The Devil to Pay (The Devilish Devalles, Novella #1) Page 4

  Nevertheless, whether he understood it or not, he took great comfort in the easy companionship he and Miss Miranda shared as they rode through the Mayfair streets in his curricle. It took him rather by surprise, then, when she turned toward him and spoke during their otherwise amicably quiet journey. “Thank you for doing as you’d promised, both at the ball and yesterday when you came to call.”

  He didn’t miss the abruptness of her words, though he noted there wasn’t even the slightest bit of heat behind them.

  “I didn’t just make a promise,” he reminded her, unable to hold back the teasing tone that had worked its way into his voice. “I agreed to your terms with the understanding that I would require payment for my cooperation.”

  “I assume this payment is why you’ve asked me to join you today?”

  It was…but it also wasn’t. He honestly hadn’t decided what sort of payment he could reasonably expect from her, whether expecting such any payment at all could be considered a gentlemanly undertaking or not. Discussing said payment, of course, would certainly be a boon for him, regardless of what form this payment took and whether she paid it in the end. But there had been more to his request for an outing today than just a fool’s hope to collect upon their bargain.

  For whatever reason, which he was certain he would never in his life understand, Gabe wanted to see more of Miranda.

  She wasn’t the prettiest debutante he’d ever laid eyes upon, although there was something decidedly intriguing about her keen eyes and angular chin and the teasingly upturned corners of her lips. He hadn’t seen any host of other gentlemen beating down her father’s door in the hopes to court her, or her sister for that matter, so this odd desire of his couldn’t be lauded as the lure of the conquest. He had no doubt that if he wanted to pursue her he would have rather little competition. No, this thing that called to him was something deeper, something more intrinsically a part of her very person.

  Gabe held a strong suspicion that, perhaps more than anything else, it was the combination of witnessing her obvious familial loyalty, which was apparently at war with a keen, innate desire to always do the right thing. She’d been so desperate to somehow adhere to her own personal morals in terms of both of those things, even when the two were at odds and not working together in concert, that she’d lost all sense of her own self-preservation.

  He’d never seen the like before. He doubted he ever would again. At least, if he did see such a thing again it would surely involve no other than Miranda Hunt.

  But what he did know was that he absolutely, unequivocally wanted to understand her better.

  He felt a great need to discover just what sort of woman would cause a spectacle such as she had—in public, no less—in order to rescue her sister from a potential social blunder, and at the same time pay no heed to her own reputation or the gaffe she had made.

  He desired to unearth how she could be so focused upon protecting her sister from the potential scandal of an involvement with him that she’d unconscionably dare to tear the girl’s gown at a ball.

  Perhaps most of all, however, he was nearly desperate to understand why, after doing these things, she had seemed entirely prepared to meet her own ruin at his hand. If he wasn’t badly mistaken, she had been on the verge of telling him, “Yes,” that she wanted to be ruined. Or at least that she wanted him to ruin her. He was almost fully certain that she wanted him to kiss her, and, damn it all, he’d wanted to do just that.

  Why was it so much more important for Miranda to protect her elder sister than it was to protect herself? Shouldn’t someone be protecting her, if she was the younger sister? Did she hold herself in such low esteem in general, or was there something about him which had drawn out this behavior?

  Devil take it, why on earth was he worrying over any of this at all? He’d never in his life been so concerned with the reasons for why a marriageable-aged miss would do or not do anything. It made no sense at all for him to be concerned about it now.

  “Mr. Devalle?” Miranda said timidly beside him, though there was a hint of impatience in the way she’d said his name, reminding him that she’d asked him a question.

  Hadn’t she? She must have done, but he had been so lost in thought that he’d forgotten what she had asked. He hadn’t even realized they’d already entered Hyde Park, yet they had just reached the carriage lane. Good lord, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so thoroughly distracted, especially not by a female.

  Being the cause of the female’s distraction was far preferable in his view, now that he’d experienced the other end of the matter. He’d have to be certain he always remained on the proper side of that bargain in the future.

  With a flick of the ribbons, he urged his pair onto the main drive. It was only minutes after five o’clock, but already Rotten Row was crowded with riders upon horseback, and carriages were almost knocking against one another in their quest for a few additional inches of space on the lane.

  Up ahead, Gabe recognized Lord Pickford in an open barouche with some debutante or another and her maid. Confound it all, he hadn’t brought Miranda Hunt here so that they could be accosted by gadabouts and dandies. He wanted to speak with her, quietly, without interruption from her family…but also without interruption from half the ton. Perhaps bringing her to Hyde Park at such a time of day hadn’t been the grandest idea he’d ever had in his life. Worse yet, Pickford had his hand in the air, waving in their direction.

  Gabe thought pretending he hadn’t seen the baron’s greeting was potentially his best course of action, so he turned the fullness of his attention upon Miranda.

  “Explain your behavior at Leicester’s ball,” he said.

  Those deucedly captivating lips turned down at the corners just enough that he couldn’t mistake her displeasure even if he tried. “I hardly think you are anyone to whom I would owe such explanations.”

