The Devil's Waltz

Annelise waited until the door closed behind her to sit down on the now-rumpled bed. It was a good, solid mattress—at least there were some advantages that money could buy. She pulled off her bonnet and set it down beside her, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror.

Having spent the better part of an hour staring at the perfection of Hetty Chipple, the vision was even more disheartening.

She glanced down at her feet. It was really unfair that she be cursed with big feet, particularly when compared to Hetty’s tiny ones. Of course, her feet were in proportion to her ridiculously long legs, but even so, fate could have been kind enough to make at least something out of proportion.

But fate had been busy elsewhere. She had long legs, long arms, a long neck and a long face. She knew her physical attributes far too well—she had fine gray eyes, but they were usually covered by her spectacles. Her hair was an indeterminate shade—a mixture of brown, blond and red hues, and the only thing she could do was pin it tightly to the base of her neck and hope no one would notice its odd color. At one point she’d tried to wear lace caps to further disguise it, which also had the benefit of proclaiming her old-maid status, but the caps tended to flap in her face and itch, or catch on the rims of her spectacles, and she’d given them up regretfully.

The cut of the dress was suitably shapeless, disguising her small waist as well as her large chest. Indeed, she wouldn’t attract attention from anyone, which was just as she wanted it…Unlike Hetty Chipple, who would draw trouble to her like a magnet.

On impulse Annelise stood up and went to the window, looking across at the rambling downs of Green Park. In time to see Miss Chipple, totally without chaperon, disappear into the shrubbery.

Annelise didn’t waste time with her hat. She raced out the door, grabbed the first maid she saw and tore down the steep marble stairs and into the street, dragging the poor girl behind her. Fortunately Josiah Chipple was nowhere to be seen. While Annelise was there as a favor to the shipping magnate, she still had a strong sense of responsibility, and letting a young girl run through a park unchaperoned was not going to happen while she was a member of the household.

It was a cool day, and there were doubtless strange looks being cast their way, but Annelise was too determined to catch Hetty before she caused a complete scandal to even notice. She plunged into the bushes where she’d last seen Hetty, dragging the hapless maid with her.

She could see Hetty up ahead, alone, seemingly waiting for someone in the shelter of one of the overgrown bushes. There was no doubt who she was waiting for, and no doubt that Annelise would have to move fast.

She sped up, just as Hetty started to step through a narrow break in the hedge, and caught her by the back of her gown, hauling her backward.

Hetty was too astonished to let out more than a little squeak, but when she saw who’d grabbed her, her bright blue eyes filled with a murderous rage.

“You!” she said, her voice rich with bile. “Leave me alone.”

There was one advantage to being almost a foot taller than Hetty—they were no even match. Annelise turned her around and shoved her at the maid. “Get back to the house, now!” she said. “And perhaps I won’t tell your father that you’re out to ruin all his careful plans.”

Hetty opened her mouth to protest, then shut it again. So there was something that still had power over Hetty. “I’ll never forgive you for this!” she hissed, and then flounced off, the maid rushing to keep up with her.

Annelise stood there in the chilly air, watching the pair of them, and she sighed. Challenges were all well and good, but her godmother had failed to tell her what a handful the girl was going to be. She might have to go to Mr. Chipple with her concerns, but not before she tried to talk Hetty out of her infatuation. Chipple might not know of the depth of Montcalm’s depravity—he wouldn’t have traveled in circles where Montcalm’s unsavory reputation was bandied about, but Annelise had heard more than enough tales of the absolute perfidy—

“I take it that’s Miss Chipple being dragged away?” a voice, rich with amusement, sounded in her ear. It was a warm voice, the same voice she’d heard earlier at the Chipples’, but Annelise froze. She considered her options. She could ignore the voice, follow the two women and never look back. Or she could turn and face the cause of all this trouble and put him in his place.

She had never been a coward and she wasn’t about to start now. Even though some small, sneaking part of her felt like someone turning to face a Gorgon, she knew perfectly well she wasn’t going to be turned to stone, or a pillar of salt, or anything at all. But when she turned, she felt herself stiffen like one of Chipple’s marble statues.

