Page 41 of The Devil to Pay

“Court her?” Jules said, alarmed. “I never said…”

Pip made an irritated shooing gesture. “Oh, go away. Go to Monmouth and don’t woo the lady you aren’t in love with and don’t come crying to me when you’ve bollocksed it all up.”

Jules opened his mouth to utter a stinging rejoinder and failed to think of a single thing to say in retaliation. Instead, he closed his mouth with a snap and stalked out of the room. In love, indeed. With Davenport! Pip had lost his bloody mind, poor fellow. It was what came of singing nursery rhymes and dressing dolls. Jules had seen the poor fellow cross-legged on the floor of the nursery yesterday, attending a doll’s tea party and eating an imaginary cake! Extraordinary behaviour.

Except that it had been rather endearing, and Jules had wondered if he’d be so foolish with his own daughter, and a vision of a little freckled girl with flaming red hair had come to mind, shocking him so profoundly he’d had to take himself off for an invigorating ride in the freezing cold until he came to his senses.

Well, there you were then, the two of them were barking mad, him and Pip both. Pip over his tiny little daughter and Jules… Jules was in deep trouble.

“Oh, Selina, what a stir you’ve caused,” Abigail said, her beautiful face flushed with excitement.

The girl had been all a-twitter at being allowed to attend her first proper assembly, despite not being formally out yet, but she was just as excited for her big sister. Selina admitted she was touched by Abigail’s sincere pleasure in her triumph, and triumph it was.

Unlike her disastrous debut, when Selina had been a shy slip of a girl, she was confident now, both in her own abilities and of her standing among the local people. Here, in this world, she was respected. Yes, perhaps they thought her a managing creature, too outspoken no doubt, and not one to suffer fools, but she was respected too. Everyone here knew she managed their estate single handed, that she alone had kept things together when her father and brother would have let them fall apart. Perhaps she was not a diamond of the first water, perhaps men did not fall in love with her on sight and write her sonnets, but they knew her to be a woman of sense, capable, and not a silly girl. As it turned out, that was a lure all of its own to a certain kind of gentleman.

They had only been here a little over twenty minutes, the dancing had not yet begun, and much to her astonishment Selina’s dance card was already half full. Unheard of! And all her partners were more than eligible. Admittedly, none of them set her heart pounding, but Mr Lloyd was a good-looking fellow. A man approaching his fortieth year, he was known to be one of the wealthiest landowners hereabouts, except for the Earl of Ashburton. When Mr Lloyd had asked if he might request the honour of a dance with her this evening, he had looked at her with such blatant admiration, Selina had felt a blush rise to her cheeks and become almost flustered. Such silliness. She felt as giddy as Abigail and feared she might giggle alongside her overexcited sister if she didn’t take herself well in hand.

Then the wistful, if ridiculous, desire that Mark might be here this evening to witness her triumph and see her in her lovely new gown chased away any desire to laugh. Though it was beyond foolish, she had to acknowledge the truth of the matter. No man would ever live up to him. Not even the estimable Mr Lloyd. Her mysterious gentleman was the most gloriously handsome, most maddening, absurd, challenging, interesting man she had ever known, or ever would know. But he was gone. She scolded herself before she could fall into melancholy. She had a wonderful evening ahead of her and she was dashed well going to enjoy it.

She turned as the music struck up for the first dance, greeted her first partner, and allowed him to lead her onto the floor.

Jules stepped down from Ashburton’s carriage, having decided it was prudent not to take his own, and walked into the assembly rooms. The place was an absolute crush and, not for the first time that day, Jules wondered what on earth he was playing at. Though he was happy to attend balls and even escort his mother or sisters to gatherings when required to do so, events of this nature always put him in a rare temper. It was a peculiar situation, to be that most sought after thing, an eligible gentleman, but when you were heir to a dukedom, husband hunting put you in the biggest danger in such an arena. He knew many men envied him his rank and fortune, and he understood that. His parents had never allowed him to take his privilege for granted, but that did not mean it couldn’t sometimes be a pain in the arse. The heir to one of the highest titles outside that of the royal family was a matrimonial prize many women—and their mothers—would go to outrageous and Machiavellian lengths to capture. He could never let down his guard, never pay too much attention to a particular lady, and never, ever allow himself to be tempted into a quiet corner or a private room, by accident or by design.

