Notorious

“You never told me much about your childhood,” she said, and regretted the words as soon as they were out of her mouth.

Dev’s expression hardened into coldness. “That hardly matters now.”

Susanna winced at the rebuff and the sharp reminder that none of Dev’s life was any of her business now. He and Francesca had climbed high, she thought. She had known that Dev’s parents were impoverished gentry; for him to be betrothed to the daughter of an earl and for Chessie to aspire to marry a duke’s heir was fortune hunting of the highest order. Except that Chessie would not now be Duchess of Alton. It was her job to make sure of that.

Susanna felt a wayward pang of sympathy for Miss Francesca Devlin. Normally she was able to console herself that her assignments were better off separated from the object of their desire. The gentlemen she was engaged to lead astray were so often libertines or wastrels or simply weak-willed and unworthy. And it was true that she had no great opinion of Fitz, who seemed to embody all the vices of his class and none of the virtues: arrogance, self-centeredness and profligacy in just about everything. But even so, even if Francesca could do so much better than Fitz, Susanna admired her enterprise in trying to catch the heir to a dukedom. In some ways Francesca was an adventuress just as she was and it was a pity to ruin her chances.

Awkwardness hung in the air. Dev, whilst showing no desire to converse with her, also showed no inclination to leave. Across the yard Fitz was deep in conversation with Freddie Walters as they admired a glossy black hunter.

“Your sister does not accompany you today?” Susanna asked politely, slipping out of the stall.

Dev shook his head. “Francesca is shopping in Bond Street with our cousin Lady Grant. Some last-minute purchases for a ball tomorrow, I believe.”

“Lady Grant?” Susanna said. She could hear the odd note in her own voice and feel the sudden dryness in her throat.

Dev had heard her tone, too. He gave her a sharp look. “My cousin Alex remarried a couple of years ago,” he said. He paused. “You lived on Alex’s Scottish estate—presumably you knew he had lost his first wife?”

“No,” Susanna said. She could hear a rushing sound in her ears. For a second the sunlight seemed too bright and too hot, dazzling her. So Amelia Grant had died. Amelia, who had befriended her, advised her and ultimately ruined her future. But it was futile to blame Amelia for her own lack of courage. Lady Grant had merely played on fears that were already in her own mind. She had exploited Susanna’s youth and her weakness, that was true, but Susanna knew that the ultimate responsibility for running away from Devlin was hers and hers alone.

“I thought your aunt and uncle might have kept you informed of news from Balvenie,” Dev said.

“My aunt and uncle died a long time ago,” Susanna said.

Dev’s lips twisted. “Am I supposed to believe that, or will they resurrect as swiftly as you have?”

Susanna ignored him and turned away, stroking the silky neck of the gelding. “You have a sweet nature,” she said to the horse, “but I don’t think you would make a good mount.” The horse whickered softly, pressing its velvet nose into her gloved hand.

“Too lazy,” Dev concurred. “I suppose Fitz picked the horse out for you.” His gaze came to rest on her, bright and mocking. “He never sees beyond the obvious. For him it is all about show and he has as poor taste in horses as he has poor judgment of women.” He smiled. “Are you going to flatter him to the extent of paying good money for a bad horse?”

“Of course not,” Susanna said. Dev’s words had stung, as they had been meant to do. She could see the dislike in his eyes, chill and unyielding. Nothing could have made it clearer to her that it was far too late for regrets and far too late to go back. Dev believed her to be conniving and duplicitous, which was no great surprise since she had made sure he would believe it by spinning him a pack of lies.

For a moment she wanted to cry out to him that it had not been her fault, to take back all the things she had said three nights ago at the ball and pour out the truth. The strength of her impulse shook her deeply. But she could not do it. Whatever had been between them was dead and gone anyway and now she had a job to do, the only thing that stood between her and penury. She had not fought every inch of the way to save herself and the twins in order to throw it all away now. The thought of losing all she had worked for terrified her. Their lives were on a knife-edge as it was.

Nevertheless her heart shriveled, cold and tight, to see the contempt in Dev’s eyes. The only defense she had was to pretend he did not have the power to hurt her anymore.

