle lift of her brow. “Did he? I would’ve thought he’d want to keep that to himself.”

“Oh, Dev and I don’t hold any secrets from one another.”

Beatrix was definitely toying with the countess, and she should stop, truly, but she couldn’t seem to.

It wasn’t that she was having fun with the woman’s emotions, but she thought the countess could stand to have her horizons broadened.

It would be to her benefit.

The fact was Beatrix didn’t take issue with the countess.

Simply, the woman was a product of her environment—an environment that told women their only value was in their beauty and the fecundity of their wombs. A society that pitted them against one another when it grew bored, which was often. A society that discouraged women to use their minds critically.

What was clear to Beatrix was that the countess subscribed to it all—many women did.

Yet though she understood this about the countess, that didn’t mean she could ever be friends with the woman.

They didn’t view life from the same angle.

And now that she’d gotten to know Dev, she wouldn’t have thought he did, either.

But that only illustrated how much she understood about the motivations of men.

“No secrets? How very convenient for you, Lady Beatrix,” said the countess. “I’m sure that bodes well for your wedded bliss. Although—” She snorted. If a snort could’ve been ladylike, hers was. “If there is bliss to be found in the wedded state, I wish someone would tell me the secret.”

Like that, Beatrix felt badly for every unkind thought and opinion she’d entertained of this woman. Certainly, the countess had been a title huntress, but the Earl of Bridgewater was known to have cruel proclivities of the sort both publicly acknowledged and those only whispered about. The countess had likely already paid the price for securing a title—and would continue to do so.

Until she ran off with Dev, that was.

More than ever, the possibility appeared an inevitability.

The countess shifted her gaze, her cheeks uncharacteristically high with color. Abashment hung about her, as if she’d said too much and was now embarrassed.

“Dev has nothing but wonderful things to say about his childhood,” said Beatrix. Then for some unfathomable reason, she added, “And you.”

Lady Bridgewater blinked, and for an instant, her mask slipped. She looked younger and fresher, her beauty so vibrant she was almost too much to behold directly.

In this instant, Beatrix saw the Imogen he knew.

“He does?” she asked, slightly breathless.

Beatrix nodded.

An unguarded smile flirted about the countess’s mouth before her arch mask slipped back into place. “How very sweet of him.”

And she left that as her farewell as she pivoted in a swish of silk skirts and took her place at the card table to join a game of Whist just forming.

As the room settled into card play, Beatrix understood she had a choice.

Stay and endure a long, slogging night…or slip discreetly away.

Before her mind could counter instinct, her feet were on the move and exiting the room at a swift clip that couldn’t be characterized as a run— just .

She pointed them in the direction of the kitchens. That was where she would find Cumberbatch. He would be awake, of course. His intermittent naps throughout the day served to bank his energy for the night. She needed to see how he was faring.

His bunions might need tending.

She would stop by her bedroom for the castor oil—just in case.

Dev settled into a leather armchair and idly exhaled a stream of cigar smoke, a brandy lolling in his other hand. He was aware of the picture he presented to the gentlemen presently circulating the supremely masculine domain of his study.

He was one of them.

Almost .

These exalted men had happily partaken of his hospitality these last two days, but it was clear they still didn’t know what to think of him.

“So,” began the lord in the adjacent armchair—an earl, “you didn’t inherit the business from your father?”

The earl was only giving voice to what many in this room found incredibly difficult to reconcile—the foreign idea of a man building something from the ground, rather than having had it passed to him through inheritance, as their titles and place in the world had been handed to them.

The exception in this room was Blaze Jagger, of course. Dev had been keeping an eye on the scoundrel for a variety of reasons—reasons too many to enumerate. Suffice it to say, this house party presented myriad opportunities for Jagger to create havoc, if he so chose.

“My father is, in fact, very much alive,” said Dev, “and presently touring the Lake District with my mother.”

The information elicited a further gathering of more than a few eyebrows.

From the corner of his eye, Dev noted Lydon edging along the periphery of the gathered. He avoided acknowledging him. The truth was Dev didn’t much like being pulled into the orbit of such a man. For all his titles, Lydon was naught more than a rotter in aristocrat’s clothing.

However, Dev was left with no choice when Lydon pushed in further. “My sincerest apologies for interrupting this absolutely riveting discussion,” said the marquess, inserting himself without apology, “but might I request a word with my lovely daughter’s future husband?”

