Chapter Thirty-One
A s predicted, Kitty could not bring herself to sell her betrothal ring.
She fiddled with it as Devil brought her and Evie to his house, dawn streaking the sky with colors as bold as a tulip field, and then again when they left the next afternoon.
They did not go to their father’s house.
They reclaimed Galahad from the Spinster House and then found themselves at the Golden Griffin. Kitty always found herself at the Golden Griffin. Home was books. Home was Evie.
And Devil.
Two out of three wasn’t so bad. She had no cause to complain. She had entered this with clear eyes. And though the betrothal had not been called off publicly, it was only a matter of days, surely. Today, maybe.
Or the next.
She checked the papers daily so carefully that Evie bought her a magnifying glass.
It had only been a few days. Exactly six.
Devil was concentrating on the grand opening of the Sins, which was occurring…At this very moment. He did not have time to formally reject her. He was busy. Now that Portsmouth was on the run, as Devil predicted, the sabotage of the club, great and small, had ceased. There were no tea deliveries because she still had masses of tea left. No strawberry cake. No reason to attend the Seven Deadly Sins inaugural evening. There was an invitation on the table in the back room. Evie had pinned it to the wall with a very pointed expression. Not to mention actual pointing.
“Only six days,” Kitty reminded herself.
“What was that?” Evie asked from the back room.
“Nothing.”
She could wait until tomorrow. One more day was nothing.
Twilight was soft and blue at the windows. Most of Mayfair was no doubt dressing for the Sins, whether or not they had an invitation.
She could not wait until tomorrow.
“Evie, help me with my dress.”
Miss Peridot marched into the shop not long after, her reticule redolent of raw onion. She blinked at Kitty. “You look like a gold candlestick.”
Kitty’s gold dress was the only article of clothing she possessed that would not have her turned away at the club doors. “Thank you?” It was not the most encouraging thing Miss Peridot could have said, but also not the worst.
“A very pretty candlestick,” she allowed.
Evie grinned, sorting books from one of the boxes that Kitty had finally had a chance to catalogue. Caroline had declined to reclaim any of her belongings. Miss Campbell’s parents, being better actors than anyone had credited, had feared for their daughter’s life by association and spirited her away before she could meet Caroline at the iron oak. Caroline had kept checking for messages, finding Kitty’s note and eventually deciding to respond. Miss Campbell had been in a carriage bound for Galloway for most of the last month, and a message had been sent to bring her back after Portsmouth disappeared. Caroline had invited her friend to move into Portsmouth House in Grosvenor Square, where Evie had already been for tea. She and Caroline had much in common, having evaded a murderer.
Portsmouth had not shown his face since.
Kitty and Evie had moved into the shop’s back room until they could find rooms to rent. They might not have a pleasure hall to run, but they had been busy too.
“Where’s that big, strapping fellow who usually lurks outside?” Miss Peridot demanded.
“Wulf and Godric are busy elsewhere, I’m afraid.”
“No they’re not,” Evie corrected her. “Wulf is across the street trying to be subtle.”
“He is?”
“He’s a bit big for subtle,” Miss Peridot said. “Delightfully so. I don’t care for slender calves, myself.”
Kitty felt a wash of affection. She had missed his and his brother scowling at the Ladies’ Association for Moral Standards until they fled in a flurry of parasols and offended gasps. Accepting cups of tea, helping ladies with their packages.
It had only been six days, she reminded herself.
“He shouldn’t be here, though. I’m sure he’s needed at the Sins. Especially tonight.”
“ That place.” Miss Peridot sniffed. Paused. “Do you think you can get me an invitation?”
Kitty could not help but smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Good, good. Now show me a new book. I’m bored. Not all of us have been getting into shenanigans like you.”
“Miss Peridot,” Evie said, “have you read the one about the duke who turns into a wolf?”
Miss Peridot perked up. “I have not. Would you care for an onion, young lady? It strengthens the blood.”
“I’ve already had one today.”
“No, she hasn’t.” Kitty grinned.
“Yes, I have. I ate yours , remember? Kitty has had a very trying time. She should eat this one, don’t you think?”
“Must go!” Kitty said hurriedly, grabbing for her reticule. “Can’t get any stains on this dress!”
Nothing like the threat of having to eat a raw onion like an apple to put the starch back in one’s spine.
She had not walked half a block before the brothers Winchester pulled the carriage to the curb. “Where to, Miss Caldecott?”