“You have read the fortune-hunter’s rulebook, too,” she taunted. “You know full well I shall thank Fitz for choosing me such a fine beast and compliment him on his discernment whilst pleading my privilege as a female to change my mind and hold on to my money. My choice,” she added, “would be that mare over there.” She pointed to a spirited chestnut that was being shown around the ring.

“You have a good eye for quality.” Somehow Dev managed to make even that compliment sound like an insult. “Mares can be a handful,” he added, his gaze dwelling thoughtfully on her face. “But perhaps you are looking to ride something more exciting than a steady gelding this time?”

His meaning was crystal clear beneath the thin veneer of civility. Susanna’s gaze clashed with his and she saw the challenge in his eyes.

“I prefer a horse with spirit and attitude,” she said. “Whereas you—” she tilted her head thoughtfully, eyes narrowed on him “—would probably pick something as unsubtle as that stallion simply as a fashion accessory. All muscles and no brain.”

Dev gave a crack of laughter. “I wouldn’t throw away that much money on something that might kill me.”

“You have changed then,” Susanna said politely. Then added, as he raised his brows in quizzical challenge, “Wild-goose chases to Mexico in search of treasure, ludicrously dangerous missions for the British Navy, a preposterous voyage to the Arctic during which you boarded another ship as though you were a pirate …” She stopped as the look in his eyes turned to pure amusement.

“You have been following my career,” he murmured. “How flattering and unexpected. Could you not quite let me go, Susanna?”

Susanna had in fact followed every step of Devlin’s career but she did not want him to know that. It would only feed his conceit, as well as raising awkward questions about why she had cared, questions she could not and did not want to answer.

“I read the scandal sheets,” she said, shrugging. “They convinced me that you were as reckless as I had always believed you to be.”

“Reckless,” Dev said. There was an odd tone in his voice. “Yes, I have always been that, Susanna.”

At seventeen Susanna had loved that wildness in him, such a counterpoint to her staid and predictable life. She had been dazzled, blinded by the thrill of it all, swept away. Their secret meetings had been breathtakingly illicit. The risk had transfixed her. Even though a tiny, sensible part of her mind had argued that Dev was too handsome and too exciting ever to belong to her, she had wanted to believe that he could. Even though she had secretly suspected he had only proposed to her because he wanted to sleep with her, she had wanted to believe he truly loved her. For one brief day and night she had given herself up to pleasure, feeling alive for the first time in years, lit up with love and excitement. But in the morning had come the reckoning and after that she had paid and paid.

She swallowed what felt like a huge lump in her throat. It was too late now to regret her lack of courage or faith. She did not know why she should feel this misery, as though she had let something valuable slip away, because over the years Dev had surely proved himself exactly as irresponsible and rash and dangerous as she had known he would be.

“I am not Susanna anymore,” she said. “I am Caroline Carew, remember?”

Dev’s hand came out and caught her sleeve. She looked up, startled, to see the spark of pure anger in his eyes.

“So you jettisoned your name along with everything else,” he murmured. “You could not rid yourself of your old life fast enough, could you?”

Susanna shrugged. “One moves on from past mistakes. And Caroline is my middle name.” She paused. “I hope I can rely on you to remember that I am now Caroline Carew?”

For a long moment Dev looked into her eyes and Susanna almost flinched from the dark anger she saw there. Her heart was racing, her chest tight. Her skin prickled with awareness.

“I would hate you to think that you can rely on me for anything,” he said pleasantly. “Is not ambiguity the spice of life?”

“Servant, Devlin.” Fitz’s bored, aristocratic tones cut across them and Dev dropped Susanna’s arm as though it was a hot coal, straightened, turned and sketched Fitz a bow.

“Alton.” His voice was very cold.

Fitz’s gaze darted from him to Susanna’s face. She pressed her gloved hands together to prevent them from shaking. There was something about Devlin’s potent physical presence that got through to her every time. Over the years she had built up such a strong protective facade that she had thought it could withstand anything. Dev demolished it with one look or one touch.

“Lady Carew,” Dev said, and Susanna heard the emphasis he put on the name, “is trying to decide whether to accept your recommendation, Alton.”

Susanna saw the frown that touched Fitz’s forehead at the suggestion that his judgment of horseflesh might not be sound.

“He is a beautiful horse, my lord,” she said quickly, to repair the damage, “but I am in two minds—I can always hire a riding horse from the livery stables. Would it not be more fun to own a racehorse instead?”

