Page 14 of The Devil’s Bargain (The Lovers’ Arch: Later in Life #2)

14

The Reluctant Mrs Elmstone

“ A marriage of convenience,” Flo said thoughtfully, swirling brandy in her crystal glass. “Though from the way he looks at you, I suspect convenience is the least of his motivations.”

Caroline paced the luxurious private parlour of Madame Tansley’s establishment, her widow’s black rustling with each turn. “He’s blackmailing me into it.”

“And yet you seem more concerned with the timing than the coercion.” Flo’s knowing smile made Caroline flush. “The mourning period needn’t be insurmountable. You’re not aristocracy, after all.”

“But where would we even hold it? I have no family, no friends save you and Thomas. The church where Edward and I married is out of the question. The vicar still glares at me for living with Hampton.”

“Elmstone would understand better than most. He began with nothing too, you know. A guttersnipe stealing scraps from Billingsgate Market.”

Caroline stilled. “Yes, he’d alluded to it.”

“Did he tell you he was found half-frozen under a fish cart one winter? The merchant took him in, taught him numbers. But the man was a drunk who’d beat him bloody. So young Devlin learned everything he could, then used the merchant’s own ledgers to prove he’d been cheating his partners. Took over the business before he was twenty.”

“That’s clever but also...” Caroline swallowed hard. “Merciless.”

“Necessary,” Flo corrected. “Much like your own forgery of Edward’s signature. We do what we must to survive. The difference is, Elmstone clawed his way up from nothing. No loving father, no patents to protect. Just a savage determination to never be powerless again.”

Caroline sank into a chair, her mind spinning. It explained so much—his drive, his cunning, his appreciation for her own desperate schemes. “He rarely speaks of his past.”

“Would you, in his position?” Flo topped off their glasses. “London society barely tolerates him now, even with all his wealth. They’d shun him entirely if they knew he once picked pockets in Seven Dials.”

“Like they shun me for living with Edward’s mistress?” Caroline’s laugh held no humour. “Perhaps we’re well-matched after all.”

“More than you know. You both built empires from nothing, using whatever tools came to hand. The only difference is, he’s not afraid to admit what he wants which is not what he led you to believe.”

Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “What is it he really wants?”

“You, my dear.” Flo’s eyes twinkled with amusement.

Caroline traced the rim of her glass, remembering the intensity in Devlin’s eyes when he’d proposed. Not just possession, she realised now, but recognition. He saw in her another outsider who’d fought her way up through cunning and sheer force of will.

“He’ll eat me alive,” she whispered.

“Or match you bite for bite.” Flo patted her hand. “The question is, are you hungry enough to find out?”

Caroline closed her eyes, feeling the weight of her decision. Devlin Elmstone was indeed dangerous, but perhaps she needed someone like him to survive what was coming. “Help me plan this wedding, Flo. Before I lose my nerve.”

“With pleasure. And Caroline?” Flo’s smile turned sly. “I know just the place for a quiet ceremony. The vicar owes me several favours, and his discretion is absolute.”

Caroline couldn’t help but laugh. “Of course he does. Is there anyone in London who doesn’t dance to your tune?”

“Only those who haven’t learned the steps yet, my dear. Only those.”

The small chapel stood half-hidden behind ancient oaks, their shadows like prison bars across the worn stone steps. Caroline’s fingers dug into her dove-grey silk gown, chosen partially as a compromise between mourning and bridal white, and because she refused to play the blushing bride for her blackmailer. Through the chapel’s door, she heard the murmur of the few witnesses: Thomas and Devlin’s men—more guards than guests.

“It’s not too late, is it?” Caroline whispered to Flo who was adjusting her veil beside her. “I could find another way.”

“There is no other way, Caroline.” Flo’s voice was firm as she smoothed her skirts next. “And I don’t think you could do better than Devlin Elmstone.”

“You can’t mean that.”

“I do. I didn’t want to influence your decision before, but—” Flo’s words were cut short as the chapel door opened.

Inside the chapel, late afternoon sunlight streamed through stained glass, casting jewelled shadows across worn flagstones. And at the altar, Devlin turned to watch her approach.

He wore black, as always, but the fine wool coat and silk waistcoat spoke of wealth rather than mourning. His dark eyes held hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. This was madness, marrying a man who’d blackmailed her, who could destroy everything she’d built.

When she reached him, Devlin took her hand. His fingers were warm against hers, his grip gentle but possessive. “You came,” he murmured, too low for others to hear.

“Did you doubt I would?”

“Until this moment? Every second.” His thumb brushed her palm in a subtle caress. “You’re not the only one who’s been sleepless with uncertainty.”

