Page 32 of The Devil to Pay

She looked at him doubtfully, certain he was roasting her still.

“You think I’m mocking you, or perhaps turning you up sweet,” he said as realisation dawned in his eyes.

“Well, I’m hardly a pretty little wisp of a creature with blond curls like Abigail, am I? I had a season once, though a very long time ago, but I remember well enough what kind of reception I received,” she said tartly. “I’m no diamond, Mr Briggs, a fact I am well aware of and quite at ease with, I assure you, but I do not appreciate being teased.”

“Then I shan’t. Come here.”

Before she could protest, he had grasped hold of her hand and towed her across the room to the fireplace. There was an enormous mirror over the mantel, angled down slightly, so that if you stood back, you could see yourself from head to toe—something Selina avoided doing too often. Now, however, she was forced to face the mirror. Her cheeks blazed scarlet with mortification as this man, about whom she still knew next to nothing, stood behind her, regarding her with frank appraisal.

“I’ll give you the truth, shall I?” he asked, a ruthless edge to the words. “Like you did about my book.”

“Very well,” she replied, steeling herself.

She’d heard it all before. Nothing he could say could hurt her any more than it had the first time when she’d been a silly girl with romantic ideas in her head. She was a woman now, strong and capable and not about to fall to pieces because a pretty fellow didn’t find her attractive.

“That gown ought to be tried for crimes against humanity,” he began. “What colour even is that? Dishwater sludge?”

Selina stiffened, realising this was going to be worse than she’d thought.

“It’s moss green,” she replied with dignity.

“Perhaps it was five years ago,” he said brutally. “Does your father not give you an allowance?”

“Certainly,” she replied, though her throat was growing tight.

She’d spent her allowance on new dresses for Abigail, though, because she’d grown so much hers had become positively indecent, and then Charlie was growing like a weed and needed new trousers and coats with shocking regularity, and that wasn’t counting the ones he ruined with climbing trees and doing what boys did to clothes.

“And you don’t spend it on yourself,” he guessed, with uncanny accuracy. “Because why would you? Now, that style—if a style you can call it—in which you do your hair is all wrong. It makes you look like a governess.”

Before she could protest, he began plucking the pins from her coiffure with nimble fingers.

Selina gave a little shriek of protest, but he hushed her.

“Don’t make a fuss, you’ll have the staff running in to discover what’s going on, and they’ll find you with your hair all undone. Dear me, no, how scandalous,” he murmured, a wicked note to his words that might have thrilled her if he hadn’t been making her feel such a fool.

“Please…” she tried, but her voice sounded odd, weak and unlike herself and she hated it so much she did not dare say more.

“Now then,” he said, as her shocking red curls tumbled about her shoulders. He sounded different this time, almost breathless. Likely trying not to laugh at her mortification, she thought bitterly. “This… is glorious.”

“B-Beg pardon?” was all she could manage, because surely, she’d heard that wrong.

But he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he coiled a thick lock of her hair about his fingers and raised it to his nose.

“Chamomile,” he said softly, brushing it against his lips. Selina’s breath hitched. “So sweet and simple. Straightforward. No nonsense,” he added, slanting a look at her she did not understand in the least, his green eyes dark and dangerous.

Selina swallowed, her knees were trembling. She really needed to sit down.

The hand that wasn’t toying with her hair settled on her waist. “And as for the rest of you, Davenport. There ought to be a law against curves like these. They do things to a fellow’s intellect, like making him act like a complete fool and put his foot in his mouth, believe me, I know.”

“Y-You’re r-roasting me,” she stammered, hardly able to get the words out.

She watched him in the mirror, watched his expression become fierce as he met her eyes. “The first time I saw you, you took my breath away. There stands a warrior queen, was all I could think, a worthy opponent, the kind of woman a fellow goes to war with and prays he can win, for she’ll show him no mercy if he stumbles.”

Selina pushed away from him, tears burning her eyes. She turned around, staring at him in bewilderment.

“Why?” she demanded. “Why would you say that to me?”

“Because it’s true,” he replied calmly. “Because you’re a blasted fool to lock yourself up here and spend every penny you have on everyone else. Go to the damned dance, Boadicea. Get yourself a new dress, stop trying to wrestle those splendid curls into styles that can’t contain them. Free them and let them go wild, show off that outrageous figure to its fullest, and stop apologising for being tall and magnificent and managing, and pretty bloody wonderful.”