She had never been so close to him before. Her previous acquaintance, such as it was, had been across crowded ballroom floors, where she’d heard whispers about the women he danced with, the women he flirted with. She was well out of her league with someone like Christian Montcalm, and he would have been totally unaware of her existence—just another awkward wallflower. She had watched him, fascinated, and told herself “pretty is as pretty does” with a deprecating sniff.

But, oh my heavens, he was pretty! His dark hair was long, tied back simply, but one lock fell forward to caress his high cheekbone. She’d always had a weakness for well-defined cheekbones. His faintly tilted eyes were a deep, fascinating green—she’d never been close enough to see them before, but they held a hint of laughter that was undeniably appealing. And his mouth, his lips…It was no wonder he seduced every woman he met, talking them into doing unspeakable things. His rich, full mouth alone could seduce a nun.

And he was taller than she was. She’d expected he probably would be, since he towered over most of his dance partners, but that his height made her feel suddenly delicate was simply one more unfortunate circumstance. The man was well-nigh irresistible, particularly as he looked at her steadily out of those laughing eyes.

But Annelise was made of sterner stuff than that. She swallowed, then found her voice, grateful that it came out calm and cool. “That was Miss Chipple,” she said. “And she had no business being out here meeting a gentleman without a chaperon. Though no gentleman would have ever agreed to such a meeting in the first place.”

He appeared unruffled. “And what business is that of yours? Hetty didn’t mention she had an ogre spying on her every move. I would have been more discreet.”

“I doubt you know what discretion is,” she said. “—and I’m a friend of the family, keeping her company while she makes her debut.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, tilting his head to survey her more closely. “The Chipples know very few members of society as yet, and you’re clearly not of their world. You’re not a governess—you’re not meek enough. If I guess right, you’re a woman of breeding who’s fallen on hard times. So exactly who are you?”

A number of retorts came to her, most of them originating from the stable. She had learned a very colorful vocabulary of curses from her father’s stable lads, but she tried to keep them to herself. It was a cold spring day, but he was radiating heat, and those exotic eyes of his were very…disturbing.

“I’m someone who is going to make your designs on Miss Chipple impossible to carry out,” she said. “So cast your lures elsewhere.”

He laughed. Like everything about him, his laugh was enticing. “That sounds like a challenge. And a gentleman never resists a challenge.”

“But I thought we’d already ascertained that you’re no gentleman.”

He didn’t even blink after so heinous an insult. “I’d kill a man for saying that,” he said mildly.

“Then it’s fortunate for me that you have some standards, despite all rumors to the contrary. Goodbye, Mr. Montcalm.”

Another figure stumbled through the bushes, this time a shorter, slender man, with his hair askew and a faintly bleary expression on his face that signaled either dim wit or too much wine at such an early hour. Annelise didn’t care to find out.

“Who’s this Long Meg, Christian?” the man demanded. “And where’s the pretty little chit? I was going to keep watch for you but demme, I think I’d prefer to go inside and get something to warm me up.”

“Go right ahead, Crosby,” Montcalm murmured without moving his gaze from Annelise’s. “I still have some business to conduct.”

“Not with her, old man!” Crosby protested. “The woman’s a dragon. And a bit long in the tooth. Not your type at all.”

“I’m open to all possibilities,” Montcalm murmured in a silken voice. “She’s not that old, and if I can get her to remove those spectacles she might be quite entertaining.”

“There’ll be no getting beneath her skirts, old man. I know the type—too starched to even bend at the waist.”

Annelise had had enough. Bravery was all very well and good but standing so close to Christian Montcalm and listening to his friend insult her was more than she cared to endure.

“Good day, gentlemen,” she said, letting a lingering, ironic emphasis on the word gentlemen make her point. It sailed straight past Crosby, but Montcalm simply laughed that dangerously seductive laugh.

“You may be sure we’ll meet again, dragon,” he said, and for some reason the term sounded more affectionate than insulting. No wonder the man was so dangerous—even she was not totally impervious to his wicked charm.