  Which was certainly the truth, but not one which he intended to concede. He studied her, staring at every bit of her until he realized he’d been undressing her in his mind. “God’s teeth, you are a mystery. One day, I fully intend to unravel you.” As soon as the words had left him, he recognized the unvarnished truth within them.

  Pink flooded her cheeks. His meaning did not go unheeded, then. But how could it have, when he’d been nearly devouring her with his eyes.

  And why had he? It wasn’t uncommon for him to admire the female form, but he usually chose safer targets for his attentions than obviously innocent debutantes. Still, he couldn’t deny that she was growing more attractive to him by the moment.

  “You ought not to speak in riddles,” she said haughtily when she’d regained her composure.

  But it had been no riddle, and they both knew it. Gabe thought it best to pretend she’d missed the entendre and return to his previous line of questioning, lest she scurry down from his curricle and run off like a frightened doe. “And if explaining yourself and your behavior at the ball is the price I demand?”

  Miranda’s lips pressed together into a thin line, and she studied him closely. Finally, she gave a tiny shake of her head. “Is it? I rather think you had other ideas in mind for that, sir, but I admit I could be mistaken.”

  Gabe allowed a bark of laughter to escape him. “You’re rather a shrewd little thing, aren’t you?”

  “As long as believe me to be shrewd, and not shrewish, then I daresay you and I can get along just fine, Mr. Devalle.”

  “Can we?” The words were hardly more than a murmur on his lips as he rolled the thought through his mind. She was right. They did seem to get on rather well. The mad part of it all was that he honestly cared about continuing to do so.

  “Devalle!” a voice called out from a nearby carriage. Gabe continued to feign ignorance of anyone or anything around them. It wasn’t even the slightest bit difficult to maintain his focus upon his companion, particularly since he seemed to hold all of her interest as well. Not once did she look at anyone in the other carriages, nor did she tu
rn to focus upon the lovely park view surrounding them; she looked only at him.

  “You still haven’t told me what your price will be,” Miranda reminded him.

  Her resolute brown eyes remained firmly fixed upon him. He had to admire her. Despite the fact that he’d behaved in an entirely ungentlemanly manner toward her, by nearly stealing a kiss from her in Leicester’s gardens, and again by demanding payment for merely doing as a gentleman ought to do, she didn’t look upon him with fear or revulsion. Her expression was one of utter determination, much like her sister’s had been on every encounter during their brief acquaintance.

  “I haven’t decided what it will be,” he said. It was the most honest answer he could give her. She deserved his honesty at the very least, and it was something he could easily provide.

  Her lips pursed together in a manner very much reminiscent of the look her mother had given him when he’d informed her there would be no room for a maid. “And when might I expect you to make this decision?”

  “That depends—” he gave her a sharp look and lifted his brow— “entirely upon when you give me the answers I need in order to make such a decision.”

  At once, she gave an unladylike harrumph and spun in her seat to look away from him…but not before he’d caught a spark of defiance in her eyes.

  God knew he would have a jolly good time with sparking her ire. Gabe made a mental note to do so as often as he could.

  “You really are a devil just like they all say, you know,” Miranda said before she could stop herself. It wasn’t a very kind thing to say, but he wasn’t behaving in a very gentlemanly manner, so she didn’t feel too guilty about her behavior. Why couldn’t he just demand whatever payment he wanted from her, and they could be done with it and move on with their lives?

  He reared back in mock distress. “You wound me, Miss Miranda.”

  That was exactly the sort of reaction she would have expected from her brother, Jason. He was always trying to pick at her, to provoke her into some thoroughly unladylike response. More often than not, he was successful, blast him.

  This wasn’t the first time Mr. Devalle had teased her in just such a manner, either. He’d done the same when they were dancing, and she hadn’t been able to stop herself from giving him a rude retort.

  That was irksome, to say the least.

  She turned more fully in her seat, focusing with all her might upon the line of birches and willows they were driving past and studiously attempting to avoid staring at the entirely-too-handsome distraction beside her. “Why must you tease me?”

  “Why must you look away from me when I tease you?”

  “You only want to see how deeply your words cut me. I daren’t give you the satisfaction lest you engage in such barbarous behavior with far more frequency.”

  “On the contrary,” he said, his tone no longer jocular, “I wish to see the flashes of fire in your eyes.”

  “That is one and the same.” Good heavens, but she hated the hurt that rang through in her voice. She sounded like a petulant child.

  “No. They couldn’t be more different.” He gave a flick to the ribbons, and the pair of bays led them off the main path onto a more private lane.

  She looked up at him sharply, her heart galloping even though the horses were moving rather sedately. “What are you doing?”

  “Taking you where we can speak more freely.”

  “But it isn’t proper!” Miranda looked over her shoulder at carriage after carriage, with half the occupants staring after them as they separated from the pack. “We cannot be—”

  “Miranda,” he interrupted her. Her name was like velvet rolling from his tongue, like the warm caress of a morning cup of chocolate. “We are in an open curricle. Anyone walking by, anyone in a carriage or on a horse…they can all see us and everything we do. We are still in plain view.”

