The Devil to Pay (The Devilish Devalles, Novella #1) Read online

  Well.

  This wasn’t quite the welcome Gabe had expected.

  Even after a few moments, the door remained closed. He knocked again—because he damned well wanted to at least speak with Miranda and make certain she was prepared to repay her debt—to no response. After waiting a few more moments, he turned, baffled, and took two steps back toward the street. Then the door flew open behind him and a flurry of steps raced after him.

  “Mr. Devalle? Oh, do please wait.”

  It was the same voice he’d heard a few moments ago, before the butler had closed the door…and this voice most decidedly did not belong to Miranda Hunt, devil take it. He was certain of it now.

  He turned, only to see the elder Miss Hunt flying down the steps behind him, a look to rival the most strident of soldiers fixed firmly upon her countenance and a maid trailing sheepishly in her wake.

  Girding himself against any potential attempts she might make to compromise him, Gabe gave her his most charming smile. “Miss Hunt. How lovely it is to see you again this afternoon.”

  Her breathing a bit erratic, she arrived at his side and, with unbridled audacity, reached for his hand.

  He pulled both of his hands away and clasped them firmly behind his back. “I had hoped to call upon your sister, Miss Miranda, today. Your butler informs me she is not at home, however, so I was on my way to find solace in my club.”

  For lack of being able to take his hand into her own, it would seem, Miss Hunt latched herself onto his arm. Her chest rose and fell at an irregular pace as she fought to regain control of herself. “You could console yourself with an ice at Gunter’s just as easily.”

  He did not miss the fluttering of her eyelashes, as she undoubtedly intended.

  What an impertinent lot these Hunt women were proving to be. He’d found Miranda’s impertinence both intriguing and charming last night, however. The elder sister was merely serving to fray his nerves with her ill-masked hints.

  “I suppose that would be a possibility,” he said cautiously. The possibility of inadvertently finalizing the invitation she was attempting to force upon him loomed heavily in his mind with each word that passed through his lips. “I’m afraid I would be poor company in such a setting, though. It might be altogether more prudent for me to spend my afternoon at Gentleman Jackson’s.”

  A flash of panic shot through her eyes, but was just as quickly replaced with the previous boldness. “You should certainly go there, sir, after a stop at Gunter’s.”

  Clearly, she had no intention of being discouraged.

  Gabe looked helplessly over to the maid standing a few paces away from them, hoping the girl might provide him with a simple resolution. She stared down at her feet and shuffled them slightly.

  Well, that was no help at all. What was the purpose of her presence? Surely, Miss Hunt had not been the one to suggest having a maid come along to chaperone—not when she had every intention of trapping him into marriage. No, the maid must have been encouraged to come along by the stodgy butler or some other servant. Thank goodness for her, but it would be a damned sight more help if she would suggest a potential solution.

  But she said nothing. Of course.

  Gabe took a breath, wishing that the need to expel the air from his lungs would somehow force a reasonable excuse to leave Miss Hunt behind from his lips. “I…”

  Whatever he’d been about to say trailed off into nothingness as yet another carriage rattled along Curzon Street, slowing in front of the very house before which they stood. Gabe looked up hopefully. Even if the younger Hunt sister was not somehow in this carriage, perhaps someone was inside who could become his excuse for not taking Miss Hunt on an outing, whatever the proposed destination might be.

  At the moment, he’d even be glad to see one of his childhood nemeses stepping down from the conveyance. Yet when the driver opened the door and set down the steps, it was Miss Miranda herself he handed out.

  She looked at Gabe sharply, then at her sister…then at the elder Miss Hunt’s white-knuckled grip upon his arm. “Mr. Devalle,” she said as she came closer to them. “I am surprised to see you today.”

  He did not miss the accusation in her tone.

  “Mr. Devalle and I were just on our way to Gunter’s, Miranda,” the elder sister said loftily. She resituated herself so she was indecently close to him.