“I doubt it.” She wheeled around and took off, back stiff, shoulders straight, as dignified as she could manage, being outside without a coat or a hat. She wouldn’t look back—they were probably laughing at her—and she wouldn’t run. Though it would take forever, she would walk back up the hill to the street and across to the Chipple mansion; she would not let him see that for the first time in what seemed like years, she was unaccountably close to tears.

“Bastard,” she muttered under her breath, liking the sound of the curse. “Goddamned rutting bastard.” Even better. Now she was feeling better. The tears had vanished, the house was in sight, and the next time they met she’d be better prepared.

But she was going to make every effort to ensure that there was not going to be a next time.

“Who the hell was that?” Crosby demanded. “You told me you were meeting the heiress.”

Christian Montcalm turned to look down at his slightly inebriated friend. Crosby had never been the most reliable of his cronies, but then, Christian didn’t tend to consort with reliable people. “The dragon got in the way. Don’t worry—there’ll be other chances.”

“You’re the one who should be worried. If you don’t come up with some money soon you’ll be in the river tick.”

“Nonsense.” He shoved the loose strand of hair away from his face. “There’ll be cards tonight, and I can make more than enough to tide me over until the engagement can be announced.”

“But you can’t always count on the cards, old man. They don’t always fall your way.”

Christian smiled. He wasn’t about to point out to Crosby that not only was he absurdly lucky when it came to cards, he was also skilled and unscrupulous enough to do something about it if the cards misbehaved. “I don’t expect to have any problem.” He turned his gaze back to the tall figure of the woman marching away from them. She was almost out of sight, which was a pity. She was really quite diverting—more interesting than the tiresome beauty was. His conversation with Miss Chipple, when he wasn’t stopping her mouth with temptingly chaste kisses, consisted of an unending line of compliments. For such a beauty she demanded constant reminders that she was, indeed, unmatchable. It was very tedious.

The dragon was far more interesting. True, she was no young maiden, but he’d had mistresses far older than she and enjoyed them tremendously. She couldn’t be much more than thirty, making her younger than he was, a thought that amused him. She spoke to him like a maiden aunt, scolding a naughty boy.

Ah, but he was a naughty boy. And he had every intention of becoming a great deal naughtier. And the dragon was just the sort of woman he could make mischief with.

He wouldn’t, of course. He was a pragmatic man, and he’d set his sights quite clearly on Miss Hetty Chipple, the underbred, over-rich, delectable morsel who’d just been snatched from him. Marriage to a compliant young heiress was just the thing to smooth his way for the time being, and even if Hetty seemed to have a mind of her own he had little doubt that he could control her. He had enough tricks up his sleeve to keep her docile and well behaved—sex always had the most interesting effect on virgins, and there were any number of ways he could manage to throw her off balance. And it would be most pleasant, given that trim little body of hers.

Then, when she grew tiresome, as they always did, he could further his acquaintance with the dragon, which he suspected would be far more interesting and a much greater challenge.

How would she look without her spectacles? How would she look without her clothes? She would have long legs to wrap around him, and he was connoisseur enough to see that despite her general skinniness she had a decent bosom. Yes, she’d strip quite nicely.

As soon as he could talk her into it.

But first things first. “We’ll go play cards, Crosby,” he said pleasantly. “And then perhaps I’ll decide to attend Lady Bellwhite’s soiree so I can further my suit.”

“With the heiress? Or the dragon?”

Christian glanced down at him. Crosby was never the brightest of men, but every now and then he was surprisingly astute. Or perhaps Christian had been too transparent. No, that was impossible. He’d spent years perfecting his charming, impassive facade.

“How well do you know me, Crosby?”

“Well enough.”

“Then you know I am, in all things, a practical man. Miss Chipple will become the future Viscountess Montcalm, and if the dragon gets tumbled somewhere along the way, then so much the better.”

“You’re an inspiration,” Crosby said fervently.

“Indeed,” Montcalm murmured as the dragon disappeared from sight. “I know.”

3

The last thing Annelise was in the mood for was a formal soiree at Lady Bellwhite’s, particularly after her unpleasant encounter in the park. Hetty was nowhere to be seen when Annelise returned to the house, and even the maid had disappeared. At that point she didn’t know which room belonged to her young charge, and she had no intention of asking. She’d been busy enough for one morning. Presumably Hetty had locked herself in her room, sulking. If she’d managed to slip out the back way and go off chasing after Montcalm again, so be it. For the time being she was on her own.