She blinked at them. “Surely you can call me Kitty.”
“Not if I want to keep my fingers,” Samuel said cheerfully. “Where can we take you?”
“I’m happy to walk.”
“I really do like my fingers,” Michael said from the outrider post. His black hair was wind ruffled, his smile wolfish.
“Did Devil send you?”
“Of course.”
“How did he know?” she asked. “ I didn’t know until just now that I was going out.”
“We’ve been here all week,” he shrugged. “Just in case.”
“An old lady threw an onion at us yesterday,” Samuel added. “She thought we were spying on you.”
Kitty laughed. “Miss Peridot is not to be trifled with.”
“It’s about to rain,” Samuel pointed out. “Please let us drive you. Anywhere you want to go.”
“What if I said Inverness?”
“Then we’d go to Inverness.”
“Absurd.” She smiled at them, then shook her head. “To the Sins will be fine, thank you.”
“Thank God,” Samuel muttered. “He’s been in a rotten mood. Calm as anything all across the bloody Continent. Didn’t flinch at bullets passing by his head. But this… You may be our only hope, Miss Caldecott.”
The Seven Deadly Sins of London burned through the night.
Ladies in diaphanous red gowns sewn all over with spangles stood on marble pedestals in the garden. When they changed their positions, it was an acrobatic feat that drew gasps and murmurs from passersby and the guests waiting to enter. Crowds gathered on the pavement, begging for entry to the opening night. Indecent amounts of money were offered for the privilege. Kitty did not recognize the man stationed at the door, but he bowed to her as he stepped aside. “Miss Caldecott.”
Envy was already filled with patrons, music electrifying the air. A balcony presented a woman singing in a voice that belonged to a fairy queen. Dancers whirled below her, eager to see and be seen.
The side doors opened to Gluttony: offering every delicacy, every sweet, every fanciful dessert in the most luxurious of surroundings. Red velvet, gold, and paintings of feasting revelers showcased roasted peacocks and lamb, and tiny potatoes swimming in butter and herbs. Champagne in glasses shaped like lilies. Towers of cheese, biscuits stamped with pitchforks, jellied patés molded into Greek temples, castles, swans and songbirds. Pineapples, raspberry trifle, currant cakes dusted with sugar and candied violets. Strawberry cake.
In the entrance hall, Tom smirked at everyone, wearing his best lilac hat to match the faded bruise around his eye. He spotted Kitty immediately. “Thank God,” he said, echoing the brothers Winchester.
“About time,” Devil said moments later when Kitty walked into his study.
The club bustled with excitement. She had seen an entire boar leaving the kitchen, dressed with apples and yellow lilies. A roasted peacock sewn back into its feathers. Several flower shops had emptied their shelves in every corner of the building. London might well be out of flowers entirely. Courtesans, each more beautiful than the last, floated through the rooms, flirting, laughing, offering champagne. There was music, dance, feasting. Every kind of entertainment, as promised.
And here the devil sat. Brooding.
Not just brooding.
“Are you sulking?” Kitty asked.
“No.”
She raised her eyebrows. He was absolutely sulking. “Are you quite certain?”
“Where have you been?” he asked evenly, but the effort clearly cost him. He looked ready to bite into her like fruit. She tried not to like it, but failed.
“I’m sorry, I nearly forgot,” she admitted.
“Forgot?” he echoed, tone hardening. He rose to his feet, so slowly and carefully that it was faintly threatening.
Very well, it was entirely threatening.
“You forgot where I lived?” he said.
“To bring you the vowel.” She hadn’t forgotten, of course. She had just been putting it off. But a deal was a deal. Especially a deal with the Devil.
She plucked it out from inside her boot and placed it on the desk.
“You had it in your shoe?” he asked, amused. “This entire time?”
“Mostly.” She pushed it closer to him. “Was it very important? This viscount who wagered his house?”
“It’s not important in the least.”
“It’s not?”
“Kitty, do you know how many houses we’ve collected?”
“No. And don’t tell me,” she muttered. She frowned. “You put it in your pocket that Devil’s Night. I thought it meant something. That’s why you gave in to the blackmail.”
“I admit it would look bad for business if someone managed to steal from me,” he conceded. “My reputation does most of the work for me now.”
“Oh. Well, I did promise to give it back when my sister was safe. I should have given it back that night.”