  Gabe tried to pull himself away somewhat, but the grip she had on his arm prevented him from gaining any ground without causing a spectacle with his efforts. Another lady stepped down from the carriage, eyeing the proceedings curiously. She had the same plain brown shade of hair as the two sisters, and her chin was just as pert as Miss Miranda’s, though the lines around her lips and eyes spoke of several more years. She must be the mother.

  Miranda seemed to have no interest in looking at her sister, nor at their mother. All her focus was fixed securely upon him. “Is that so?” she clipped out.

  “I honestly did not expect to come here until I was on my way,” he said truthfully. It still amazed him that he’d come at all. “I’d hoped to call upon you.”

  A little squeak came from the Hunt sister affixed decisively to his arm, but he paid her objections no heed. He would not take her to Gunter’s—not today or any other day.

  Lady Calstock narrowed her eyes at him. “And why would you wish to call upon Miranda, Mr. Devalle?”

  He kept his eyes fixed on Miranda’s when he gave his response. “I wanted to ask if you’d care to go for a ride in Hyde Park with me tomorrow.”

  All three Hunt women reacted at once.

  The hand upon his arm tightened so much he feared the blood might cease flowing if she didn’t release it soon. “But you’ll still be taking me to G—”

  The viscountess’s eyes flashed. “Absolutely n—”

  “I’d love to,” Miranda answered with a smile fit to light the heavens.

  A strange sense of warmth flooded through his veins as he extricated himself from the elder Miss Hunt’s suddenly ice-cold grasp. He inclined his head to them all, giving a jaunty tip of his beaver hat. “Until tomorrow, Miss Miranda. I’ll come for you at the fashionable hour.”

  He walked away to the sounds of Miss Hunt’s outraged squawks and Lady Calstock’s huffs of indignation, forcing himself to refrain from whistling as he went. Try as he might, Gabe couldn’t find a logical reason for the newfound sprightliness in his step as he returned to his bachelor lodgings.

  For nearly two full days now, Miranda had been forced to suffer both Samantha’s hateful glances and her parents’ pained attempts to have her see reason.

  “Any association with the Devalle family will only lead to your ruin,” Papa had bellowed at her after they’d come home from the Leicester ball. “That would have repercussions upon us all. Of all my children, you are the last I would have expected such lack of forethought from, Miranda.”

  When Mama had gone up to Miranda’s chamber before retiring last night, after Mr. Devalle had come to invite her to ride in Hyde Park with him, she’d used a softer tone. The bite of her words had sunk just as deep into Miranda’s heart, though.

  “I don’t know what we can do about your marriage prospects now, my love.” The tears which had formed in Mama’s eyes stung as though they were in Miranda’s instead.

  Was it so bad as all that? She’d only danced with the man at a single ball, and now had plans to join him for a ride in the park. He was a man of questionable character, it was true, but would such a simple association with him really have such lasting consequences? He’d done nothing to harm her reputation as far as she could tell, yet Mama and Papa were responding as though he had caused her some great disgrace.

  Of all the things she might have been in her parents’ eyes, a disappointment was the last she would wish to be.

  She ached to explain it to them, to help them see that she’d only done what she must in order to prevent Samantha from causing a far greater ripple amongst the gossips in Town than her insignificant vibra
tion had been, but they didn’t want her explanations. They merely shook their heads and walked away, leaving Miranda feeling lower than she’d ever felt in her memory.

  Their disappointment hurt less than Samantha’s righteous indignation, though. “Tearing my gown so you could have your chance with him was not very well done of you,” she’d whispered heatedly after they’d returned home from the ball. “I can promise you, I’ll find a way to ensnare him.”

  Miranda didn’t doubt her sister would try. If she’d had even the slightest inkling that Mr. Devalle would call upon her yesterday, she never would have agreed to go shopping with Mama on Bond Street while Samantha remained at home claiming a megrim. No doubt the feigned headache had been a ruse to make more plans.

  Her sister’s anger had only intensified when she’d failed to inveigle the gentleman into taking her on an outing before Miranda and Mama had returned home.