Lady Prentice had been less enthusiastic about this little visit than she had the previous ones. “I don’t like sending you to someone who smells of the shop,” she’d said archly, “but Mr. Chipple has so much money it could sweeten even the rankest odor. He seems a pleasant enough man, and while his daughter is undoubtedly pert and ill mannered, I have every confidence that you can help marry her off to someone suitable, thereby putting yourself in Mr. Chipple’s debt. He’s known to be a generous man when someone does him a boon, and if you’re able to turn his daughter into a titled young lady he might be persuaded to secure a small income for you. It would mean nothing to a man like him, and while living in London would be ruinously expensive, you’ve always said you prefer the countryside, and his generosity might even run to a small cottage on one of his holdings.” She shook her head briskly. “Heaven knows, I’d love to have you here with me, but I can barely scrape by with the little portion I have left. These men of ours, dear Annelise. Gambling ruinously, leaving their women bereft of both a man’s protection and the security of a comfortable income. Your father should have been horsewhipped.”

“I imagine he was, on occasion,” Annelise had replied, not bothering to rise to her father’s defense. She had loved him dearly, but there was nothing she could say that would make his misbehavior acceptable. Particularly when it ended in his death. “And I won’t count on anything until it happens. I may not be able to assist Mr. Chipple in his paternal endeavors.”

“Oh, I am certain you can. I have no idea what happened to the girl’s mother, but apparently there’s been no sensible female presence in her life for many years. You can fill that gap, explain to her the little details of society that are so terribly important, and who knows, you might end up getting Chipple to marry you. I could wish better for you, but the money covers a lot of drawbacks.”

“I have no intention of marrying, Lady Prentice,” she’d replied, scarcely hiding her shudder. “I don’t care how much money he has.”

“He’ll doubtless be knighted before long. Maybe even a higher rank. Money like that can buy a lot of favor from the crown.”

“No, thank you.”

“Just a thought, my dear,” Lady Prentice had said, signaling for the maid to remove the tea tray. “Keep it in the back of your mind.”

The memory of that conversation was almost enough to make Annelise pack her bags and walk straight out of the house. She could take shelter with her sisters for at least a short period of time, and the day had gone from bad to worse. All the money in the world wouldn’t make Josiah Chipple an appealing husband, Hetty was a brat, and as for her unsettling encounter with Christian Montcalm…

She could hope that was the only time she’d have to deal with him, but she was far too practical to entertain such a thought. He had his avaricious eyes set on Hetty, and he wasn’t going to give up without a fight. One she was entirely ready to offer him.

No, if she left this garish house and its spoiled mistress it would be tantamount to handing her over to the man. A dedicated wastrel could go through even the most extraordinary sum of money, and all reports concluded that Montcalm was dedicated indeed. When he’d used up Miss Chipple’s money and her beauty he’d have no choice but to move on to another conquest. He’d have the hindrance of a wife, tucked away in some country estate to interfere with his fortune hunting. But there were things that could be done about that, accidents that could be arranged, and she wouldn’t put anything past the man with the cool, laughing eyes.

“Enough, Annelise!” she said out loud. She was a practical woman, full of common sense, accepting of her lot in life and embracing it without complaint. Her one failing was an excess of imagination. Few people knew she read lurid novels whenever she was alone or that she could embroider the most fantastic tales about total strangers in a matter of moments simply for her own amusement. At least she had the sense to know it was only a fantasy. Christian Montcalm might be a fortune hunter and a scoundrel, but that didn’t make him a murderer.

She was blowing things out of proportion again, she reminded herself. There would be more than enough handsome young men at Lady Bellwhite’s this evening, and with any luck at all Hetty would turn her sights elsewhere.

Or at least one could hope.

