Page 115 of A Deal with the Devil

Chapter Twenty-Eight

She pulled the curtains aside to see her reflection in the window. The gown really did glow. She certainly looked elegant enough to corner Lord Portsmouth and drown him in a champagne bucket. Beat him about the head with his own blackmail letters.

She rubbed at her breastbone and realized it was not burning in that painful way it usually did, and had not done so for a few days. Long before they had found their secret weapon against Portsmouth.

Who had already left.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Miss Caldecott, who has condescended to be my wife.” Kitty pinched Devil’s arm for his dramatic declaration. He smiled down at her, whispering, “Careful—I’ll recite a sonnet to your beauty.”

She narrowed one eye. “I will jump right out that window.”

He chuckled. The guests paused, whispered. Devil frowned. “Why did they always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Act like I’ve drawn a sword every time I smile.”

“Because you’re the Devil,” she said. “And you’re very good at it.”

“You don’t tremble before me.”

Not precisely true. “I happen to prefer a devil,” she said. “Now, where’s Portsmouth so you can stab him with your pitchfork?”

He looked so fond of her bloodthirsty demands that he brushed his mouth over the top of her head, barely there. A hint of a kiss. Shocking in public, even in one’s own drawing room. Kitty blushed. So did three other ladies.

“Honestly,” she muttered, “you should not be allowed out in public.”

It was almost a relief when, as the guests finally trailed out, Tom came to whisper in his ear to call him away on business at the Sins. She needed a moment to collect herself.

Several moments.

The way he stood by her, looked down at her even when surrounded by the Ton, by his own family: as if he wanted to keep her. As if he would fight for her. As if he did not care who knew it, in fact insisted everyone acknowledge it or be damned.

It had never felt more real, this little deception of theirs.

And for the first time, it hurt. She wanted so much for it to be real. That he might keep her, that she might keep him. That Evie was safe, and Devil had his stolen wager back and he still wanted to be around her. That he might even miss her when she was not around. Marriage was hardly a thing she expected. But to give him up now seemed a Herculean task.

And there was no one to blame but herself. No one else to make it right. She had read enough books to know that sometimes the Kraken prince could not live on dry land. The dragon queen needed the sky, and her mortal lover was not flameproof.

And she had no right to the doldrums. They were so close to freeing Evie, to getting her life back. Even if that meant finding a way to support them, finding a place to live that would not put them at the mercy of her father and aunt.

She turned her betrothal ring around and around on her finger. Devil had nonchalantly suggested she could sell all of the jewelry he had given her. And the reality was that she would have to. But not her ring. Not the one with the stones that matched her bookshop. Even if she had to wear it on her right hand or not at all, she already knew she would not be able to bring herself to part with it.

It was hers, just as she was Devil’s, even if he never knew it.

Kitty changed out of her gold gown and back into her gray dress with the ink stain on the sleeve. Devil might be gone for hours yet, and she knew that if she rattled around his big, fancy house she would only drive herself mad. Work cures all ills, or so her grandmother claimed. Mostly to annoy her son-in-law, it had to be said.

It was a strange thing to feel melancholy but also happy, relieved but adrift. Some time spent at the Golden Griffin would put her to rights. It always did.

To his credit, Samuel did not ask questions when he pulled the carriage beside her in the street. She climbed inside because she knew full well that Devil would blame his entire household if she went walking alone at night. Even if it was only Mayfair and only just past midnight. She was hardly alone—there was a flood of carriages bringing people to party after party, to Vauxhall Gardens, to gaming hells. They would all be going in the direction of the Sins soon enough.

When they finally left Mayfair for Piccadilly and St. James and went north to her little shop, Kitty felt calmer. Wulf leaned against the window, eyebrows raised. “Bit late, innit? I thought you had a party.”

“We had the party,” she smiled. Portsmouth might have left before they could corner him, but she knew he was not far. Any one of Devil’s men would find him before sunrise.

“And did you dance?”

“I don’t dance, Wulf.”