Page 47 of A Deal with the Devil

Chapter Twelve

It occurred to Kitty, too late, that she was not particularly good at this subterfuge business.

She ought to have stayed and taken lessons from the Spinster Society. Lessons in hiding, running. Stabbing. Definitely stabbing.

But here she was, prowling through the private personal rooms of the Portsmouth house with nowhere to hide. There was no time to wedge herself under the bed. She had already been spotted. There was only time to shove the scrolled paper down the front of her stays and then turn around with a startled, innocent expression.

Which froze on her face the moment she realized it was Lord Portsmouth himself who had found her.

Her heart stuttered sickly in her chest before leaping into her mouth, presumably trying to abandon ship altogether. Not that she could blame it. The earl filled the doorway connecting to his rooms. He may as well have been carved from marble: cold, cruel.

This was no way to convince him Evie was merely a young girl suffering from nerves on a trip for her wedding trousseau. Kitty had made a monumental mistake.

She already knew that, but it was quite something else entirely to be presented with it so plainly. Her mind raced and tripped over excuses, apologies. Should she try to laugh it off? Act as though she were lost? What earthly reason could she have to be here?

She tried to smile even though it felt too tight on her face. “I do apologize for intruding,” she said, hoping her voice did not sound as squeaky as it felt forced through a dry throat. “I could not help but want to see where my little sister will be living.”

Lord Portsmouth did not look convinced. But he also did not look like he wanted to toss her headfirst from the window. Much.

She shifted awkwardly. “I should get back.”

“About your sister,” he said coldly.

She halted. “Yes?”

He had not moved, but he made her skin crawl. “We both know she is not in Paris.”

“She…” Kitty trailed off. She did not know how to maneuver through this.

“You are smarter than your father by not insulting my intelligence.”

She had every intention of insulting his intelligence, just as soon as she had a viable escape route. As well as his honor, his face, the scent of his hair pomade…

“She will marry me,” he continued. “In two weeks’ time. I don’t care where she is or how you bring her to me, but she is mine.”

Kitty straightened, cheeks flushing hotly with anger. “She belongs to herself.”

“I think you’ll find that’s not true,” Lord Portsmouth said with careless arrogance. “Don’t antagonize me, Miss Caldecott. I have no patience for spinsters. Or girls who run from their duties.”

The threat sliced between them. Primal instinct made Kitty’s leg muscles twitch with the need to run, as if this were a dark cave with the tide inexorably rising, cold and deadly, instead of a stylish townhouse bedroom with silver candlesticks and boxes filigreed with gilded paper.

“You are nothing,” he added. “Your little shop is vulgar. Your house is rented. And all of it you retain because of my noblesse. Remember that. One match is all it would take.”

Kitty refused to flinch even though her palms went damp.

“In fact, you may just be the incentive I require. Obliging of you to present yourself.”

Run, run, run.

“There you are,” Devil said from the doorway, the light haloing behind him like he were an avenging angel. Or a devil, as the case may be.

He did not belong here any more than she did, but he also belonged anywhere he damn well pleased. It shone from the line of his shoulders, his etched jaw, the glitter in his eyes when he looked at Kitty, head to toe, as if searching for injuries.

When he looked at Lord Portsmouth, there was nothing of the drawing room in his face. He brought the battlefield with him. Invisible swords and daggers whistled free from scabbards between them.

“I’ve come to claim my betrothed,” he said, warning in every syllable.

Lord Portsmouth scoffed. “Her?” Disdain dripped from the word.