He ignored it. “How is your throat?”
She touched the tiny cut, mostly healed and barely visible. “It’s fine. As you well know.”
“How would I know? I haven’t seen you in a week.”
“You sent three doctors to look at it,” she reminded him wryly. “ Three. ”
But he hadn’t come. Not once.
She swallowed, refusing to read into the easy way they fell into needling each other. She might miss it, might find it romantic.
He probably found it annoying.
She had made him wait too long for the stolen vowel, and it had made him cross. No one reneged on a deal with the Devil, not even her. “I’m sorry I made you wait.”
He looked mollified.
Until she continued.
“You can cry off the betrothal now,” she added. “No one will blame you. They’ll only think you’ve finally come to your senses.”
He stalked around the desk. “What did you just say to me?”
She blinked at the intensity rolling off him. The piercing green of his eyes, like the dark forests that hapless fairy tale characters were lost in. Forever.
“You can…” She waved her hand, feeling out of sorts, miserable, just as cross. Why was he making this so difficult? Wasn’t it difficult enough?
Well, for her. Obviously not for him.
She waved her hand again. “Cry off. Like we planned.” She would not cry. It was ridiculous to cry. Evie was safe. And Kitty had had more time with Devil than could ever have been reasonably expected.
There was silence for a beat. Two.
“Kitty?” he asked silkily, with a hint of danger. Just a hint. Just enough.
“Yes?” Something primal inside her body responded. Aware. Uncertain. Hungry.
“When did I ever say I was going to let you go?”
The air left her lungs, rushed back in. It suddenly felt as though she had not had a proper full breath for the entirety of the last week. “Wh-what?”
“I never said anything about crying off,” he replied darkly.
“We agreed to a pretend betrothal.”
“ You said it was pretend,” he corrected her. “And I agreed because you needed me to.”
“Oh. Oh .”
He was closing in, prowling closer. Liquid heat went through her.
Desire.
Hope.
And yet…
“I’m not sure I can be a mistress,” she admitted softly. “It would harm Evie’s chances for a decent match, and I’ve already so thoroughly done that.”
He scowled. “Who the hell said anything about a mistress?”
She scowled back. “Devil, earls don’t marry shopkeepers at whom people throw vegetables.”
“First of all, I can assure you no one will ever throw anything at you again. And secondly, I can marry who I want to marry.” It was the stubbornness of a man who was used to bending Society to his will.
“What about the ancestral lineage, and all that?” she asked, because someone had to be reasonable, and it obviously was not going to be him.
“The earldom can rot. My brother can be earl. I couldn’t care less.” He dug his fingers into her hair. “Kitty, there’s no one else for me. Ever. Maybe you don’t want to marry a devil…”
There was uncertainty under all that confidence. For her .
“Marry me, Kitty,” he said. “Or don’t marry me—whatever you want. Just be with me.”
“I…” She wanted to. Every part of her wanted to wrap herself around him and not let go. “I really would make a terrible countess. I don’t know the first thing about dessert forks.”
“We’ll use spoons.”
“Rhys.”
“I was serious. Tom can be earl.”
“That’s not how that works.” Even Devil could not wrestle primogeniture into submission.
“Don’t care. I want you , Kitty. Only you.”
“I’ll embarrass you.” She worried at her bottom lip. “Someone will throw a cabbage at your door.”
“You are entirely obsessed with vegetables, love. But I’ll throw it back. I have very good aim.” He stroked his thumb along her collarbone, down between her breasts, where the gnawing, burning hole had somehow filled. “Or we’ll make soup.”
“You think you’re so clever.”
“Just in love with you, firecracker.” She caught her breath, so he said it again. “ I love you. ” That almost-smile. “I’ll find a prince for Evie.”
“Oh well, in that case.” She smiled back at him, stroking along his strong jaw, until his lids half lowered. She couldn’t stop touching him. Did not want to. “I love you too.”
His arms tightened around her. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes.”
He dropped his brow to hers. “You do make a man work for it,” he said, striving to sound unbothered, but she heard the joy in his voice.
“Your brother offered to give me his horse when I got here as a reward for dealing with you. A bribe, I suppose, not a reward. And a goat. Apparently, you are worth a goat? And I thought Shelby was going to outright weep. He says you’ve been insufferable.”
“He’s sacked.”
“MacLeod stopped me in the hall to wish me luck. He said you were pining.”
