Page 11 of The Devil's Bargain
“You mustn’t blame me for trying. I’m certain everything will work to our advantage.” Hampton sniffed as she rose to her feet. “Do stop frowning, Caroline. It’s very unbecoming. The invitation is already extended. We can hardly withdraw it now without causing offence.”
Caroline watched Hampton sweep away to instruct the footman, her blood simmering with anger at both Hampton’s presumption and Elmstone’s machinations. The man was determined to insert himself into their lives, propriety be damned.
When the evening came, it proved more unsettling than Caroline anticipated as she took her seat at the dinner table. Hampton had arranged the place cards to seat Mr Sutton beside Caroline, while Mr Elmstone and herself sat opposite them.
She watched with carefully concealed irritation as Hampton found endless excuses to flirt with Devlin throughout the soup course, her laugh floating across the table at his every remark. Yet she noticed how his dark gaze frequently sought hers instead, carrying an intensity that made her pulse quicken despite her determination to remain unmoved.
“The municipal contracts must be quite lucrative,” he remarked, his tone casual as he broke a piece of bread. “Though I worry about smaller companies maintaining competitive positions in the current climate.”
“Is that so?” Caroline replied, adopting the dull expression she’d perfected as Edward’s wife.
“A company like London Water Works wouldn’t last two years against a giant like Imperial,” Sutton said.
“Indeed?” Caroline widened her eyes.
“Two years is optimistic, my friend,” Elmstone said, shaking his head mournfully. “Nine months to a year, I’d reckon.”
Hampton and Caroline both gasped.
Devlin studied her face with appreciation. She felt heat rise to her cheeks at his pointed look but maintained her façade. “Our managers are very capable.”
“Clearly.” His voice held a note that suggested she didn’t need to point out the obvious. When he reached for the salt cellar at the same moment she did, his fingers brushed hers briefly. The contact sent an unexpected shiver through her arm.
“Mr Elmstone,” Hampton interrupted, leaning forward in a way that displayed her décolletage to full advantage, “you simply must tell us about your latest social engagements. I hear your hunting lodge parties are quite... memorable.”
Caroline watched his response carefully, but his expression revealed nothing as he smoothly redirected the conversation. “Oh, yes. Once your mourning period is over, I’d be honoured to have you and Mrs Thurlow attend.”
“How wonderful!” Hampton exclaimed, applauding enthusiastically.
Caroline narrowed her eyes as Hampton’s hand seemed to be reaching for Devlin’s thigh. Their honoured dinner guest pretended not to notice. The silly woman was shameless.
When the remains of dinner were cleared away, Hampton suggested moving to the drawing room. As if pre-arranged, Mr Sutton quickly went around the table to pull the chair back for Hampton while Devlin assisted Caroline. The subtle scent of his shaving soap reached her, and she found herself acutely awareof his height and the breadth of his shoulders as he towered over her.
She placed her gloved hand on his arm with proper decorum, even as her pulse raced at his proximity. As they entered the drawing room, Caroline drew a steadying breath. The man was exhausting in multiple ways, and so was the pretence. She would need all her wits to maintain her defences through the remainder of the evening.
Devlin found himself increasingly intrigued by Caroline Thurlow as the evening progressed. There was something mysterious about her despite her simple exterior. Perhaps it was how the sharpening of her eyes didn’t quite match the words out of her mouth. It might have been the glint from the lantern or sparkles from the crystalware, but it had suddenly occurred to him that there might be more to Caroline Thurlow than met the eye.
Her black mourning gown should have been severe, but instead emphasised the elegant line of her throat, the subtle curves beneath layers of restraint. When they moved to the drawing room after dinner, he found himself acutely aware of how her skirts whispered against the Turkish carpet, how the firelight caught copper highlights in her brown hair.
“Have you travelled much, Mrs Thurlow?” Devlin asked, noting how her eyes had lingered on the painting of Venice hanging in the drawing room.
“Oh!” Caroline’s face brightened. “Edward promised to take me to Italy for our honeymoon when we first wed, but businessalways seemed to interfere. I understand the buildings are ever so pretty.”
“You could see them whenever you wished,” he offered smoothly, “once freed from these business obligations. You’ve been a dedicated wife to Edward for nearly a decade if I recall correctly. You should be exploring the Continent, not concerning yourself with men’s business.”
“How kind you are to think of my welfare.” She lowered her eyes demurely. “Though Edward did mention, before his tragic accident, of course, that the company might fetch sixty thousand pounds from the right buyer.”
Devlin nearly choked on his wine. “Did he indeed?” His tone grew patronising. “My dear Mrs Thurlow, your late husband may have overvalued certain... assets. Particularly given the fatal flaw in the current filtration system.”
Caroline’s eyes sharpened, surprising him. “A flaw?”
“Yes, you see...” He lifted his finger, sketching in the air. “The pressure differential in the secondary chamber creates unstable flow patterns. Rather like... well, imagine water swirling in your teacup. The same principle applies to—”
“Unstable flow patterns,” she repeated softly.
“I’m simplifying the technical aspects, of course. The mathematics are quite complex—”
“Are you referring to the supposed turbulence in the reduction valve?” Her voice had lost its airy quality, taking on a razor-sharp edge that made him pause. “The one that maintains laminar flow through precisely calculated compression ratios?”
