Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

B eatrice’s heart was hammering. She felt sick, although that was likely due to not eating anything all day. She’d known, after all, that she meant to come here, and that had killed her appetite quite efficiently.

She sat back in her chair, affecting nonchalance, and tried to gauge how the man opposite her was reacting to her words.

He might not have known her—or remembered her, which stung a little—but she knew him. Oh, she knew him. Just about everybody in London knew Duke Blackheart. The ladies shivered and shied away, clutching their fragile reputations to their chests like jewels.

Gentlemen tried to pretend that they didn’t care, that they weren’t afraid of him, but she had seen them. Eyes rolling like frightened horses, they scuttled out of the Duke’s way when he strode past, never glancing left or right, just presuming that others would move.

Annoyingly, they generally did. For Beatrice, who was generally below shoulder height compared to most people and had to fight her way through the crowds, that seemed remarkably unfair.

Of course, that was neither here nor there now. One might argue that the man’s height helped him move smoothly through the world. He was taller even than Anna’s Theodore, and people did view you differently if you towered above them. He’d certainly tried to use his height to his advantage earlier—although, of course, it had not bothered Beatrice.

I have had a lifetime of being towered over, she reminded herself.

“So, I’m a man who deals in information, eh?” the Duke remarked half to himself, cutting into her thoughts. “I’m not sure I have ever heard my occupation described like that before.”

She shifted in her seat, trying to look calm and in control of the situation.

I am an educated woman. A grown woman, at that. I won’t be cowed by some leering flirt of a man. No matter how handsome he is.

Best not to dwell too long on that . The Duke was certainly handsome, that was never to be denied, but he was also a rake, a scandalously shocking man, and notoriously cold.

“That’s one way to put it, I think,” Beatrice forced herself to say, keeping her chin up and her gaze fixed on him. She’d boasted about not being a shy, demure little debutante, and now she was going to have to make good on that promise. “Correct me if I am wrong, but you know just about everybody in Society—everybody worth knowing, that is—and you can find out anything about anybody.”

“For a price,” he added.

She swallowed hard. “For a price.”

Abruptly, he pushed off the edge of his desk and began to stroll around the room. His cup of tea lay untouched, getting cold. Beatrice drained hers—the cold had seeped into her bones, and she was suddenly ravenously hungry. To her relief, she saw a demure plate of biscuits on the tray, and she helped herself.

“Before I hear whatever little task you have for me,” he said, crossing the room to stand in front of the fire, “I should like to hear how you heard this rumor about me. About my trading in information . After all, it’s hardly beneficial to me if everybody knows about it.”

Beatrice nearly choked on the crumbs of her biscuit. The heroines in her favorite novels—guilty pleasures, naturally—would never be caught dead eating in front of a handsome villain. No, they would be busy swooning and making feeble but determined protestations that they would never give in. It never seemed to matter what they were not giving in to.

“I believe you helped Theodore—I suppose that is His Grace to me—discover things about that dreadful man who was so obsessed with Anna. He explained it all to Anna, and she told me about it, you see. You found out things about him—debts and vices and such—and he was able to exert his influence and have the man put in debtor’s jail, and now Anna is free.”

“Theo did not put the man in debtor’s jail,” Stephen pointed out. “The gentleman managed that himself.”

Beatrice waved her hand. “That is beside the point. The point is that I want you to do something similar for me.”

“Hm. And why would I do that? Theo is my friend, even if he has been dreadfully neglecting me since he got married. What will you give me in exchange for this service, Miss Haversham?”

Beatrice was relieved that he stayed across the room when he said this, instead of looming over her again.

She was not a woman who dived in headfirst. She had thought a good deal about who to approach for help, and Stephen Walford, the Duke of Blackwood, was the obvious choice.

They already had a connection—she was the dearest friend of his dearest friend’s wife, and that had to count for something—and he was just about the only man who could help.

One thing she had not counted on, however, was how the wretched Duke was making her feel.

She’d thought him handsome at the wedding, in a disinterested sort of way. The man was good-looking, tall, and even-featured, with suitably exotic olive skin, shockingly green eyes, and an abundance of thick black hair. He dressed well, appeared strongly built under his expensive clothing, and carried a cool air of confidence and authority that would, naturally, appeal to the more weak-minded of her sex.

Beatrice prided herself on not being weak-minded. She had assumed that she could conduct herself with ease here, but their little meeting felt as though it was getting swiftly out of her control.