She thought she heard Dev snort—but it could have been one of the horses. Fitz’s face cleared miraculously.

“A racehorse!” he said enthusiastically. “Capital idea, Lady Carew! Capital!”

“I am sure,” Susanna said, slipping her hand through his arm, “that it would be vastly exciting to watch it run—and to gamble on it, as well, of course.”

“Only if you are plump in the pocket,” Dev said dryly. His gaze traveled over her, lingering on the neat fit of her riding habit as it emphasized the lush curve of her breasts. “But I forgot—you are very well endowed, are you not, Lady Carew?”

His direct gaze brought the blood up into Susanna’s face. She could remember more than Dev’s gaze lingering on those curves.

“I do apologize for Devlin,” Fitz said. “His cousin sent him to Eton but education don’t make the man, I am sorry to say.”

“No, indeed,” Susanna said. Her gaze clashed with Dev’s cool blue one. “I am, as you say, endowed with many advantages that you lack, Sir James, including good manners.”

“Once a knave,” Dev murmured, without any hint of apology. There was a glimmer of wickedness in his eyes. “But you knew that about me already, Lady Carew. You know all my secrets.”

“I have no ambition to know anything about you, Sir James,” Susanna said coldly. Her heart was beating a warning; how much would he risk, how much would he reveal?

“You must think yourself fascinating indeed to make yourself the subject of the conversation,” she said.

She could see what Dev was trying to do: he wanted to suggest to Fitz that there was more to her than met the eye, that she had a checkered rather than a romantically mysterious past, that she had been his mistress, even. He wanted to imply that whilst she might be a rich widow now she was not the sort of person a marquis would marry, especially when there was the far more suitable virginal debutante Miss Francesca Devlin waiting patiently in the wings …

“Lady Emma not with you today, Devlin?” Fitz asked pointedly. He tightened his grip on Susanna’s arm. Susanna found she did not like it but resisted the urge to pull away, instead smiling sweetly at Fitz and moving close enough to brush her body against his.

“No,” Dev said. “Emma dislikes horses unless they are doing something functional such as pulling her carriage.” He bowed, a sardonic light lurking in his eyes. “I can see that I am de trop here. I will leave you to throw your money away on a racehorse, Lady Carew.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Susanna said. “Good day, Sir James.”

She could feel the tension in Fitz’s body as they stood together watching Dev stroll away.

“I say, Lady Carew,” Fitz said, turning to look down at her, “Devlin is most frightfully disrespectful to you. Are you sure there is nothing more between the two of you than old acquaintance?”

Mentally cursing Dev and his meddling, Susanna plastered on her most convincing smile. “I met Sir James on his cousin’s estate at Balvenie in Scotland when I was little more than a child, my lord,” she said. “I am afraid I did not like him and I made the mistake of letting it show. Even then Sir James was insufferably conceited and wanted all the ladies to fall at his feet. He has never forgiven me that I did not.”

She had not fallen at his feet; she had fallen into his bed. But Fitz was smiling, she saw with relief. “Grant’s estate, eh?” he said. “Sound fellow, Grant, but barely a feather to fly. The whole family is ramshackle. There’s no breeding to speak of and bad blood in the Devlin family.”

Susanna was surprised to hear him dismiss Chessie thus, especially when his attentions to her had been so marked and could surely have been nothing but honorable. But it augured well for her own plans. Chessie was as good as defeated already and none of Dev’s interference could change that.

She smiled prettily, squeezing Fitz’s arm. “I wonder if you have the time to accompany me to the wine merchant, my lord?” she said. “I require to purchase a special gift of champagne and I know you have a knowledge of the best vintage.”

Fitz looked gratified and Susanna, her gaze falling on one of the shovels used to clear out the horseboxes, wondered just how thickly she would have to lay on the flattery before he became suspicious of her. Dev’s stringent wit and intelligence would have demolished her in an instant but there seemed to be no limit to the Marquis of Alton’s self-regard.

“Delighted, Lady Carew,” Fitz said. “And afterward perhaps we may celebrate with a glass together, eh?” His smile was vulpine. “I should enjoy that a great deal, just the two of us.”