“Of course,” said Dev, rising to his feet and leading Lydon to the set of doors that opened onto the terrace.

Outside, the rain had eased off, so they were able to step beyond the protection of the roof where they could converse with privacy. He didn’t know for a fact what Lydon wanted to discuss, but he could hazard a guess.

Lydon didn’t hold him in suspense for long. “Now, about what we formerly discussed.”

“You’ll have to refresh my memory.” Dev was in no mood to make it easy for the marquess.

“The bit of pocket money.” And Lydon was in no mood to be misunderstood.

“Ah, yes,” said Dev, nodding sagely. “One hundred pounds, was it?”

An edge of steel glinted within the gray of Lydon’s eyes. “Every week.”

“Indeed.”

“And you missed last week.”

“Right.”

The moment dragged on a beat too long. Dev wasn’t the least discomfited. He wanted to see if the old scoundrel would crack.

His gaze remained steadier than Dev had ever seen it.

This was deadly serious business.

At last, Dev relented. This was Beatrix’s father, after all. “I’ll have the two hundred pounds delivered to you by morning.”

A sudden, hale-and-hearty smile lit across Lydon’s face, utterly transforming it. He slapped Dev on the back in the jocular manner of carousing mates. “Good man.”

A marquess who knew when to leave before minds could change, Lydon had disappeared from sight before the next three seconds could elapse. Dev snorted and took another puff of cigar. The gentlemen had already begun moving from the study to join the ladies.

Dev entered the drawing room only to find Lydon proposing an evening of cards. It surprised him not in the least. Lydon had never met a penny he didn’t want to gamble away. The two hundred pounds would already be committed to debts of honor before it even arrived in his rooms by morning.

Dev sent for the housekeeper hired temporarily for the house party while his parents were away—really, he would consult with his mother to make the woman a permanent addition to the staff —and conducted a quick consultation about transforming the drawing room into a makeshift gaming hell.

Through the evening, he’d kept half an eye on Beatrix—and now was no different. In truth, he’d expected her to bolt to her rooms after the meal. Sometimes, he could forget she was made of sterner stuff.

They needed to talk.

He would’ve thought they had all the time in the world for a private moment or two.

But the opposite held true.

A spare or idle minute wasn’t to be found anywhere.

And they most definitely needed to talk.

The something more they’d been indulging in… Well, the proper thing would be to say it needed to stop.

But the problem was he wasn’t sure he possessed the strength to say it.

Echoes of her feel…her touch…yet resonated through him.

He glanced toward the spot beside the mantle where he’d last seen her, and though he found her there, someone had joined her.

Imogen .

Not only that, but the two women were talking.

He couldn’t say he exactly felt good about it.

In fact, a feeling of dread stirred and began crawling through him.

Somehow, he dragged his gaze away and kept to his role of benevolent host, seeing to table arrangements and pausing for small talk. But all the while Beatrix and Imogen remained at the periphery of his vision—his true focal point.

He didn’t like comparing them, for they were as opposite from one another as the north pole from the south.

Yet he found himself doing so.

The physical differences between them were, of course, apparent. Imogen possessed the sort of overblown beauty that flashed and sparkled and commanded attention. While Beatrix’s beauty was quieter, more delicate. It made no demands on one’s attention, but once captured, one wasn’t quick to look away.

She was lovely.

But these were the surfaces of the two women and, while appealing, weren’t as interesting as the essences of who they were below.

He’d known Imogen for so long, he found it difficult to articulate who she was. Simply, he’d always known her—so he knew her.

As for Beatrix, surprisingly, he felt the same way.

As if he knew her down to the marrow of her bones.

For over a decade, he’d been sure no woman compared to Imogen. But as Beatrix stood beside her, a new possibility occurred to him.

Perhaps no one compared to her .

This was what unsettled the ground beneath his feet.

Since he’d been able to want anything, he’d wanted Imogen.

And the truth of it was, he felt close to making her his.

It was in the way she’d been interacting with him—the playful flash of the eye here and there—and speaking to him— Dev —and the fact that her marriage was clearly an unhappy one.

And yet another fact.

He knew her.

Behind that lush beauty of hers ran a streak of wildness—and willfulness, too.

In fact, it was these very qualities he’d sought to exploit in his pursuit of her.

And now she was almost his .

Though he could all but taste the victory, it yet failed to excite the part of him that reveled in vanquishment.

“Quite the country estate you have here,” came an East End voice behind him.

