Page 15 of The Devil's Bargain
“Thurlow never deserved you,” he murmured, his tone rich with something darker than mere appreciation. “A man who couldn’t recognise the exquisite combination of beauty and brilliance before him. When I discovered the loveliness behind those innovations...” He trailed off meaningfully.
Only then did Caroline realise he had led her into a secluded room, away from prying eyes. Alarm jolted through her as she quickly put distance between them, though some treacherous part of her mourned the loss of his warmth.
“What precisely are your intentions in bringing me here?” Her voice emerged steadier than she felt.
“Peace,” he said softly, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender that somehow made him seem even more dangerous. “I merely wished to speak freely, without London’s finest straining their ears to catch every word.”
“There is nothing to discuss. My company is not for sale, Mr Elmstone, regardless of how many private audiences you orchestrate.”
“And if I offered you something far more valuable than mere capital?” His eyes held hers with unsettling intensity. “Partnership, Caroline. True partnership. Your brilliant mind unleashed, your innovations given the recognition they deserve. No more hiding behind your late husband’s name.”
The proposition hung in the air between them, charged with possibilities she dared not contemplate. How easy it would be to surrender to this devil’s bargain, to let him clear the path before her with his wealth and influence. But Caroline knew better than to trust a man who wielded charm like a weapon.
“You speak of partnership,” she said carefully, “yet your reputation suggests you prefer absolute control. Why should I believe you’d treat me any differently than your other... acquisitions?”
His smile held equal parts appreciation and warning. “Because none of my other acquisitions ever managed to fascinate me quite like you do. Your innovations in pressure distribution are remarkable,” he said, moving to examine a technical diagram on the wall, though she felt his attention remained fixed on her. “Most engineers focus solely on filtration, never considering the elegance of proper flow dynamics.”
“You speak as one who understands the principles,” Caroline observed carefully. “Unusual for a businessman.”
His laugh held a touch of bitterness. “I learned about pressure and flow dynamics the hard way, hauling water barrels at the docks as a boy. Sixpence a day to keep the merchant ships supplied.” He turned to face her. “Rather different from your formal education, I imagine?”
The admission of his humble origins surprised her. “I... had no formal education,” she found herself confessing. “My father wasa professor of hydraulics in Edinburgh. He taught me everything he knew, though it scandalised his colleagues.”
“A father who valued his daughter’s mind?” Devlin’s eyes softened. “No wonder you grew into such a force to be reckoned with.”
“He was committed to an asylum when I was twenty-four,” she said quietly, unsure why she was sharing such personal details. “His brilliant mind... fractured. Edward offered marriage and stability when I had nothing left.”
“And promptly locked away your genius behind his name.” Devlin stepped closer, close enough that she could smell his shaving soap. “It seems we’re not so different, you and I. Both climbing our way up from nothing, using whatever tools came to hand.”
“You built an empire,” she pointed out. “I merely improved my husband’s existing business.”
“Improved?” he scoffed gently. “You revolutionised it. Those innovations weren’t just improvements. They were brilliant leaps of imagination that most engineers couldn’t conceive, let alone execute.” His voice dropped lower. “Do you know how rare it is to find someone who truly understands both the science and the business? Someone who sees the poetry in perfectly calibrated systems?”
Caroline found herself swaying slightly toward him, drawn in by the genuine appreciation in his voice. “You’re trying to manipulate me,” she whispered, though the accusation lacked conviction.
“No,” he said simply. “I’m trying to show you that we’re the same. Outsiders who’ve made ourselves indispensable through sheer force of will. Imagine what we could build together, Caroline. Not just water works and breweries, but something extraordinary.”
His use of her Christian name should have shocked her, but somehow it felt right in this moment of shared confidences. “And if I still refuse?”
“Then I’ll continue admiring you from afar,” he said with surprising honesty. “Though I warn you. I’m far more persistent than Edward ever was. I recognise true value when I see it.”
The air between them seemed to thicken with possibility. Caroline found herself studying his face. Not just the sharp aristocratic features that had drawn London’s attention, but the hints of his rougher origins in the slight crookedness of his nose, the tiny scar above his eyebrow. A man who had fought his way up from nothing.
How dangerous he was, this devil who spoke her language of innovation and ambition, who saw her not as a widow to be pitied or a woman to be controlled, but as an equal to be pursued.
“Tell me more,” she heard herself say, “about what you envision us building together.”
His answering smile held equal parts triumph and genuine pleasure. And Caroline knew, even as he began outlining his plans, that she was stepping onto dangerous ground. But she reflected, as his rich voice painted pictures of possibility, that she deserved to dream just once. When she returned home, alone in her study, she would close herself to Devlin Elmstone’s charms and traps. For they were precisely that. Traps. To control her company and her heart.
8
The Brewing Storm
Devlin stood at the window of his opulent office, overlooking the sprawling expanse of his brewery. The air was thick with the scent of hops and yeast, a smell that had once represented his triumph over poverty. Now, it served as a constant reminder of the empire he had built and the lengths he would go to protect it.
He turned as the door opened, admitting his secretary, Mr Jenkins. “Any news?” Devlin asked, his voice taut with anticipation.
Jenkins shook his head. “I’m afraid not, sir. Mrs Thurlow’s solicitor has sent another polite refusal to your latest offer.”