“That would be splendid, thank you,” Susanna murmured. “I very much appreciate having a friend to lean upon when I am so new to London.” She slipped her hand from Fitz’s arm and walked a little ahead of him so that he could appreciate the sway of her hips beneath the luxurious fall of the velvet riding habit. She could feel Fitz’s eyes on her—and sense, too, his frustration that once again she had taken a step back from the intimacy he was trying to create between them. Frustration bred eagerness, and that was exactly what she wanted from him. Smiling, she turned the corner of the yard and walked straight into Devlin, who was lounging against the doorway, an appreciative gleam in his eyes.

“Beautifully done, Susanna,” he whispered. His breath stirred the tendrils of hair that had escaped from beneath her hat. She felt them brush her cheek with the lightest caress. “What a lot of practice you must have had in the art of seduction.”

“Endless amounts,” Susanna agreed. She saw that Fitz had stopped for a final word with Richard Tattersall and cursed the delay. The last thing she wanted to do was reengage with Dev again and to give him another opportunity to undo all her good work.

“I thought that you had gone,” she seethed.

“Alas, I could not tear myself away,” Dev said. “I felt an almost overwhelming desire to see in action the methods employed by the modern adventuress.” He smiled straight into her eyes. “You are a consummate professional, Susanna.”

“And you are a damned nuisance,” Susanna snapped.

Dev kissed her fingers. She tried to withdraw her hand but he held her tight. His touch seared her even through the material of her glove. Her palm tingled.

“Choose another victim,” he murmured. “You could have anyone. Leave Fitz alone.”

“No,” Susanna said. “It is Fitz that I want.”

Something flared in Dev’s eyes, something dark and dangerous and hot. It held her captive whilst her pulse raced and her stomach tumbled.

“Liar,” he said. “It’s me that you still want.”

Susanna raised her chin. It might be true that she was still damnably susceptible to him but it was also time to give him a magnificent setdown. “You are mistaken, Sir James,” she said sweetly. “You are so conceited that you have come to believe yourself irresistible.” She flicked her hand from his grasp. “You might do very well for Lady Emma Brooke as she is clearly too young to know any better,” she continued. “But I assure you that rich widows can do a sight better than a penniless fortune hunter.”

“I did not mean that you wanted to marry me—again,” Dev said pleasantly. His gaze fell to her mouth, lingered there. “I meant that you wanted to—”

“To see the back of you,” Susanna said. “Very quickly. Don’t make trouble for me,” she added, “unless you wish me to do the same for you.”

Dev laughed. “I look forward to it.” He nodded to her. “Good luck, Lady Carew.”

“I don’t need luck,” Susanna said. “I have skill. Hurry back to your winsome heiress,” she added, “before some other unprincipled adventurer steals her from you.”

Dev nodded. “Advice from the best.” He bowed. “Your servant, Lady Carew.”

“I do not believe that for a moment,” Susanna said.

The laughter fled Dev’s eyes. “Once I was yours to command, Susanna,” he said. “All yours and no one else’s.” He raised a hand in farewell and walked away, leaving Susanna feeling shaken by a minor earthquake. For in that moment she knew Dev had spoken the truth. He had been hers and she had destroyed everything that had been between them and she would never have that again.

CHAPTER FIVE

THERE WAS NOTHING, DEV thought, quite like a group of ill-assorted people who did not enjoy one another’s company pretending to be having a marvelous time. It was raining, they were in St. Paul’s Cathedral and they were looking at tombs because Susanna had expressed a wish to see some of the more esoteric sights of London. Dev had wondered what the hell she was playing at—until he had overheard Fitz praising her for her intelligence as well as her beauty. Cunning jade. Fitz was pretty stupid himself, Dev thought, but he liked to consider himself cultured and what better way than to show the dazzling Lady Carew around this historic site that was the burial place of heroes.

“Remind me what we are doing here again?” Chessie grumbed at him. “I was supposed to be attending Lady Astridge’s musicale this afternoon. Instead you bring me to this mausoleum so that I can watch Fitz dance attendance on Lady Carew.” Her pretty face screwed up into a tighter expression of disgust. “If I had wanted to torture myself I would have stayed at home and read an improving book.”

