Page 30 of The Devil's Bargain
“Or match you bite for bite.” Flo patted her hand. “The question is, are you hungry enough to find out?”
Caroline closed her eyes, feeling the weight of her decision. Devlin Elmstone was indeed dangerous, but perhaps she needed someone like him to survive what was coming. “Help me plan this wedding, Flo. Before I lose my nerve.”
“With pleasure. And Caroline?” Flo’s smile turned sly. “I know just the place for a quiet ceremony. The vicar owes me several favours, and his discretion is absolute.”
Caroline couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course he does. Is there anyone in London who doesn’t dance to your tune?”
“Only those who haven’t learned the steps yet, my dear. Only those.”
The small chapel stood half-hidden behind ancient oaks, their shadows like prison bars across the worn stone steps. Caroline’s fingers dug into her dove-grey silk gown, chosen partially as a compromise between mourning and bridal white, and because she refused to play the blushing bride for her blackmailer. Through the chapel’s door, she heard the murmur of the few witnesses: Thomas and Devlin’s men—more guards than guests.
“It’s not too late, is it?” Caroline whispered to Flo who was adjusting her veil beside her. “I could find another way.”
“There is no other way, Caroline.” Flo’s voice was firm as she smoothed her skirts next. “And I don’t think you could do better than Devlin Elmstone.”
“You can’t mean that.”
“I do. I didn’t want to influence your decision before, but—” Flo’s words were cut short as the chapel door opened.
Inside the chapel, late afternoon sunlight streamed through stained glass, casting jewelled shadows across worn flagstones. And at the altar, Devlin turned to watch her approach.
He wore black, as always, but the fine wool coat and silk waistcoat spoke of wealth rather than mourning. His dark eyes held hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. This was madness, marrying a man who’d blackmailed her, who could destroy everything she’d built.
When she reached him, Devlin took her hand. His fingers were warm against hers, his grip gentle but possessive. “You came,” he murmured, too low for others to hear.
“Did you doubt I would?”
“Until this moment? Every second.” His thumb brushed her palm in a subtle caress. “You’re not the only one who’s been sleepless with uncertainty.”
The admission surprised her, but she forced herself not to see his vulnerability, not to be duped. Instead, she focused on the sharp jaw that could clench with fury and the mouth that spoke threats. And the eyes that masked his true nature.
As the vicar began the ceremony, the familiar words washed over her like ice water. She’d heard them once before as Edward’s bride. She’d felt numb then. How she wished for the numbness now.
The ring he slipped onto her finger was a simple gold band, but the sapphire beside it caught the light like captured flame. The deep blue stone was nearly identical to the colour of the ink she used for her designs, a particular shade of blue she’dspecially ordered from Edinburgh because it showed the water flow patterns so precisely. She wondered if he’d known that and had planned accordingly. It wouldn’t shock her if he had.
“I now pronounce you man and wife.”
Before the vicar finished speaking, Devlin pulled her close. His kiss was neither gentle nor chaste. It was a claiming, a promise, a challenge. Caroline met it passively, but she couldn’t shake off the feeling that his possessive kiss had stirred in her. It was nothing, she told herself. An emotion only evoked by years of Edward’s neglect, of diminishing identity as a wife, a woman.
When they separated, his eyes blazed with triumph and something deeper, more dangerous. “Mine,” he breathed against her lips.
“Never,” she whispered.
His hand settled at the small of her back as they moved down the aisle, warm and proprietary.
The question of a honeymoon never arose. Their business interests were too pressing, their marriage too carefully orchestrated for such frivolous traditions. Not that the nuptial felt sweet like honey or that Caroline was over the moon about it. And so, Caroline found herself in her new bedchamber in Devlin’s Belgravia townhouse while spring zephyr rattled the windows like restless spirits. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her gown, trembling with rage, she told herself, not nerves. This was her wedding night, but the most romantic thing about it would be her passionate affair with her pillow.
“Allow me,” Devlin’s voice came from behind her, his fingers brushing her nape.
Startled, she jerked away. “Don’t touch me. You should knock.”
“My house. My wife. My bed.” His voice held that infuriating blend of amusement and pronouncement that made her want to slap him.
She whirled to face him, hating how her breath faltered at the sight of him with his coat and cravat discarded, shirt open at the throat. She forced her eyes back to his smug face. “I am your business partner. Nothing more. I don’t want you to think even for a minute that you can behave as my husband. In fact, you shouldn’t be in my private apartments.”
“Hm.” He stalked closer, backing her against the wall with predatory grace. “I intend this marriage to be real in every way. For three months anyway.”
Despite her body’s traitorous response, Caroline forced a cool laugh. “Not without my cooperation.”