  Samantha followed Miranda up to her chamber, dismissed their maid, and then nearly slammed the door closed behind her. “What did you say to him at the ball?”

  “Only the sorts of things one says to a gentleman who asks one to dance,” Miranda answered evasively.

  Samantha’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “You lie. You ripped my gown so I would have to leave, and then he avoided me the rest of the night. And now he’s calling upon you? You’ve hardly had any gentleman callers at all since your come out. Why would he be here now?”

  “I’m certain I don’t know.” And that was the truth of it. Yes, she’d promised him she would pay whatever price he required in exchange for staying away from Samantha, but she could hardly imagine what that price might be or how he intended for her to pay it while they were riding through Hyde Park.

  In fact, she felt rather anxious about their upcoming outing. That was not to say that she wasn’t also excited about it.

  Perhaps it was foolish and naïve of her, but she hoped the payment he might demand would be a kiss. Given the fact that she’d been nearly desperate for him to kiss her in Lord Leicester’s gardens, she didn’t think that would be a hardship—even if it was a bit scandalous—for her to pay those terms.

  Nevertheless, she knew those hopes were almost certainly as foolish and naïve as Samantha was proving to be; therein lay the reason for her anxiety. A kiss would undoubtedly be too little to satisfy him. She only hoped that, whatever his price may be, she could afford to pay it.

  “You’re trying to stop me from creating a scandal. You’re trying to keep me from my only decent chance at making a match, because you don’t understand just how desperate Papa’s financial situation is—how dire our prospects have become.” Samantha’s eyes filled with furious tears, but they didn’t spill down her cheeks. “But it won’t work, Miranda. You might be able to keep me away from Mr. Devalle, but I’ll find someone else. I’ll find a way to trap someone into being honor-bound into offering for me. And you?” She laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “You’ll be all alone, a spinster. Mark my words.”

  With that, Samantha had fled from Miranda’s room, slamming the door to a close behind her. She’d not done so much as even look at her since. Miranda wished that one of her elder sisters were closer, so she could have someone to talk to about it all. Daphne, in particular, had always been willing to listen when no one else would. But she had stayed at her husband’s principal seat instead of coming to attend the Season, as the time of her lying in was drawing ever closer. No one here in London with her ever seemed to really understand her, and they never bothered to try.

  Without someone who could share her troubles, Miranda had spent the entire morning and early part of the afternoon trying not to draw out anyone’s ire any more than she already had. She spent some time working on an embroidery sample; for nearly an hour, she sat in the music room practicing the pianoforte until her fingers were sore from it; after a near-silent luncheon, she’d gone out for a walk with a maid; with a couple of hours remaining before Mr. Devalle would arrive for her, she’d sat down at the escritoire in her chamber and settled in to write some long overdue correspondence.

  She hadn’t been missed. No one seemed inclined to speak to her today.

  Which was just as well. Miranda wasn’t particularly keen on hearing any more about what a disappointment she’d become to Mama, or how Papa believed she was trying to bring scandal down upon the entire family, or how Samantha had decided she was nothing more than a lying, backstabbing sneak of a sister.

  Finally, when only ten more minutes remained until five o’clock, Miranda made her way down to the drawing room to wait with Mama and Samantha for his arrival. She had barely taken a seat near the window when she heard a knock at the door.

  Moments later, Perkins threw back the door of the drawing room. “The Honorable Mr. Devalle.”

  Miranda hastened to her feet, nearly toppling an occasional table next to her in the bargain.

  Mama, after sending A Look in Miranda’s direction, stood with far more decorum. Despite the reservations she’d expressed about Mr. Devalle’s character, Mama smiled warmly as he came through the doors. He removed his beaver hat and gloves with care and passed them to the butler.

  Samantha sniffed, never looking up, then returned her attention to the embroidery in her lap.

  He held a colorful bouquet of hothouse flowers in his hand, reds and yellows and whites abounding like a spring garden. Good heavens, he was behaving rather brazenly, considering the low esteem in which her parents held him. Although, admittedly, he probably didn’t know about all of that. Why would he not only call upon her today but bring flowers as though he intended to court her? She glanced up and caught his eye.

