Page 58 of A Deal with the Devil

“Evans,” Devil returned, more concerned with the way Kitty had stilled, her smile tremulous. She rubbed at her breastbone. She was uncomfortable. Waiting for some kind of insult.

He very much wanted to see London kneeling at her feet. Bloodied, if at all possible.

“Miss Caldecott this is Evans,” he said. “Miss Caldecott is my fiancée.”

Evans did not blink. He was too well trained and too professional for that. “May I offer my congratulations?”

“Thank you,” Kitty said softly.

Devil found he did not like it when she was nervous, quiet. It did not sit right. Not when he had once seen her throw a rancid potato back at a vicar, spewing the kind of profanity that would have shocked several members of the criminal underworld.

She was a veritable force of nature. And he would not have her shrink down for any reason.

“We’re here for a ring,” he said, flattening his hand on her lower back when she shifted to bolt. She stepped on his toe. Hard. He tried not to smile. He did not even try to not feel smug satisfaction. There she was: a flame finding its wick.

“Something simple,” she added, looking utterly horrified when Evans led her immediately to a display box of diamond and pearl rings large enough to give her hand cramps.

“Something beautiful,” Devil corrected her. “Sapphires, I think.”

Her eyes glowed, just a bit, when the new rings were procured. They were as blue as a Scottish loch, ringed with a stormy gray.

“Why sapphire?” she asked him, reaching out to touch one, then jerking back as if she were going to be scolded.

“It’s the color of your bookshop,” he replied with a shrug. “I assumed it was your favorite.”

She stilled, stared at him for one long moment, and then pointed to a ring with barely a chip of blue. “This one, please.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Try again.”

She crossed her arms. “What if that’s the one I like best?”

“Then that’s the one you’ll have, but since it’s not the one you like best, try again.”

“You’re very sure of yourself.”

“You’re not the first to say so.”

“It’s very annoying.”

“That has also been said.”

She huffed out a sigh, muttering something under her breath he chose not to hear. Evans folded his lips inward as if trying not to laugh or gasp in shock. Kitty had that effect.

“We also have some lovely lapis lazuli,” the clerk offered tentatively.

“Not nearly good enough,” Devil said.

Kitty snorted. “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

“If she won’t choose a ring, we’ll take that one.” He pointed to the most ostentatious sapphire, best suited for a dowager duchess who liked to show off. Kitty winced. She physically winced.

“You’re impossible,” she said. When she finally glanced at him, the hunger he felt must have shown in his face, because she stilled. The soft, delectable pink flush deepened, dipped under her neckline and made him think of all the places on her body that same shade.

He hardened instantly and very nearly groaned out loud. He wanted to trap her against the table and chase the pink flush traveling down her neck with his mouth. His tongue.

He was being undone by a modest neckline, a pink blush, and a smattering of freckles. Utterly undone.

He cleared his throat so his voice would not frighten her. Or encourage her. Even Devil ought not parade through London with a cockstand so painful it reminded him of his days as a young man. Where was his infamous indifference now? His cool, calm stoicism?