Page 3 of The Devil’s Bargain (The Lovers’ Arch: Later in Life #2)

3

The Devil’s Price

C aroline bent over the drafting table in her study, trying to focus on the technical drawings before her. But her mind kept drifting to the way Devlin Elmstone’s presence had filled the drawing room, how his piercing gaze had roved over her form appreciatively.

A knock interrupted her thoughts. Miss Adler entered with a letter bearing his distinctive seal. Caroline’s fingers deftly broke the wax.

His handwriting was bold and commanding, much like the man himself. She found herself tracing the firm strokes of his signature, remembering how those large hands had engulfed hers at the reception. With irritation, she snatched her fingers away from the paper.

The letter outlined his initial offer for the company—insultingly low, of course. But it was his postscript that made her breath catch:

I find myself intrigued by the woman behind the widow’s weeds. Perhaps we could discuss terms over dinner?

“Insufferable man,” she muttered, though her cheeks warmed at his presumption. She penned a coldly polite refusal, unwilling to acknowledge how her pulse quickened at the thought of those piercing eyes studying her across a dinner table.

When she arrived at the Merchant’s Exchange, she told herself she’d chosen her most severe black dress solely for propriety’s sake. It had nothing to do with how the silk clung to her curves, or how the high collar emphasised the elegant line of her throat.

She felt his presence before she saw him. Looking up, she found him watching her from across the room, his gaze heated in a way that made her skin flush despite herself. When their eyes met, his mouth curved in a knowing smile that sent warmth pooling in her belly.

Cursing her traitorous body, Caroline turned away. She had more important things to focus on than how magnificent Devlin Elmstone looked in his perfectly tailored coat, or how his voice seemed designed to make her shiver.

She was starting to understand why he was called the devil of London’s business world. The man was clearly a master at finding weaknesses to exploit. She refused to let her inconvenient attraction become one of them.

Devlin surveyed the crowd at the Merchant’s Exchange with predatory attention, noting alliances and weaknesses in each cluster of London’s business elite. His gaze settled briefly on the solitary figure in black silk who stood near a marble column. Edward Thurlow’s widow, looking exactly as lost among London’s business elite as he’d expected.

Caroline Thurlow weathered the deliberate slights with typical feminine fragility. When Augustus Sutton brushed past without acknowledging her greeting, she seemed to shrink slightly. When Mr Whitmore loudly discussed the “shocking decline in standards” while staring in her direction, she busied herself examining a painting, her hands fidgeting with her sherry glass in obvious discomfort.

“Shameful business, that Thurlow situation,” muttered Harry Burns at his elbow. “Woman trying to run a water works, living with the mistress... hardly proper.”

“Indeed.” Devlin watched her respond to a patronising comment about “ladies’ understanding of business” with a self-deprecating laugh and vapid smile. “Though I suspect the company won’t remain in her delicate hands much longer.”

“Planning to acquire it, are you?” Burns asked knowingly.

“It would be a kindness, really,” Devlin mused, noting how she kept glancing anxiously toward the exit. “Save her from the embarrassment of running it into the ground. These technical matters require a firmer hand than most women possess.”

Yet something about her presence here nagged at him. Why would a helpless widow attend such a gathering unless... But no. Her obvious discomfort and scattered attention confirmed his initial assessment. She was simply out of her depth, as any proper lady would be in such circumstances.

A commotion near the entrance drew his attention. Nathaniel Worthington had arrived, the man’s usual bombastic manner amplified by brandy. Devlin’s eyes narrowed. Worthington owed him a considerable sum, and his patience had reached its limit.

“Gregory!” Worthington boomed at a friend, weaving through the crowd. “Just the man I wanted to see. About that—”

“A moment.” Devlin caught Worthington’s arm in a grip that was meant to look companionable but was strong as iron. He steered the man toward a quiet alcove, noting how Caroline watched their progress with interest.

“My dear Worthington,” Devlin said softly once they were alone. “I’ve been most understanding about your delayed payments. But my understanding, like my patience, has limits.”

“Now see here, Elmstone—”

“No. You’ll sign over the deed to your warehouse by week’s end, or I’ll call in every marker you’ve laid in the city. How long do you think your reputation would survive that particular scandal becoming public?”

Worthington’s face mottled. “You wouldn’t dare—”

“Try me.” Devlin smiled, all teeth and no warmth. “I’m sure your wife would be fascinated to learn where her diamond necklace actually went.”

He left Worthington sputtering, not wanting to waste another moment on the useless mongrel. He made his way to where Caroline stood in seemingly vacant contemplation of a maritime painting.

“How are you finding the painting, Mrs Thurlow?”

