Page 28 of A Deal with the Devil

For one long, blessed moment there was nothing to do but give in.

Nothing to do but chase pleasure. Not even chase it, only meet it when it was given to her. She did not know what she had expected from Devil: expertise definitely, but also smugness. Maybe boredom with her, nonchalance. Power.

But there was only hunger and need and the way their bodies met, even with the layers of clothing between them. He was hot and hard and demanded every single bit of her attention. She gave it gladly, catching her breath when she remembered breathing was necessary, resenting it for breaking the tangle of their tongues. He nipped at her lower lip, and she felt it in her nipples and all the way down into her womb.

He grasped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His eyes glittered in the blue light of dusk. For a wild, beautiful moment, it was all that mattered. There was no theft, no debt, no sister hiding in a house in Mayfair.

“We have a deal, Miss Caldecott,” Devil said. “Don’t forget it.”

As if she could. She was more likely to forget her own name.

Kitty Caldecott had kissed the Devil. What was more, he had kissed her back.

It was embarrassingly difficult to concentrate on the mundane tasks of getting on with her day, but the Ladies’ Novel Society met once a month come hell or high water.

Come vicar or Devil.

Kitty was quite sure the society would break down the door were she not there to answer it. It had become tradition.

And at the moment, she could not afford to break tradition. Both literally and figuratively.

And she could not relive the feel of Devil’s mouth on hers forever. The slide of his tongue. She ought to have known he would kiss like that. Devilishly.

She had work to do. She would start with opening a window, because why was it so warm in here?

The front door opened, the bells jingling cheerfully. The sound door anchored her to the moment: her shop, her favorite books, readers who were as invested as she was in the lives of fictional characters. This mattered too.

First to arrive was Miss Peridot, elderly and rotund. “Why is it so cold in here?” She was eating a raw onion, as usual. Someone had told her when she was very young that onions kept the mind sharp. Miss Peridot very much liked her brain. She knew too many people her age who became addled or confused. And her age was none of your concern, thank you kindly.

Miss Cecelia Xavier and Miss Anne Sutcliffe followed, friends who had debuted together years ago and found each other much more amusing than any of their gentleman prospects. Lady Susanna, whose husband was very dashing and escorted her to the shop, greeted everyone with a tip of his hat and returned to collect her when she was ready to go home. Miss Hastings hid furtively under her cloak, which was not unusual for new members. Her hair was lightly powdered, turning it an undistinguishable color.

Kitty had hoped that the woman the Andovers had chased away might come back.

On the bright side, no one else returned with questionable cabbages or noxious eggs.

This was home for Kitty. Truly home. All that was missing was Evie sitting next to her with her needlework, making wry comments that always took people by surprise.

“Where’s Galahad?” Cecelia asked, pulling her knitting from her basket.

Galahad was also a treasured member of the circle. More than once it had been suggested that he be the president. As the actual president, Kitty decided not to take offense. It was difficult to compete with a hedgehog who rolled into a ball, leaving only his tiny nose poking out.

“And Miss Evangeline, of course.”

Kitty grinned when Victoria snorted. Everyone loved Evie, but even she could not compete with her hedgehog.

“She’s feeling a bit under the weather,” Kitty said.

“She needs raw onions in vinegar,” Miss Peridot announced. “I’ll leave you one.”

“That’s very kind.”

“Bah.”

As Kitty wasn’t sure how to respond to that, she offered everyone biscuits topped with strawberry jam. The book they had borrowed from her circulating library sat on a small table, well read. Kitty sincerely hoped it did not smell like onions.

“I admit, I fancied Lord Buchanan,” Miss Xavier said.

“Cecilia, he’s a villain!”