To Desire a Devil (16 page)

“Oh!” Her lovely gray eyes widened in excitement.

He smiled. “But not tonight. There’s too little time before we arrive at my aunt’s house.”

“Oh.” Her lower lip thrust out just a little in a charming pout. He eyed that lip, full and shining in the carriage light.
He wanted to bite it.

“You tease me so, my lord,” she said softly, and her voice seemed to catch.

He looked into her eyes, wide and innocent, but with a feminine spark that wasn’t innocent at all. “Do I? And do you like
to be teased, Miss Corning?”

Her eyelashes lowered. “I think… Yes, I do like the teasing. As long as it isn’t too prolonged.”

His smile widened, becoming wolfish. “Is that a challenge?”

She peeked up at him. “Perhaps.”

Reynaud sat forward, reaching across the swaying carriage, and brushed his knuckles against her cheek. So soft. So warm. She
sat very still.

He inhaled and sat back again. “I’ve lived a very long time away from civilization. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten the niceties
of flirtation. I don’t want to scare you.”

She licked her lips, and his eyes dropped to her mouth. He watched it move, lush and beckoning, as she said, “I… I don’t scare
so easily as all that, my lord. And I’ve never been particularly fond of the artifice of flirtation.”

His heartbeat quickened at her whispered words, his muscles tensing to leap on prey.
Mine,
a part of him far removed from civilization cried.
Mine.
What he might’ve done next he wasn’t sure, but the carriage shuddered to a halt. He drew in a breath and straightened, easing
his bunched shoulders. Glancing outside, he could see they were in front of his aunt’s house.

He turned back to Miss Corning and held out his hand. “Shall we?”

She eyed his hand a split second before taking it.

And he hid a smile. Soon, very soon, he’d take what was his, but right now he had to face the horrors of a London ball.

Well, this was a terrible bargain, indeed! But Longsword looked into the Goblin King’s glowing orange eyes and knew that if
he were ever to see the sun again, he had no choice. He nodded once. At his assent, a great wind lifted him, whirling and
sweeping him high, high, until he was suddenly dumped on hard, dusty earth. Longsword opened his eyes and saw the sun for
the first time in seven years. The breeze brushed his cheek. He had just risen and grasped his sword when he heard a roar
from behind him.

Longsword turned and beheld the most beautiful lady in the world… in the grasp of a giant dragon….

—from
Longsword

Mademoiselle Molyneux had had only a little more than a week to plan the ball in honor of Lord Hope, but in that time she’d
created a wonder. Beatrice was hard-pressed not to stare as the viscount ushered her into the great ballroom. Three huge chandeliers
hung from the ceiling, sparkling like miniature stars. All along one wall, tall mirrors were draped with garlands of flowers
and gold silk, and a great pyramid of flowers hid the musicians in one corner.

“How splendid!” Beatrice exclaimed. “Your aunt must be a magician to have effected such a delightfully decorated room so soon.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Lord Hope muttered. “I’ve always thought Tante Cristelle had powers beyond a mere mortal’s.”

Beatrice glanced up at him in amusement. His body had stiffened beside hers when they’d entered the magnificent ballroom,
and heads had turned toward them. People were staring and whispering behind fans. Even so, he seemed to be relaxing a bit,
though he fingered the knife at his waist.

“Has she always lived in this town house by herself?” she asked.

“What?” His voice was distracted as he looked across the room, but then he glanced down at her. “No. Actually, this house
belongs to my sister—or rather her son.”

“Her son?”

“Yes. He’s Lord Eddings—inherited the title from his father. When my sister, Emeline, married again and settled in the Colonies
with her new husband, Tante Cristelle agreed to stay here and help manage the estate.”

Beatrice laid her hand on his sleeve. “You must miss your sister so.”

“I think of her every day.”

An expression of sudden sorrow crossed his features, sharp and fleeting and all the more breathtaking because he so rarely
showed any of the softer emotions. She leaned closer to him, drawn by his emotion despite the crowd surrounding them.

“Hope,” a male voice drawled from behind them.