“Oh! The colours are ever so pretty,” she replied with a flutter of her fan, letting her fingers trail delicately along its edge in a way that drew his eye. “Blue is my particular favourite, you see.”

She shifted slightly, the light catching the copper highlights in her hair as she tilted her head to study the painting. The movement caused her skirts to brush against his leg with innocent casualness.

“Indeed.” Devlin’s mouth curved in barely concealed condescension, his gaze lingering on the graceful line of her neck. “Though I find the artist’s grasp of wave mechanics particularly fascinating. The angles of reflection, the careful attention to fluid dynamics...”

“How clever you are, Mr Elmstone!” She turned toward him, stepping just slightly closer than propriety strictly allowed. Her eyes widened with admiration as she tilted her head like a curious bird. “I confess such technical matters quite escape me. Edward always said a woman’s mind wasn’t suited to understanding the sciences.”

He guided her toward a secluded window alcove, already calculating how best to manipulate this simple widow. “Your late husband was quite accomplished in his innovations. The recent improvements to the filtration system were particularly impressive.”

“Were they?” She blinked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “I’m afraid I never understood his work. All those dreadful numbers and mechanical things.”

“Come now, Mrs Thurlow.” He softened his voice to what he imagined was a comforting tone perfect for flattery. “Surely you need not maintain this pretence of ignorance. A woman in your position must have some grasp of business matters.”

“How kind you are to think so!” Her laugh was light, empty. “But truly, Mr Elmstone, I must now rely entirely on Mr Finch for such things. These gatherings quite overwhelm me, but one must maintain appearances, mustn’t one?”

“Then perhaps you’d consider selling to someone better equipped to manage such technical concerns?” He injected warmth into his smile. “I could offer you a very comfortable future, free from these tedious business obligations.”

“You truly wish to buy London Water Works?” She pressed her handkerchief to her lips in apparent distress. “You best speak to Mr Finch. He’ll explain things to me. He’s quite patient with me, you see.”

“I shall,” he said, certain he could wear down her feminine hesitation. His eyes roved over her form with appreciation. “A pretty widow like yourself shouldn’t have to concern herself with business affairs.”

Her answering smile was tremulous, perfect. “You are too kind, Mr Elmstone. Oh! I see they brought out fresh lemonade. If you’ll excuse me...”

He watched her drift away, already planning his next move. A helpless widow playing at business would be easy enough to manipulate. It was almost disappointing, really. He’d expected more challenge from Edward Thurlow’s successor.

He lifted his glass in a gesture of premature triumph when she glanced back. Soon enough, he thought, she’d realise the futility of resisting his offer.

Caroline waited until most of the crowd had moved toward the refreshments before approaching Thomas Findlay. He stood examining the market reports posted on the Exchange’s brass-trimmed boards, his familiar profile silhouetted against the afternoon light streaming through tall windows.

“The cotton prices are rising again,” she said softly, positioning herself so they appeared to be casually sharing the financial notices.

Findlay’s shoulders tensed slightly before he turned. “Mrs Thurlow.” His voice held careful formality, though his eyes softened. “I was sorry to hear about Edward.”

“Were you?” She kept her tone light, maintaining the appearance of trivial conversation. “I seem to recall you predicting a sticky end for him years ago.”

“That was before he married you.” Findlay’s gaze flickered over her widow’s black. “Though I didn’t expect him to saddle you with his mistress.”

“Thank you.” She kept her voice neutral, aware of watching eyes. “I find myself in need of your professional assistance.”

Understanding dawned in Findlay’s eyes. “Like the old days? When you’d bring me your drawings to check the mathematics?”

“Similar.” She handed him a folded paper, making the movement appear casual. “I may need alternative arrangements, should certain parties force my hand regarding the company.”

Findlay tucked the paper into his coat. “I assume these ‘certain parties’ include the gentleman who’s been watching us for the past five minutes?”

Caroline didn’t turn to look. “He wishes to purchase my share of the company. And... I would be grateful if you could speak well of London Water Works to your associates.”

Findlay tucked the paper away, frowning slightly. “You wish me to recommend you to other gentlemen?”

“Their companies need reliable water supply. Surely a word from a respected engineer like yourself would ease their concerns about dealing with...” She hesitated. “My unusual circumstances.”

“Caroline.” His voice dropped lower. “While I’m happy to review your work as I always have, I cannot make personal introductions. You must understand—your situation with Miss Hampton—”

“I understand perfectly.” Her tone remained even, though her fingers tightened on her fan. “Perhaps just mention our excellent service record when the opportunity arises?”

He sighed. “I could speak to the quality of your systems. I am sorry I can’t do more.” His eyes darted past her shoulder. “Caroline, be careful. That man destroyed Richard Harrison’s business last year. Left him and his family destitute.”

