Page 59 of A Deal With a Notorious Devil
“No, thank you,” she said primly, as if he had offered a cup of tea, and gently tugged her wrist from his hold, turning her back on him. “I’ve fulfilled my end of our bargain.”
Piqued, Chris reached out and snagged a pin that dangledprecariously from a loose curl and tucked it in the pocket of his trousers. He’d told her she didn’thaveto sleep with him, and it hadn’t been a lie—but she wanted to. He knew she did.
He said, “Are you still angry I went out?”
“Of course.” Her breath puffed between her lips, and she directed her attention to Hieronymus, who was basking in the heat of the orangery, his head tilted toward the ceiling, as she settled her hands on her hips. “You didn’t think I’d forgotten?”
No, but he’d hoped she’d forgiven. “I’ve survived worse,” he said. “You oughtn’t concern yourself—”
She threw up her hands in a little gesture of aggravation, as if he’d missed the point entirely. Which he supposed he might have done. “Of course I am going toconcernmyself!” she said, and the strident note in her voice had his brows lifting toward his hairline in surprise. “You are my husband!”
The word sent a little shock shimmering along his nerves, prickling the hair at the nape of his neck. His fingers tingled, and his toes. His cock throbbed. God help him if she glanced down; it would be undeniable.
She’d never said the word before. Not to him, at least. It was true, of course, but it had been only a word, only a title, signifying only that they were bound in the eyes of the law. Now, he thought, maybe they were bound by something more than that. Something more raw and visceral. Something that could not be defined by anything so simple as wedding vows.
“Got to have a wedding night to be a proper husband,” he said. And then, when she slanted him a killing glance beneath her thick lashes, he added, “What? That’s the law. I didn’t make it.”
“Thatwas not part of our arrangement,” she said.
“It could be.” He eased closer, careful of the tiny patches of water that decorated the floor, produced by the humidity. “I’m open to renegotiation.”
Her lips pinched into a haughty moue, her chin tilting upward stubbornly. “What have you got to negotiate with?” she asked.
The question gave him pause. He had—well, he had money, of course, but she had no need of it. There were no secrets in her past by which she might be extorted of which he was aware, and even if she had them, how would he manage it? He had married her for her station and reputation, which it would hardly behoove him to besmirch. He was well enough accustomed to bringing men to their knees, to pressing his thumb upon particular pressure points until they had yielded exactly what he wanted.
He had no such leverage against his wife.Hell. “What do you want?” he asked.
“I want not to be widowed prematurely!” There was a wealth of annoyance in her voice, and the fine arches of her brows descended into a sharp glare. “Whatever it is you have done to put yourself in such danger, you mustundoit.”
“Why, Phoebe,” he said, faintly amused. “Have you come for care for me?”
For just a moment, that dour expression lifted, shock sliding across her face, chased away swiftly by the flushed heat of mortification. “Please,” she sniffed, and shoved past him to walk to the other side of the planter box. “It’s only that I should be obliged to mourn you for a year. Black does not suit me, and I abhor crepe and bombazine.”
Chris smothered a laugh in his palm. “After half a year, you’d be allowed lavender I should think. You’d look lovely in lavender.” Phoebe produced a glare so scathing he was surprised he’d not expired where he stood. “All right,” he said, holding up one hand in a gesture of surrender. “What else, then?”
The glare softened, muted to confusion instead of vexation. She peered at him through the shiny leaves of the orange tree.“What else?”
“Have you got any other conditions I ought to know of? I’d hate to shutter the most nefarious of my business interests with the intention of seeking your favor only to find it dangled forever beyond my reach.”
She blinked, her brows drawing together. “You will cease whatever…er, unethical conduct in which you might be presently engaged?”
Well, notallof it. Sometimes there were men that just needed killing—or maiming. “I’ll cease that which can be traced back to me,” he said. “Extortion and blackmail don’t pay so well as they once did.”
“They why do you do it?”
“Nowadays?” He grinned. “For fun. It’s quite an enjoyable thing, to have a lord in one’s pocket. Most especially one who resents being there. A balm to my baseborn soul.” And there was every chance he might wrangle a few more favors out of those whom he’d released from that bondage.
“Youdorealize that blackmailing those with whom you would socialize isn’t the wisest of decisions?”
“In retrospect, it does seem rather short-sighted.” Once, extortion had been his bread and butter, and the funds he’d made from it had financed many other ventures which had, in recent years, become significantly more lucrative. Largely he’d kept it up only for the amusement to be had, in watching some lofty personage struggling to mind his tongue, knowing only too well what a wreck could be made of his life if he did not. But unsavory stolen letters could be returned, evidence disposed of—and if he did not precisely make friendswith such a gesture, he might very well lose himself a few true enemies.
At the very least, it might assist in narrowing down who might be trying to kill himthistime around. “What else?” he asked.
“Well,” she hedged, trailing her fingers along the edge of a leaf, “There is the matter of your mistress.”
“Never say you’re jealous ofCharity.”
“I’m not jealous!” She punctuated this with a stern frown of offense. “Say rather I have too much self-respect to offer something I am not given in return.”