Beatrice looked up to see Viscount Vale’s turquoise eyes watching her curiously. He had a bluish bruise on his jaw. Beside
him was his wife, a tall, thin lady with a calm, slightly amused face.

She felt the muscle of Lord Hope’s arm flex beneath her fingers, but his face revealed nothing. “Vale.”

Lord Vale cocked his head. “Pity you’ve shaved off all those whiskers. They gave you a rather Biblical air.”

Lord Hope’s lips twitched.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Not at all,” Lord Vale said carelessly. “I suppose you must don the local costume like the rest of us.”

The lady beside him sighed. “Vale,” she said, “are you going to introduce me, or will you continue to trade insults with Lord
Hope for the rest of the night?”

“I do beg your pardon, my lady wife.” Lord Vale turned and held out his hand to the lady, who placed her fingers in his. “May
I introduce you to Reynaud St. Aubyn, Viscount Hope and no doubt soon to be the true Earl of Blanchard? Hope, this is my lady
wife, Melisande Renshaw, Viscountess Vale.”

The lady made a stately curtsy as Lord Hope bowed over her hand. “An honor, my lady, but we’ve already met, I think. Were
you not a dear friend and neighbor of my sister, Emeline?”

Lady Vale’s pale cheeks pinkened delicately. “Indeed, my lord. I spent many a happy afternoon at the Blanchard estate in Suffolk.
I know your sister will be very pleased to hear that you are well. The news of your death was a terrible blow to her.”

Lord Hope stiffened, but he only nodded to Lady Vale.

“And this,” continued Lord Vale, “is Hope’s cousin, Miss Corning, whom we met last spring at Mother’s garden party.”

“How do you do, ma’am?” Beatrice murmured as she sank into a curtsy.

When she rose, she saw that the lady and her husband seemed to be exchanging some kind of silent communication.

Lady Vale smiled and turned to Beatrice. “Would you care to stroll with me, Miss Corning, and admire Miss Molyneux’s fine
decorations? Vale says we must hold a ball of our own soon, and I would be grateful for your opinion.”

“Of course,” Beatrice said. The gentlemen were outwardly polite, but there was a tension in their stances. Obviously Lord
Vale wished to talk with Lord Hope alone.

Lady Vale linked her arm with Beatrice’s, and they began a slow perambulation of the room.

“Do you make your home in London always, Miss Corning?” Lady Vale asked.

“I live with my uncle, ma’am, in Blanchard House.” Beatrice darted a quick look over her shoulder. Lord Vale was talking intently
with Lord Hope, but at least they hadn’t come to fisticuffs. She faced forward again. “That is where Lord Hope is staying
at the moment as well.”

“Oh. That must be… interesting,” Lady Vale murmured.

“Yes, it certainly is. I believe Lord Hope stays out of pure contrariness.” Beatrice glanced at her companion. “You knew him
when he was a boy?”

“He was away at school generally when I visited the Blanchard country estate, but, yes, he was a young boy, not quite a man.
I remember that Emeline and I had not yet come out when he bought his commission in the army.”

“What was he like?”

Lady Vale was silent a moment as they made a wide arc. They came to a side hall, and she asked, “Do you mind? I rather dislike
crowds.”

“Not at all,” Beatrice replied.

After the brightness of the ballroom, the hallway’s lighting was muted. Tall portraits lined the walls. A few other guests
drifted here and there, but they were distant enough not to overhear their conversation.

“You asked about Lord Hope,” Lady Vale began. “I did not see him often when I was young, but I remember being rather in awe
of him.”

“Really?”

Lady Vale nodded. “He was so very handsome, even then. But there was more. He was the young heir to the throne, as it were.
He almost seemed to have a golden glow about him.”

Beatrice bowed her head, contemplating this information as they walked. What a downfall it must’ve been for a man with a “golden
glow” to have been made a slave. How much more humiliating it must’ve been for proud Lord Hope to sink so low. They came to
a tall portrait of a man in armor in the style of the last century, and Lady Vale stopped.

