Page 10 of A Deal with the Devil

Chapter Three

Kitty was on the wet, miserable rooftop because her sister was on the wet, miserable rooftop.

It was as simple as that.

Not that Devil would understand that, were she to imagine him watching her from the lilac bushes across the street. Which she would not. Because she was not that fanciful. Or insane.

In any case, she had bigger things to worry about. Like not plummeting to her death. All while steadying her sister with the bad knee and the birdcage full of annoyed hedgehog.

With any luck, were Kitty to roll right off the shingles, she would land on Lord Portsmouth and break his neck. Obviously, she would prefer other means of stopping him, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. And she was trying to be a better person. Despite recent evidence to the contrary.

Evie was quite right—running away was suddenly a perfectly reasonable option. Although crawling away was perhaps a better description. Inching, even.

The rain fell like silver needles, and then blew sideways so as to inflict maximum turmoil. It dripped from her eyelashes and soaked into her nightdress. She hadn’t had time to change into something more suitable, had not even had time to find anything more than a shawl Evie had tried to knit before realizing she could not knit. It resembled nothing so much as a confused fishing net in red yarn. Not subtle and not particularly helpful. Two terms to perfectly describe her morning, really.

The last month.

Year.

Never mind. That was a problem to be dealt with under considerably drier circumstances. With a pot of tea. Or a bottle of whiskey. An entire strawberry cake.

The wind gusted most disobligingly.

Evie’s slippers skidded on the wet shingles. Kitty made a grab for her and they teetered, dangerously close to the edge. She could have sworn someone shouted something unflattering about mad girls from across the street, but it was likely a coachman cursing his own now-wet state. There was no earthly reason for anyone to look up or even be able to see them through the sheets of rain. “Slowly,” Kitty gritted from between clenched teeth. “Slowly.”

“On the bright side, if I tumble to my death, I won’t have to marry Portsmouth.”

“You’re not going to fall,” Kitty said. “But if you should, make sure to use him as a landing spot.”

“I should have brought my cane. I could have skewered him on impact.”

Kitty snorted. “I will hire someone to paint it as a portrait. We can hang it in the foyer.”

“We can’t afford portraits anymore.”

“Oh, right.”

“I could paint him.”

“You are an atrocious painter. He’ll look like he’s part badger. Or like he’s melting.”

“All the better.”

“True.”

If you couldn’t jest with your sister on a rooftop with lightning flashing disconcertingly close to your heads, what was even the point in having a sister?

“Perhaps I should maim myself a little,” Evie said in a tone that was too considering and too even for Kitty’s peace of mind. “If I had a scar or a crooked nose, he would not find me beautiful anymore.”

“You’d still be the most beautiful girl in England. It’s disgusting, really.”

“Not to Portsmouth. He’s not the type.”

Because she was quite correct, Kitty only said, “Let’s save that for a last resort, shall we?”

“We can’t stay up here all day.” Evie had to shout over the sudden burst of wind.

“I have a plan!” Kitty shouted back.