The admission surprised her, but she forced herself not to see his vulnerability, not to be duped. Instead, she focused on the sharp jaw that could clench with fury and the mouth that spoke threats. And the eyes that masked his true nature.

As the vicar began the ceremony, the familiar words washed over her like ice water. She’d heard them once before as Edward’s bride. She’d felt numb then. How she wished for the numbness now.

The ring he slipped onto her finger was a simple gold band, but the sapphire beside it caught the light like captured flame. The deep blue stone was nearly identical to the colour of the ink she used for her designs, a particular shade of blue she’d specially ordered from Edinburgh because it showed the water flow patterns so precisely. She wondered if he’d known that and had planned accordingly. It wouldn’t shock her if he had.

“I now pronounce you man and wife.”

Before the vicar finished speaking, Devlin pulled her close. His kiss was neither gentle nor chaste. It was a claiming, a promise, a challenge. Caroline met it passively, but she couldn’t shake off the feeling that his possessive kiss had stirred in her. It was nothing, she told herself. An emotion only evoked by years of Edward’s neglect, of diminishing identity as a wife, a woman.

When they separated, his eyes blazed with triumph and something deeper, more dangerous. “Mine,” he breathed against her lips.

“Never,” she whispered.

His hand settled at the small of her back as they moved down the aisle, warm and proprietary.

The question of a honeymoon never arose. Their business interests were too pressing, their marriage too carefully orchestrated for such frivolous traditions. Not that the nuptial felt sweet like honey or that Caroline was over the moon about it. And so, Caroline found herself in her new bedchamber in Devlin’s Belgravia townhouse while spring zephyr rattled the windows like restless spirits. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of her gown, trembling with rage, she told herself, not nerves. This was her wedding night, but the most romantic thing about it would be her passionate affair with her pillow.

“Allow me,” Devlin’s voice came from behind her, his fingers brushing her nape.

Startled, she jerked away. “Don’t touch me. You should knock.”

“My house. My wife. My bed.” His voice held that infuriating blend of amusement and pronouncement that made her want to slap him.

She whirled to face him, hating how her breath faltered at the sight of him with his coat and cravat discarded, shirt open at the throat. She forced her eyes back to his smug face. “I am your business partner. Nothing more. I don’t want you to think even for a minute that you can behave as my husband. In fact, you shouldn’t be in my private apartments.”

“Hm.” He stalked closer, backing her against the wall with predatory grace. “I intend this marriage to be real in every way. For three months anyway.”

Despite her body’s traitorous response, Caroline forced a cool laugh. “Not without my cooperation.”

His hands came to rest on either side of her head, caging her in. “Cooperation?” A dark chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Are you suggesting you’ll use our intimate relations to bargain with me despite our agreement?”

“Perhaps.”

His laugh was rich with genuine amusement. “My Caroline, and here I thought I was the devil in this marriage.”

“Consider it fitting punishment for your sins,” she said icily.

He leaned close, his breath warm against her ear. “You underestimate my skills of seduction.”

“And you underestimate mine.” Her tone turned honey-sweet as she traced his jaw with one finger, feeling the rough stubble beneath her touch. Her thumb ghosted over his bottom lip, and she let out a soft sigh at the fullness of it.

“You appreciate what you see,” he murmured.

“Indeed. Quite a shame that such a sensual mouth belongs to a scoundrel.”

“Sensual?” His eyebrow arched. “High praise from you.”

“Makes me want to...” She wet her lips deliberately, watching his eyes track the movement.

“What does it make you want?” His voice had dropped to a dangerous purr.

Meeting his heated gaze, she whispered, “Sit on it.”

He choked, stumbling back with a shocked cough. Colour flooded his face as he struggled to regain composure.

“Are you quite well, Mr Elmstone?” She smiled sweetly. “I thought you made of sterner stuff.”

“I hadn’t realised you were quite so... bold,” he managed while rubbing his throat.

Caroline approached him with feline grace, trailing her fingers up his chest. “Remember this. I will never surrender to you, never learn to like you.”

His smile held equal parts frustration and admiration. “But you will. For now, I’ll play the patient husband.” He caught her wandering hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I’ll be in my study. Until later then.”

The connecting door closed behind him with quiet finality.

Caroline’s mind filled with fury. Damn the man for his arrogance! So pig-headed! Always so sure of himself!

She sat at her new desk, staring unseeing at the engineering diagrams before her. The technical challenge should have captured her complete attention, yet her mind kept wandering to the thought of Devlin coming to her bed. His arrogant words echoed in her head: “My house. My wife. My bed.”