“I’m aware of his reputation.”

Findlay stepped marginally closer, still maintaining proper distance. “Because his expression suggests more than mere business interest.”

Caroline felt heat rise in her cheeks. “I know how to handle ambitious men.”

He lowered his voice. His intimate tone held a hint of their shared past. “I seem to recall you being rather susceptible to charm when mixed with intellectual discourse.”

“That was years ago.” But she couldn’t help remembering those late nights in his study, poring over technical drawings, theoretical discussions dissolving into heated kisses.

Findlay hesitated, then spoke very quietly. “Perhaps we could discuss this further... privately? For old times’ sake?”

“Mr Findlay.” Her tone held warning. “I am in mourning, and London delights in speaking ill of widows who entertain gentlemen callers. Even old friends.”

He had the grace to look abashed. “Of course. Forgive me.” He straightened his coat. “I’ll review these specifications promptly. But please be cautious with Elmstone. He’s not a man to be trusted.”

“Thank you for your concern.” Caroline nodded politely and moved away, finally allowing herself to glance in Devlin’s direction. The intensity of his gaze made her pulse quicken, but she maintained her composure. Let him watch. She needed allies, yes, but she wouldn’t risk her reputation—or her heart—on any man again.

As Elmstone raised his glass in a toast, Caroline turned away and headed towards her carriage. She sank into the cushioned seat, finally allowing her rigid posture to collapse as the door closed behind her. Her hands trembled slightly as she removed her gloves. Three hours of maintaining that vapid smile, of pretending not to notice the snubs and whispers and being forced to shy away from the more obvious ones, had left her exhausted. But it had been necessary.

She hadn’t attended the Merchant’s Exchange gathering to socialise. She’d known perfectly well how she would be received. But these functions were where contracts were discussed, alliances formed, and most importantly, where the early whispers of business opportunities could be overheard by those paying attention. And Caroline had learned long ago that people spoke quite freely in front of a woman they assumed to be stupid.

Tonight, she’d learned of two potential contracts before anyone else would hear of them. The Westminster district was planning to expand their water services, and the new hospital would need reliable water supply. Information that would prove invaluable if Devlin Elmstone didn’t plan to upend everything. That measuring look in his eyes, the calculating edge beneath his appreciation, had her standing straighter, more alert.

She pressed her fingers to her temples, grateful for the carriage’s privacy. Though Elmstone had proven disappointingly easy to deceive, his physical presence was another matter entirely. How different he was from Edward—all raw power and masculine grace where her late husband had been soft and scholarly.

“Foolish man,” she murmured, remembering how he’d loomed over her in the alcove, clearly attempting to intimidate what he assumed was a helpless widow. Yet her heart had lurched traitorously at his proximity, her body responding to his overwhelming maleness even as her mind dismissed his patronising offers.

The carriage hit a rough patch of road, jostling her. Caroline wished she could dislodge the memory of those broad shoulders blocking out the room, the predatory way he moved. She’d watched him threaten Worthington, had seen the colour drain from the other man’s face. Whatever Elmstone had said, it had been devastatingly effective. Such controlled power in one so brutally handsome. It was almost unfair.

“Stop being ridiculous,” she chided herself. “He’s just another man who thinks he can own you.” Yet even as she said it, she couldn’t quite forget how his dark eyes had lingered on her, how his voice had softened when making his condescending offer. As if he thought gentle words could tempt a silly widow to surrender.

She pulled her notebook from her reticule, forcing herself to focus on recording the evening’s intelligence while it was fresh. Her handwriting betrayed a slight tremor—from anger at his presumption, she told herself firmly. Not from the lingering awareness of how his cologne had teased her senses when he bent close.

Hampton would be waiting at home, eager to hear if anyone had asked after her. Caroline’s lips curved in a bitter smile. Let her believe these functions were merely social obligations. Better that than having anyone, especially Devlin Elmstone, realise she was slowly building her own network of information and influence.

The carriage turned onto her street, and Caroline straightened her spine, tucking away both her notebook and her unwelcome attraction to a scoundrel who planned to take advantage of a hapless widow. She had masks to maintain, a company to protect. She couldn’t afford to let Elmstone’s devastating masculine appeal distract her from her purpose.

As she descended from the carriage, she couldn’t quite suppress a shiver at the memory of his parting toast. Something about the way his eyes had lingered on her, that knowing smile playing at his lips, suggested a man who could prove dangerously distracting to her carefully laid plans. Worse yet, his undeniable charm and commanding presence would make their game of cat and mouse far more complicated than she’d bargained for. Regardless, his assumption that she was just another helpless widow to be managed would work to her advantage.