Yet here he was, walking into the lion’s den, and sticking his head right between the blasted creature’s jaws. Willingly! Not that anyone here knew who he was… he hoped. Most of his set would have gone to London after Aunt Harriet’s Valentine’s Day ball. That was an event no one of the ton would miss, for not to be invited was the most crushing blow imaginable.

A cursory look around reassured him of this fact. He recognised no one here and could only hope the same could be said of him. Either way, he could not return to town without seeing Davenport. Without telling her… Well, he wasn’t certain what he wanted to tell her, but he hoped it might come to him when he saw her. If the crimcon blew up into a scandal, he had no doubt his likeness would be plastered over every newssheet going, which meant Davenport would see it. She would see the ghastly story and realise he was at the heart of it and write him off as a despicable libertine before he’d got the chance to explain things to her. Not that there was a great deal he could say in his own defence. He was a spoiled aristocrat, despite his parents’ best efforts, who was squandering his life on women and getting himself into trouble.

He needed a challenge, that was the trouble. Something or someone that would take him to task for being idle, someone who knew him and believed he could be better, that he could do better… Someone…

His thoughts ground to a halt as he stood among the milling crowd at the edges of the ballroom. There was a dance in progress and Jules felt his attention riveted by the woman being led around the room by a handsome fellow with silver grey hair. He wasn’t the only one watching, either.

Jules looked around to see many admiring glances cast at his Boadicea. An anxious, sick sensation swirled in his guts as he wondered if he had left it too late already. He’d done things all wrong, kissing her like he had and then running for his life, telling her he was going back to town.

He was going back to town, but if she wanted him to come back again…

His gaze followed her around the room, and he found he was quite unable to take his eyes from her. Lord, but she was magnificent. The gown she’d ordered was perfection and whoever had made it for her deserved every commendation, for it fit like a glove. He had always known the figure beneath her hideous gowns was the kind to make a fellow weak at the knees, but Lord, how the dress highlighted her curves. The rich purple colour sang against her red hair and pale skin, and she looked like an empress. The amethysts sparkling at her throat and ears glittered in the lamplight and Jules felt dazzled, as if the vision of her would be stamped on his mind forever, burned into his heart.

There was a buzzing sound in his ears, but he did not know where it came from and nor did he care. The moment the dance ended, he was moving, striding across the floor with one purpose in mind. To claim his Boadicea.

Selina reached for the fan dangling from her wrist and applied it with some force. Good heavens. Three dances in and she was breathless. She had forgotten the stamina required for some of these events. Still, it was going very well, and she had enjoyed dancing with all her partners, though she had reprimanded Major Jones for holding her far too closely. He had apologised very prettily, but with such a twinkle in his eyes that she was uncertain she wished to dance with him again.

Abigail handed her a glass of lemonade and Selina took a grateful sip, suddenly aware of an excited murmur of sound as the chatter of the crowd increased. She handed the glass back to Abigail, who was frowning.

“What are they all in such a-twitter about?” she demanded.

Abigail shook her head. “I don’t know… Oh!”

“What?”

Selina looked at the astonished expression on her sister’s face and followed her gaze.

“I think that’s why,” Abigail said, sounding a little breathless.

Selina could understand it. The man striding towards her with such a look of determination in his eyes did not belong here. Though he wore the same outfit of black and white as every other man here, it looked entirely different on him. His cravat and shirt were the crisp, bright white of a fresh fall of snow, and his coat and tight-fitting trousers looked to have been moulded to a physique that would have made Adonis weep with envy. Everything about him screamed quality of a rank far beyond anything anyone else here could claim. He was breathtaking; he stuck out like a sore thumb, and he was heading straight for her.

Selina gasped. Whatever was he doing here and… who the devil was this man?

“Miss Davenport, good evening to you,” he said as he reached her and executed a formal bow.