Insufferable man.

By midnight, she had given up any pretence of work. She donned both her warmest chemise and thickest night rail, the layers forming what felt like inadequate armour against a man who had already proven himself capable of taking whatever he wanted. Her hand hesitated at the door lock, uncertainty gnawing at her. Would he come tonight? More troubling was the realisation that she wasn’t sure which answer she dreaded more.

She paced her chamber, irritated by her own restlessness. She ought to despise him, yet her traitorous body remembered the heat of his gaze, the commanding presence that made her pulse quicken despite her fury. How dare he make her feel this way? How dare he stir such forbidden wanting even as she loathed him?

No, she wouldn’t lock the door. It would only give him the satisfaction of knowing he affected her at all. Let him come or not. She refused to show either fear or anticipation.

Sleep proved elusive as she lay rigid beneath the covers. The tick of the mantel clock marked each second of her captivity. Eventually, exhaustion won over fury, and she drifted into an uneasy slumber.

The mattress dipping woke her instantly. Her body went taut as Devlin’s solid warmth settled beside her, his unwelcome presence changing the atmosphere of the room. The darkness seemed heavier, more charged, as if even the air recognised this violation of her private space.

“Get out,” she said coldly, keeping her back to him.

“No.” His voice held that infuriating calm that made her want to scream. “This is my bed too, wife.”

“Don’t call me that. You have no right—”

“I have every right.” She heard the rustle of sheets as he settled more comfortably, deliberately making himself at home in her space, she was certain. “And I note you didn’t lock the door.”

“Because I refuse to fear you.”

“Good.” His voice softened thoughtfully. “I may be a scoundrel, but I’d never force myself on you… not unless you requested it.”

Despite her curiosity, Caroline decided against asking about the details of that debauchery.

Silence stretched between them, charged with anger and something else she refused to name. The scent of his soap teased her senses, and she hated how her traitorous body responded to his proximity.

“Tell me something,” he said finally. “If you truly hated me, why not expose me? Tell Flo, report me to the authorities. Why not fight back?”

The question caught her off guard. “I—I did tell Flo.”

“You did? And yet I had no judge or thug break down my door.”

“She had the audacity to suggest you were the finest match I could hope to secure.”

His laughter was irritatingly loud in the darkness. It seemed to go on forever until he was able to compose himself to finally say, “We’re not so different, you and I. Flo recognises that. We are both willing to do whatever necessary to protect what’s ours.”

“I am nothing like you.”

His laugh was soft and knowing. “No? The woman who tied me to her bed and extracted my secrets through seduction?”

“One night of seduction is not the same as a marriage.”

“Perhaps…”

Caroline clenched her fists beneath the covers, hating that he was confusing her. Hating him. Hating herself for the unwelcome heat that pooled in her belly at the memory of that night.

Her body remained tense as she stared into the shadows. She willed herself to find rest, but her mind refused to quiet. Even his steady breathing behind her seemed designed to torment her senses.

Devlin woke before dawn, becoming aware first of Caroline’s warmth pressed against him. During the night, she had turned to face him, her head tucked beneath his chin, her breath soft against his throat. His arm was wrapped snugly around her torso, and one of her hands had curled into his nightshirt. In sleep, she seemed to be holding rather than pushing away.

The intimacy of it caught him off guard. He was accustomed to women in his bed, but not to this. This unconscious vulnerability that she would never willingly show him. Her usual sharp edges were softened by sleep, auburn hair spilling across his arm, her face unguarded in repose.

He allowed himself to simply watch her, to savour this moment before she woke and remembered her hatred. His fingers traced her spine through the ridiculous layers she wore. He had to admire her attempt at creating a fortress of fabric between them. But in sleep, her body betrayed her mind’s protests.

The first pale light of dawn began to creep through the windows. Soon she would wake, and the walls would go back up. She would put on her armour of frigid disdain, and he would pretend it didn’t affect him. But for now...

She stirred slightly, pressing closer, and his body responded instantly, sending electrical currents through his groin. Devlin closed his eyes and focused on breathing steadily. Patience had never been his strong suit, but for her, he would master it. She was worth the wait.

When he felt her beginning to truly wake, felt the moment awareness returned and her body tensed, he kept his own breathing deep and even, feigning sleep. Let her think she was the first to wake, let her believe she alone knew of their unconscious intimacy.

He felt her freeze as she realised their position, then carefully extract herself from his arms. The sudden cold where her warmth had been felt like punishment.

Soon, he thought as he listened to her quietly flee the room. Soon she would stop fighting what was between them . Until then, he would treasure these stolen moments of peace between their battles.