There was an uncomfortable fluttering in her gut whenever the Duke drifted past her, and she found that meeting those cool, pale green eyes was harder than she had expected. Worse, her tongue kept tying itself into knots, her sharp retorts not coming as quickly as usual, her carefully memorized and rehearsed arguments tangling up like rope in her head.

It is just the weightiness of this matter, she told herself firmly. And because you are alone, of course.

“I have money,” she blurted, and immediately regretted it.

The Duke turned to stare at her, an incredulous smile playing on his lips. “Money? Money ? My dear girl, what possible use could I have for money ? Take a look around you. Goodness, I had thought you were a clever little thing. I have more money than I can spend. What would I want with more?”

Heat rushed to her face. Beatrice swiped at her mouth, sure that stray biscuit crumbs were lingering at the corners. That humiliation would simply be too much.

“Alright, then,” she snapped. “What would you like? What would you generally want, in exchange for such a service?”

He leaned against the mantelpiece, fixing her with a wolfish, mirthless grin. “Oh, a great variety of things.”

She pressed her lips together. “Give me an example.”

“I could give you dozens.”

“Just. One.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then chuckled, turning away.

“In a situation like this, I would require a favor,” he said bluntly, sounding almost bored. “A single favor, quite a large one, to be decided upon by me. You would have to do this favor whenever I ask for it. It’s a matter of honor, you see. And, of course, I am not a man to be crossed, so shirking your duty is not recommended.”

She bit her lip hard, tasting copper. “So I would be in your debt, then? I would be forced to wait for you to decide what you want from me, with no ability to say no?”

He shrugged, pushing away from the mantelpiece and swaggering towards her. She felt her insides tighten as he approached, and she hastily distracted herself with another biscuit. She regretted it at once, as he asked her a question the instant the biscuit was in her mouth.

“Those are the terms, Miss Haversham. Could you agree to such an arrangement?”

She attempted a shrug, and then a nod.

He rolled his eyes. “I shall need verbal confirmation, my dear.”

She swallowed hard. “Yes, yes, I agree! I don’t have much choice, anyway.”

“Excellent.”

This time, he crossed to his seat on the other side of the desk, and Beatrice held back a sigh of relief. It was good to have some space between them, and the firm, reassuring weight of the desk.

“Now,” he said briskly, picking up a coin from somewhere and beginning to flip it over his knuckles. “Who is the person that you want me to investigate? What is your plan here?”

“It’s not your concern what my plan is.”

“I disagree in the strongest terms. Do you want me to help you, Miss Haversham, or not?”

She hesitated, but only for a moment. “Fine, fine, very well. The man is Mark Roberts, the Marquess of Hampton.”

The bouncing coin did not slow down. “I know the man. I assume you want me to unearth vices, debts, hidden sins, and the rest?”

“Yes. It must be…” Beatrice swallowed hard, wishing for another cup of tea. “It must be something that would break an engagement.”

The coin stopped bouncing. Those pale green eyes snapped to her, and she realized with a pang of bittersweet triumph that she had genuinely shocked him.

“The Marquess is engaged?”

She allowed herself a wry smile. “The banns haven’t been read yet. Nobody knows. The arrangement is a very private one but will become public knowledge in a few days. I daresay a man like you would have known by tomorrow.”

“I daresay,” he repeated. Setting the coin aside, the Duke leaned over the desk. “This is a serious matter, you know. Even I balk at breaking up engagements and ruining weddings. What about his poor bride-to-be?”

Beatrice clenched her teeth. “His bride-to-be does not wish to become his wife.”

“And how are you so sure?”

“I just am.”

“Details, my dear. Details.”

Beatrice let her eyes flutter shut.

Oh, what’s the use? He’ll find out soon enough, anyway.

“Because,” she said, her voice strained, “I am to be his bride.”

There was a heartbeat of silence. When she opened her eyes, he was looking at her strangely. She could not interpret the look on his face.

“Well,” he said, “that certainly changes things.”

“I think so, don’t you?” she responded. “So, will you do it? The wedding will take place as soon as possible. Within a month, if my betrothed has his way.”

She couldn’t help spitting out the word—a fact that the Duke no doubt noticed. She fought to keep herself from circling her wrist with her other hand. Beneath her long sleeves, there was a ring of bruises around her wrist, still tender when she prodded the skin. She could still feel the Marquess’s hand, his fingertips cruelly digging in.

“You’ll wear the dress I picked out for you, my dear,” he had spat, his eyes narrowed. “If I am to be forced to marry you, by God, you’ll be forced to be a proper wife.”

She shivered, swallowing hard.