Dev turned to find Blaze Jagger’s mouth curled into a cocksure smile, his diamond stud winking in greeting. The rogue cut a flamboyant figure in his evening blacks and garish fuchsia silk waistcoat.

“A right inspiration to us honest working men.”

Dev’s brow lifted. “Is that how you think of yourself? An honest working man?”

Jagger’s smile increased in width and arrogance. “Let’s leave it at working and call it a compromise.”

Dev didn’t join in the smile. In fact, he had a few words to speak to this man. “Join me on the terrace.”

Once out of earshot of the card party, which was growing more boisterous by the second. Dev got to it. “This debt you’re holding.”

Jagger cocked his head, a sudden serious glint in his eye that disconcertingly mirrored his sister’s. “That’s between me and the marquess.”

Dev gave his head a slow shake. “It affects Beatrix. If you turf Lydon out, you’ll be turfing her out, too, and damaging her reputation along with it.”

Jagger wagged a finger. “Now, see? That math doesn’t add all the way up. The lady will be marrying a man who is rich as—or more like, richer than—the king himself, so I don’t see how Lydon’s troubles affect her at all.”

Of course, Dev wouldn’t be explaining his arrangement with Beatrix to this man, but Jagger wasn’t one to accept anything at face value. He would always be on the lookout for the angle—or the lie, as it was. Dev would have to present him a new angle to consider. “Beatrix doesn’t have anyone fighting her corner.”

Jagger’s brow lifted in utter disbelief. “Doesn’t she have you ?” A beat. “Her fiancé?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Seems simple to me.”

Dev wasn’t sure if Jagger realized he’d done it, but he’d squared up to Dev.

A startling possibility occurred to him.

Was Jagger feeling… brotherly ?

Dev saw an opening to say what needed to be said and seized it. “I’ll pay off Lydon’s debt.”

Jagger gave a low whistle. “That’s right generous of you.”

“With one caveat.”

“I do revel in a good negotiation.”

“You can buy as much of Lydon’s debt as you like. But you don’t send correspondence to Little Stanhope Street. Lydon won’t see it, but Beatrix will, and she’ll feel responsible for it.”

“How is that?”

“She’s that sort of person.”

“Nah, I get that about her.” Jagger sucked his teeth. “The other thing. How will she see Lydon’s mail? Won’t she be living in happily-ever-after bliss with her husband and opening his mail?”

Out of anyone currently beneath Primrose Park’s sloped slate roof, Jagger would be the one to scent something out-of-the-common with his and Beatrix’s relationship. “You should try getting to know your sister,” he said, under no obligation to give the man a direct answer. “You might like her.”

Jagger sniffed. “Lady High-and-Mighty would deign to favor a scoundrel like me with her attention?”

Dev took the response as one of insecurity, a self-protective instinct—and he didn’t have time for it. “She did for me. It’s who you are in here ”—he poked a finger into the center of Jagger’s chest—“that matters to Beatrix. That’s not to say she’ll just give you the time of day. You’ll have to earn it, but it’s worth it. She is worth it.”

That last part… It was absolutely true.

How much more interesting was his life since she’d entered it?

For his part, Jagger wasn’t ceding any conversational ground, but Dev knew he was collecting every word and adding them up.

He just had one more thing to say to the man. “It’s best if you get back to London.”

Jagger would understand it wasn’t a suggestion.

Dev wasn’t finished. “And take Lydon with you.”

A quick smile transformed Jagger’s features. “Now, that will cost you extra,” he said with a nod and wink of farewell.

Relief poured through Dev. He didn’t know how matters would turn out with Beatrix, but she would no longer have Jagger lurking in shadows.

He returned to the drawing room and found card play in full, lively swing. He knew even before a scan of the room confirmed it that Beatrix was gone. He felt the heat of several pairs of eyes upon him, but one in particular.

Imogen.

She’d saved a place beside her at the card table.

Even as he pretended not to notice and moved in the opposite direction, he questioned himself. He was on the verge of having everything he’d always wanted. Anticipation and excitement should’ve been thrumming through his veins.

Yet the only feeling he could conjure was a strange, dissatisfied emptiness. As if what he’d always wanted wasn’t actually what he wanted at all.

As if he’d taken a wrong turn somewhere and kept hurtling headlong in the wrong direction.

Unsettled…rattled…shaken… These were new feelings for him.

He couldn’t help but notice when these feelings had been introduced into his life.

When Beatrix had entered it.