  Mr. Devalle winked at her, the devilish man. What was this all about?

  “So kind of you to join us today,” Mama said, her voice stilted and tight. Her gaze was fixed firmly upon the bouquet, unflinching in her resolve.

  “Thank you for allowing me to call upon Miss Miranda today, my lady.” He dipped his head toward Mama, charm nearly flowing from his body in waves as he smiled. He shook the flowers ever-so-slightly, drawing all of their attention to the bouquet—even Samantha’s. “I passed by a florist on my way. These looked so lovely I couldn’t resist bringing them for you.”

  He held them out toward Mama, not Miranda, which drew wildly divergent reactions from each of the three women. Samantha looked up and scowled before jabbing her embroidery needle into her thumb, which elicited a very unladylike grumble from her lips. Mama shook her head briefly, a suspicious twist of her lips evident even from a great distance. Then she closed the few steps between her and Mr. Devalle to take the flowers with a murmur of thanks—one which could scarcely be heard, even in the general silence of the room.

  Miranda’s reaction was by far the most startled of the three. Her jaw fell open and a gasp escaped her. He’d brought flowers for Mama? Surely, then, he must sense the difficulty her parents were experiencing in accepting his feigned pursuit of Miranda. Why would he have done something so utterly thoughtful and charismatic for her?

  “Rose?” Mama said to a maid who’d just entered with a tea tray, her voice regaining its usual strength. “Would you kindly take these and have them put in water for me? And let Miss Lyon know that Miss Miranda is ready to be accompanied on her outing.”

  “Miss Lyon?” Mr. Devalle interrupted before the maid could scurry away.

  Mama turned a firm look upon him, her lips pressed into a thin smile—not impolite, but not overly friendly. “A maid to act as chaperone, of course.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I should have been clearer yesterday when I invited Miss Miranda to join me.” Mr. Devalle put both hands behind his back, clasping them in place while still somehow appearing as charming as ever. “I’ve brought my curricle. There is only room for Miss Miranda and me, not for a maid. But since it is open, surely it isn’t improper for us to be alone together for a ride.”

  With her lips twisting in indecision, Mama wrung her empty hands together.


  “It’s the fashionable hour, Mama,” Miranda said. “We’ll be surrounded by others out for a ride through the park.” Everyone who wished to see or be seen would be there. She couldn’t imagine how anything untoward could possibly take place—which actually eased some of her own fears about what Mr. Devalle might demand as his price.

  “I don’t—”

  “On my honor as a gentleman,” he interrupted, “I’ll have Miss Miranda returned to you unscathed and unsullied well before time for her to dress for supper.”

  A long moment passed in which Miranda dared not take too deep a breath for fear she might ruin her opportunity to spend some time with the shameless and devilishly handsome Mr. Devalle.

  At long last, Mama gave a curt nod. “Very well. I suppose there isn’t any harm in it.”

  Samantha made no attempt to stifle her derisive huff.

  With a smile fit to enchant even the most waspish and jaded of spinsters, not that Miranda needed such enchantment, Mr. Devalle held out an arm for Miranda to take. “If you’re ready, then?”

  She crossed the room and placed her hand on his arm. “More ready than you could ever possibly know.”

  Gabe and Miss Miranda had almost arrived at Hyde Park before either of them chose to end their silence. When they’d left her father’s home, Gabe had handed her up into his curricle, taken first his seat and then the ribbons, and finally they’d been off…without a word being spoken. Yet, somewhat surprisingly, it hadn’t been an uncomfortable sort of silence—not the sort of discomfiture he would generally expect from being seated beside a chit he hardly knew with neither of them saying a word. It was rather extraordinary, all things considered, yet he felt oddly at peace with Miranda Hunt.

  That realization was the only thing involved in their outing, to this point, which he found disconcerting. How on earth could he be so at his ease in her presence? Something was very suspicious within that, and he would be damned if he didn’t sort it all out. Sooner rather than later, preferably.