“I assume a clever woman like you has already tried the traditional methods of escaping an engagement?” the Duke drawled, leaning back and raising his eyebrows. “Saying no, for instance?”

“Of course.”

“You are a rich woman, I hear. Why are you being forced into a match you do not want?”

She snorted. “There’s a difference between being a rich woman and a woman with a large dowry, let me tell you.”

The Duke acknowledged this point with a tilt of his head. “I cannot argue with you there. Well, Miss Haversham, I believe I can help you. Now, I believe our business is concluded.”

“Wait! I want to know what sort of favor you might demand from me in return.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Well, my dear, I don’t even know that myself, do I? I suppose we shall have to wait and see.”

She shook her head mulishly. “No. No, I want to know.”

He got up from his seat and rounded the desk to stand uncomfortably close to her. She was forced to tilt her head back to look him in the eye.

“My dear, one does not make a deal with the devil and then argue over the terms,” he said softly. “A favor is what I request. In exchange, I will provide you with information to free you from your engagement. No more, no less. Do you agree?”

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding.

What if I said no? What if I simply got up and walked out, and relied on my own wits to save myself? He wouldn’t chase after me. He doesn’t seem like the chasing type. At least, I hope not.

She shivered, a fact that those sharp green eyes noticed.

“I agree,” she said, her voice wavering.

His gaze lingered on her face just for a moment or two, and she started to worry that she would be the one to look away first.

“Good,” he said abruptly, turning away so sharply it made her jump. “We have a deal. You must not come back here, Miss Haversham. If you do, I shall consider our deal null and void. Wait for me to approach you. Now, I shall send you home in one of my carriages.”

He crossed the room to where a velvet bell pull hung, giving it a sharp tug.

Beatrice found her voice. “No, I can’t go home in your carriage.”

“You cannot walk, Miss Haversham,” he responded. “I am not such a blackheart as to send a woman like you out into the London streets at this hour.”

She wondered briefly what he meant by “a woman like you.” Was it a compliment or an insult?

“Well, I cannot arrive home in a carriage with your crest on it, can I?”

He paused, tilting his head to the side. “That is an excellent point, Miss Haversham. Nicely done. Well then, I shall secure a cab for you.”

Beatrice found herself rising to her feet, pulling the folds of her cloak more securely around herself.

“I meant to ask before, but… but what if there isn’t anything?”

He frowned. “What on earth do you mean?”

“I mean about the Marquess. What if there aren’t any… any hidden vices or sins? You won’t make things up, will you? If he is an innocent man…”

He chuckled low in his throat. “My dear Miss Haversham, one thing I have learned in my lifetime is that there is no such thing as an innocent man . I have never had to make anything up. There are always sins to uncover, and from what I already know of the good Marquess, I am fairly confident that wedding bells will not ring out for you and him anytime soon.”

She let out a long, slow breath. “Good. That’s good. And I would like to repay the favor as soon as I can if it suits you. I don’t like to be beholden to anyone.”

The Duke allowed himself a small smile. His smiles, she noticed, never quite reached his eyes. There was a hardness there, a sort of tired determination that spoke of a man too jaded inside to ever be shocked.

Stop it, she scolded herself, giving herself a little shake. This isn’t a novel. This is real life, and in real life, villains are just villains. This was necessary, that was all. But nobody can ever know that you have done this. Nobody, not even Anna.

Beatrice wasn’t entirely sure what made her extend her hand, palm turned to the side for a handshake.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you, Your Grace,” she said.

The Duke stared down at her hand as if she were offering him something in a closed fist and he was trying to figure out what was inside—a coin or a spider.

Slowly, reluctantly, he extended his hand too. His cool skin pressed against hers, and long fingers wrapped around her hand. She felt the brief icy coldness of a signet ring against her skin, the faintest pressure, and then he withdrew his hand abruptly as if he’d been burned.

She almost felt the burn herself. Her skin tingled and prickled unaccountably at his touch. She tried her best not to think about it.

The door opened soundlessly behind them, and the same tall, blank-faced butler appeared.

“Mouse, hail a cab for Miss Haversham,” the Duke ordered. “A safe one. Pay the driver well, and ensure that she returns home safely. That is all. Goodbye, Miss Haversham.”

Beatrice found herself hustled out of the room and down through the house before she could say another word. When she climbed into a cab on the silent street outside, something made her pause and twist to look up at the house.

Most of the windows were dark, but at least one window was lit. The Duke stood in that window, staring down at her. He watched her until she was inside the cab, and then the driver pulled away, and the house and the Duke disappeared from view.

That’s it. I’ve made a deal with the Devil.