Page 113 of A Deal with the Devil

“True. Clearly a match for the ages.”

Hope flared in her chest before she trampled it down. He wasn’t serious, and she was clever enough to know that. It was getting harder and harder to remind herself that he was not for her. She would not ruin what they had—whatever it was—with unrealistic expectations.

Even if sometimes she thought he looked at her like he might want to keep her.

“There’s nothing here,” Kitty said softly. Her eyes prickled with frustration.

“We just haven’t found it yet,” Devil disagreed. “You’re not telling me that the Moral Scourge of Ladies’ Literature is giving up, are you?”

She scowled. “No.”

“I thought not.”

The carpet was thick and lush under her shoes as she paced. It was also nicer than he deserved. Everything was nicer than Lord Portsmouth deserved.

But it did remind her of something: the carpet in her own bedroom—a rag rug with horribly clashing colors that Evie had made for her. And that Galahad liked to bite. Also, under which Kitty hid any money she brought into the house. She hid Evie from suitors on the roof and coins from her father under a warped floorboard. She was very sure that none of the floorboards in this house were loose or warped or scratched up by a hedgehog, but even an earl needed a place to hide his secrets. Especially an earl like Portsmouth.

She kicked over the edge of the carpet. Instead of wasting time asking what she was doing, Devil crouched down to help. Then he watched her walk the length of each floorboard, head tilted, listening for the telltale creak or groan.

There.

If one cared to look very, very carefully, one could see the nail head sticking up higher than the others, and a groove in the side of the board. Kitty pried it loose and lifted it just as Devil lowered a candle stub, shielding the flame with his palm so it would not be seen under the door. The warm light fell on pouches of coins, keys, a dagger, and a packet of letters tied with a ribbon.

After a quick glance at the first letter, Kitty knew her smile was smug and sharp and vengeful, and she also knew that Devil would not hold it against her.

In fact, he smiled back.

They did not untie the bundle for a proper perusal until they had returned to the carriage. The cat had found them in the bedchamber and was not impressed. It seemed wisest to take what they had found and hope it was enough. Particularly as they had to make a grand and memorable appearance at their own party, and soon.

“Now we know how he keeps getting away with murdering his wives.” Devil’s mouth was hard as they read the letters.

“He’s using blackmail,” Kitty said, flipping through the pages. “I’ve counted a marquis, an archbishop, and one of Queen Charlotte’s ladies-in-waiting. A magistrate. A judge. He’s blackmailing them all. He’s made himself untouchable.”

“No longer.” Devil leaned back. “Secrets are power, but they aren’t the only power.”

She forced herself not to grip the letters too tightly, not to crumple them. “This is enough, isn’t it?” She was scared to hope. “To stop him from marrying my sister, at the very least?”

Devil smiled grimly. “At the very least. When it comes to blackmail, don’t you think we should show him how to do it right?”

She nodded, hope sparking more hope, sparking anticipation, relief. Renewed determination to bury Portsmouth in his own lies. In the ground would be better.

As the carriage rumbled along, Kitty pulled off her gray dress and her shoes and her very sensible stockings. None of which were suitable for the rest of the night that lay before them. And if Lord Portsmouth happened to notice that his belongings were gone, he would remember that Devil had welcomed him personally and that Kitty had greeted him while wearing a glowing gold gown that was impossible to miss.

Assuming she could wiggle her way into it.

She could manage just fine without a lady’s maid, but this kind of gown was not easy to handle while inside a moving carriage, especially with her mind whirling with all of the possibilities presented by those letters. In fact, this kind of gown was made by a very skilled modiste and fit Kitty almost perfectly. It had clearly not been pulled from a stack of dresses unpaid for or forgotten.

“Where did you get this gown?” She ought to have asked before. Did it belong to one of Devil’s paramours? She didn’t want to fuss, but she also had no wish to wear a dress he had peeled off another woman. She was ridiculous, of course. None of that mattered, especially not now. But there you had it.

Devil had been watching her wiggle about with great interest. “I had it made.”

“Yes, I gathered that. For whom?”

He tilted his head. “For you. Who else?”

“In two days? Without my having visited a modiste?”

He shrugged. “Yelena guessed your measurements, and I have found that if you throw a great deal of money at most problems, they tend to resolve themselves.”