  But they were moving farther and farther away from the protection of all of those eyes, and they’d already moved too far away for there to be any safety from eavesdropping ears. She pressed her eyes closed and said a silent prayer for patience. “I don’t—”

  “Would you have agreed to come to the park with me today at all if you didn’t feel perfectly safe with me?”

  Her eyes flashed open, and she stared at his confident smile, his almost but not quite mocking eyes.

  “You are no gentleman.”

  “No.” A sly grin turned up the corners of his lips and put a glint into his eyes. “I’m a devil, as you were ever so keen to point out to me.”

  The more time that passed, the more distance came between Miranda and safety. She swallowed hard and then set her jaw, steeling her spine. There was no point in delaying the inevitable any further than she already had, because God only knew what might happen. If he intended to demand answers to impertinent questions which he couldn’t risk someone overhearing, then she might as well get it over and done with.

  “You have questions for me?” she bit off through gritted teeth.

  Mr. Devalle inclined his head. “You already know the first. I want to know why you behaved as you did at Lord Leicester’s ball.”

  She stared into his enchanting blue eyes, the color of the sky on a perfect summer’s day, wishing she could drown in them rather than give him the answers that he sought. But then she took a calming breath. “My sister seems to believe that she needs to trap a gentleman into marriage.”

  “I gathered as much,” Mr. Devalle drawled with a chuckle punctuating the last word.

  “Would you like me to explain or not?” Miranda retorted more waspishly than she’d intended.

  He drew his hand back over his heart. “My apologies. Pray continue.”

  She couldn’t be certain of his sincerity, but that was of no import. “As there has been a bit of gossip of late involving you, she believes you to be a…well, a prime target for her attempts.”

  Mr. Devalle looked to be on the verge of speaking again, but he closed his mouth and lifted a brow, waving a hand for her to continue.

  “I only realized what she was going to do when it was almost too late to stop her, so I did the only thing I could think of. Papa would be mortified if we were in any way associated with…” Her words trailed off as she realized she was about to call him scandalous, when she’d already accused him of being a devil and not a gentleman.

  “With someone as scandalous as me?” he finished for her.

  Miranda felt the heat of a ferocious blush staining her cheeks.

  “Very well,” Mr. Devalle said slowly. “So you were trying to protect your sister from scandal. Yet you could have quite easily caused a scandal yourself. In fact, I daresay the gossips are already wondering why such an innocent as you would have danced with a reprobate such as me. And now, you’re with me in the park. Alone.”

  “Oh, but I wasn’t trying to cause anything scandalous.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she felt like the greatest imbecile ever to walk the earth.

  With his shout of laughter, at least a dozen heads turned in their direction. “My sister Amelia’s constant refrain when she was caught being naughty as a little girl was that she wasn’t trying to do something. My brother and I felt it our brotherly duty to remind her that she also wasn’t trying not to do it.”

  When Miranda said nothing but continued to scowl at him, he continued with, “Very well. You weren’t trying to trap me into marriage, then?”

  “Of course I wasn’t, and I’d appreciate it if you would stop teasing me.”

  He winked at her like the captivating charmer he continued to prove himself to be. “I’m not entirely sure if that will be possible.”

  How was it that this man whom she’d known for less than two days was capable of drawing her ire as easily as Jason had always done? It was far more than merely aggravating.

  She folded one hand over the other on her lap and stared at him, hating the fact that she was sulking. “Have I sufficiently answered your questions, sir?”

  His mocking e
yes turned studious as his gaze traveled over every feature of her face. The heat of her blush returned full bore, blast him.

  “No,” he finally said. “You haven’t told me why your sister is so hell-bent upon creating a scandal and trapping someone like me into marriage.”

  “Perhaps you should ask my sister if you are so inclined to know such a thing.”

  “Perhaps. But I think you could tell me just as well, and since you’ve made me promise to stay away from your sister…”

  “I haven’t made you do anything,” she snapped.

  With the hand which was closest to her, he relinquished his hold upon the ribbons. He slid it over to brush lightly across the back of her gloved hand, sending shivers racing along her spine before she remembered herself and recoiled.

  “You oughtn’t to take such liberties,” she said breathlessly as she slid as far away from him as she could manage without falling completely off the bench.

  His strong fingers wrapped around her hand, holding her with a strength which left her feeling secure more than frightened…a fact which left her breath coming in brief flutters. The pad of his thumb brushed over the back of her glove. Even though he too wore gloves, the sensation nearly robbed her of her breath.

  “There are a great many things I shouldn’t do, but that rarely stops me.”

  “Perhaps sometimes it should,” she said sharply and jerked her hand away.

  Mr. Devalle stared at her for long moments, his gaze penetrating to her very soul. “Perhaps,” he finally murmured. “If I’m not mistaken, Miranda, I unnerve you.”

  He did far more than just unnerve her. Her heart hadn’t stopped fluttering, and a strange heat had taken over her chest and throat and face, and never in her life had she felt more incapacitated than she did at this very moment in time.

  When she remained silent, her irregular breaths flowing through lips she couldn’t seem to close, he returned his hand to the ribbons.

  “As a gentleman, I probably ought to apologize for so thoroughly disarming you.”