She tilted her head, studying the painting. “His hair is quite extravagant, isn’t it?”

Beatrice looked at the painting and smiled. The gentleman had abundant dark curls hanging on either side of his face. “And
he’s proud of it, isn’t he?”

“Indeed.”

They were silent for a moment.

Then Beatrice said, “There’s a portrait of Lord Hope that hangs in the sitting room of Blanchard House. It’s always been there,
ever since I arrived when I was nineteen. I think it must’ve been painted when he was about the age you speak of. He’s so
handsome and looks so lighthearted. I used to think he was hiding a mischievous thought when he was painted. I confess I’ve
spent hours staring at that painting. It rather fascinated me.” She felt Lady Vale turn and look at her and knew she was blushing.
“You must think me a fool.”

“Not at all,” the other lady said gently. “Merely a romantic.”

“But you see, since Lord Hope’s return . . .” She had to pause and swallow because her throat had tightened. “He was captured
and held by Indians. Did you know?”

“No, I did not,” the other woman murmured.

Beatrice nodded, taking a deep breath. “I don’t see anything of that young boy in him anymore—the laughing boy in the painting.
The things that happened to him in the Colonies were so very terrible that they changed him. He’s grim now. Intent only on
regaining his title. It’s as if he’s forgotten what he was before, as if he’s forgotten how to enjoy life.”

Lady Vale sighed. “My husband was in that war as well. He is quite merry on the outside, but inside there are wounds, believe
me.”

Beatrice thought about that. “But Lord Vale seems more free somehow. He is happy, isn’t he?”

“I think so.” Lady Vale smiled a secret smile. “But you comprehend that Lord Vale returned from the Colonies nearly seven
years ago, while Lord Hope has only now come home. You must allow him time, I think.”

“I suppose so,” Beatrice said doubtfully. It was true that Lord Hope was still adjusting to his return, but would time truly
heal him? Would he become more lighthearted, or had his experience seared him so deeply he was changed forever? She thought
of something else. “Does Lord Vale truly think Lord Hope betrayed their regiment?”

“What?”

Beatrice turned to look at Lady Vale. The hallway was dim, but the lady’s eyes seemed puzzled. “Lord Hope said that when your
husband came to visit him last week, Lord Vale accused him of being the traitor who betrayed their regiment at Spinner’s Falls.”

“Surely not!”

“I do assure you.”

Lady Vale sighed. “Gentlemen sometimes do not seem able to express themselves properly, and I must admit that my husband,
though he loves to talk, is not always effective in communicating. He’s never thought Lord Hope could be the traitor.”

“Really?” Relief swept through her.

“Yes,” Lady Vale said with certainty. “But the problem is, if Lord Hope has gotten the notion that my husband distrusts him,
it may be rather hard to dispel the thought.”

“Oh, dear,” Beatrice murmured. “Gentlemen can be so boneheaded sometimes, can’t they? What if they can’t work it out?”

The other lady looked grave. “Then I fear it may be the end of their long friendship.”

“And Lord Hope needs a friend very much right now,” Beatrice whispered.

“B
EWARE
,” R
EYNAUD GROWLED
. “I’ve lived too long away from society. I no longer bother calling out a man who insults me.”

“When have I insulted you?” Vale hissed. “’Twas you who hit me, man!”

They still stood almost in the middle of the damned ballroom, and if they talked too loud, they risked causing a scene. He
was already the object of curious scrutiny. If he lost control here, in the midst of his aunt’s ball, it would do irreparable
harm to his cause.

Cold sweat slid down his back, but Reynaud still bared his teeth in a parody of a grin. “I struck you because you had the
damnable gall to accuse me of betraying our regiment.”

“I did not.”

“You most certainly did.”

“I did—” Vale cut himself off to breathe forcefully through his nostrils. “We sound like lads nearly come to blows over sweetmeats.”

“Huh,” Reynaud grunted, looking away. He felt an unaccountable urge to shuffle his feet.

For a moment, both men stood silent, the chatter of the crowd rising around them.