Dev drew his sister behind one of the huge pillars that supported the soaring roof. He wanted to tell her to stop being so childish and petulant, but he supposed she did have an excuse. For the last fortnight it seemed that Susanna’s name—or at least her assumed name—had been on everyone’s lips. The ton was full of the arrival of the beautiful, rich widow in their midst, the papers followed her every move, the London gown shops reportedly sent her dresses hoping she would wear them to the nightly balls she attended. And Fitz was now behaving as though he could not quite remember whom Chessie was, so dazzled was he by his new inamorata. To Chessie, fathoms deep in love with Fitz and now thwarted and ignored, it must be unbearable. Dev felt a pang of sympathy for his little sister, who had been so close to her fairy-tale betrothal and was now slighted. Chessie was pining visibly, losing weight, appearing thin and wan, all her vivacious sparkle lost. The ton was laughing at her. Emma had told Dev all about the gossip and had, he thought, derived a certain pleasure from doing so.

“We are here to thwart Lady Carew,” he said calmly, “and you will not do so by flouncing around like a child in a temper.”

A spark of interest came into Chessie’s eyes. “Tell me how I am to achieve that then,” she said.

“By being everything that Lady Carew is not,” Dev said.

Chessie’s mouth drooped. “You want me to be ugly and stupid? I cannot see how that will help.”

Dev stifled a grin. It was true that Susanna was both beautiful and intelligent and no matter how much he detested her it was pointless to deny it. Very few men would be indifferent to Susanna. Some might dislike her wit, but with them she would be clever enough to pretend to be stupid. It was difficult to identify her weakness but he was determined to find it. Find it and use it against her.

“You are younger than Lady Carew,” he said. “That will do for a start.”

Chessie arched her brows. “Is that the best we can do? I am a year or two younger?”

“Four years,” Dev said, without thinking.

Chessie frowned. “How do you know?” Her gaze was a little too penetrating for Dev’s liking. “Did you know her very well in Scotland?”

Intimately.

Dev glanced across to where Susanna was perusing her guidebook, head bent, a very pretty picture of beauty and scholarship combined. Superimposed on the image of the bluestocking was another, that of the wanton beauty who had lain in his arms for just one night. In the heat of their lovemaking her cool reserve had dissolved into the most fierce and passionate desire. She had refused him nothing and he, drunk with the need to possess her, had ravished every last exquisite inch of her. His body tightened on the thought and he slammed the memory back down into darkness where it belonged. Reigniting that flame, feeling himself burn again for her, was not something he could ever tolerate. He was in control now. He was not that headstrong boy who had fancied himself in love.

“Dev?” Chessie’s gaze had become even more quizzical.

Dev shrugged the question away. “I’m just guessing,” he said. “And she is a widow—”

“Which Fitz likes,” Chessie said gloomily. “He prefers the older, more sophisticated woman.”

“Only as a mistress, not as a wife,” Dev said.

Chessie sighed. “Do you think that all she wants is an affaire? Perhaps if I wait—”

“You’re too good to sit around waiting for Fitz whilst he takes another woman as a mistress,” Dev snapped. He felt very grim and it was not simply all the tombs that were lowering his mood. He knew Susanna had set her sights on Fitz and he was certain she was not simply interested in an affaire. Watching his former wife become Fitz’s mistress would have been bad enough, evoking in him the sort of primal anger that Dev did not want to examine too closely, but seeing her become Marchioness of Alton evoked an equally strong reaction in him compounded of the same white-hot possessiveness and a fury that Susanna could so easily, so carelessly, ruin Chessie’s hopes. He clenched his hands within the pockets of his coat. Possessiveness was misplaced when his short-lived marriage to Susanna was as dead as ashes. Fury would not help, either. Cold, hard calculation was what was needed now to stop Susanna in her tracks.

“Perhaps I could become Fitz’s mistress instead,” Chessie was saying. “Beat her to the job—”

Dev grabbed her. “Don’t even say that in jest, Chessie,” he said through his teeth.

For a second he saw fear reflected in Chessie’s eyes. Her eyes swam with tears. “It was only an idea—”

“A very bad one,” Dev said. He let her go; tried to lighten the mood. “Apart from anything else,” he said, “I would have to put a bullet through Fitz and then Emma wouldn’t want to marry me anymore.”

Chessie gave a little watery giggle. “That would be no loss other than in the financial sense.”