Annelise dressed for dinner in one of her two best gowns. It was black, of course, and very simple. The advantage to that was she could make it appear as if she had a veritable wardrobe, simply by the addition of lace and shawls and other gewgaws. The neckline was un-fashionably high, and she could only be grateful for the extra coverage, the skirt narrow, and the waist loose enough that she could dress herself without needing a maid to lace her. Lady Prentice had been very practical when she had seen to Annelise’s wardrobe. If only the clothes weren’t so drab. But it had already been decided by the world in general that Annelise would never marry, and why waste money on flattering clothes when they still wouldn’t be enough to attract a mate?

She joined Josiah and the rebellious Hetty in the library before dinner. Hetty was sitting by the fire, dressed in a perfect concoction of pink lace, and she tried to ignore Annelise’s arrival, staring into the flames with fierce concentration.

“You look lovely tonight, Miss Kempton,” Josiah said in his booming voice, and Annelise was uncomfortably aware of her godmother’s matchmaking maneuvers. “Where are your manners, girl?” he demanded of Hetty. “Say good evening to Miss Kempton!”

“Good evening,” Hetty muttered, still staring at the fire.

“And has my daughter been behaving herself? She’s a bit headstrong, you know, and she thinks she knows what’s best for her. I’m counting on you to keep an eye on her for me, make sure she meets the right kind of young gentlemen. I don’t much care whether they’ve a fortune or not—I’ve more than enough money to keep my Hetty in style for the rest of her life, including whoever she chooses to marry. But she’ll be wanting a title, don’t you know, and I expect she’ll insist on someone young and handsome. She’s too flighty to recognize the worth of an older, more established gentleman. I’m sure you’re not so unwise,” he said with a knowing look that was far too familiar.

Oh, God, he was flirting with her, Annelise thought. She managed her best smile. “Oh, a girl with Miss Hetty’s qualities can certainly expect to find someone of a compatible age and nature. In truth, I think she’d be best off with someone closer to her own age, perhaps in his early twenties.” A good ten years younger than Christian Montcalm.

Neither of the Chipples looked pleased with that statement, though oddly enough Hetty seemed less disturbed than her father.

“She’s marrying a title, and that’s all there is to it,” Josiah said flatly, and there was an ugly expression around his mouth that Annelise didn’t quite like. “She’s had enough of country living and local squires. She needs some town bronze, and then she can have her pick of anyone I deem suitable. She’s moved way past childhood friends.”

Who’d said anything about childhood friends? Hetty’s pretty little mouth turned downward, but still she said nothing. So there was yet another unsuitable suitor in her life. Clearly someone young and rural had once caught her eye, and she hadn’t yet dismissed him entirely.

Anyone would be better than a life with Montcalm and his cronies. She needed to find out more about this childhood suitor to see whether he might be a perfectly reasonable choice.

At least it showed that Hetty could be easily distracted. If she’d set her eyes on the exotic Christian Montcalm so quickly, then she could be gently urged in another direction without too much difficulty.

“If you’re talking about William I assure you I’ve completely forgotten him,” Hetty grumbled. “I’m much more interested in Christian Montcalm.”

“I’m not certain I like you seeing him, missy,” Josiah said. “I’ve heard rumors that he’s not quite the gentleman he should be, and I expect you can do better. Perhaps we don’t have to aim as high as a viscountcy…”

“Titles are overvalued anyway,” Hetty said with a suddenly hopeful look in her blue eyes that Annelise found interesting.

“Not to me,” Josiah said flatly. “And if we don’t go to dinner soon we’ll be late for Lady Bellwhite’s. I had to go to a great deal of trouble to get us an invitation, and it wouldn’t do to arrive late.”

“Actually,” Annelise said gently, “it would be even worse form to arrive early. About an hour after the event is scheduled to begin is usually the optimum time to arrive. That way a great many people are already there to appreciate the lovely entrance your daughter makes, and yet it won’t seem careless or rude.”

“Not everyone follows your silly rules. Christian Montcalm often shows up at the very end of the evening,” Hetty said.

Annelise smiled faintly. “My point exactly.”

“Then we’ll arrive precisely at ten o’clock,” Mr. Chipple announced.

“And leave before the very end of the evening,” Annelise added, only to catch Hetty’s glare.

“And I’ll be a lucky man, squiring two such pretty ladies,” Josiah said gallantly.