“He’s sacked too. I do not pine. I was being patient .”
“He was being an ass,” Tom shouted as he stalked down the hall, balancing ledgers full of guest lists.
“You can be sacked too,” Devil shot back, kicking the door shut with his boot. “Now, where were we?”
“You were being patient.”
“Yes, I think I’ve had enough of that now.” He caged her against the wall, green eyes flaring hotly. Every part of her reacted, like tendrils reaching for the sun. Or, more accurately, jasmine blossoms opening to the moon. There was nothing of the sunshine in him. Thank God.
She frowned, then shoved at his chest. “You!”
“What was that for?”
“You let me stew and worry for days!”
“I was being patient, remember?” He dragged his mouth along her neck. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“You had better.” It would have sounded much fiercer if she hadn’t moaned. “If you ever do that to me again, I shall try one of Yelena’s hatpin tricks.”
“I won’t.” He kissed her lightly, again and again. “I am sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing by waiting for you. I was told empirically that gentlemen do not storm into a lady’s bookshop and carry her away.”
“Hmmph. Perhaps with prior notice.” She couldn’t help but melt against him. There was too much happiness inside her, too much want.
“Duly noted.” He bit at her pulse point, and she whimpered. “I’m an idiot. But I thought I had scared you away. I didn’t want to scare you more.”
“I don’t scare easily, Devil.” She pushed her hips against him, and he groaned.
“I am not a…kind man.”
“You’ve said that before, and it was ridiculous then and it’s ridiculous now. You are kind to me,” she said. “And to your men. And to your brother.”
“I broke that man’s ankle. And I’m not sorry about it.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Will you think less of me if I said he deserved it? My own grandfather assures me that I am going to hell.”
Devil raised an eyebrow. “Hell is my domain, hadn’t you heard? You’ll be just fine.”
“In that case”—she wound her arms around his neck—“perhaps we could move on to other matters.”
“Thank Christ,” he said fervently, pinning her more securely to the paneling so that he could taste her, lick into her mouth, growl wonderful, filthy things in her ear. Everything. Everything all at once. And it was almost enough.
She did not think it would ever be enough.
She clawed at his clothing, every bit as desperate. He finally sprang free of his breeches and she wrapped her fingers around his length, hot and hard and silky. She gripped him tight, sliding up and down, and she was already wet and he was shoving her dress up around her hips. He stroked her folds. “So soft and wet,” he groaned. “You’re ready for me, aren’t you, firecracker?”
“Yes,” she gasped when he circled her bud, so lightly, then with more pressure, enough that she bucked against him, tension already mounting.
“Ah, ah,” he ordered, lifting her up so her legs were around his hips. “Not yet.”
“ Devil. ”
“There she is.” He kissed her again, and it was a claiming. “Demanding and wicked and needful.” He moved so that the tip of his cock parted her folds but went no further. She tried to lower herself onto him but would not allow it. He kept them there, panting and frantic for each other. “You’re mine , Kitty Caldecott. Lady Birmingham.”
She squirmed helplessly, loving it. Wanting more. The tendons on his neck stood out as he forced himself not to let her take him deep. It was the best kind of struggle. “And you’re mine.”
“Always. Say it properly.”
“You’re mine, Rhys .”
“Better.”
But still he kept them just barely touching. Her quim ached. “Rhys.” She bit his shoulder. “Is there another name I should call you, you insufferable man? Do you have a middle name? Sebastian? Alfred? Eustace?”
He bit her back, playful but demanding. His growl tightened her nipples, shot straight to her quim with a flutter. “Call me husband.”
She ceased squirming. “Oh.” His jaw was so hard, his mouth so soft. She brushed her lips over his. “You’re a romantic. ”
“ Countess .” A warning.
“We aren’t married, Lord Birmingham .”
The tip of his cock parted her soft folds, slipping into her wetness. Just the tip and then he stopped again, punishing her. She whimpered, but he was ruthless, merciless. “I’m waiting,” he said.
She kissed him once more, then his jaw, her voice soft and hot in his ear. “ Husband. ”
He slid into her wetness with a growl that sent shivers and tingles washing through her. He angled himself so that each thrust also dragged against her bud, already swollen and sensitive. It was rough and frantic and perfect. When her moans threatened to turn to screams, he clamped his hand over her mouth.
It was too much.
Her climax swept through her with no warning, washing into every part of her, tightening around his cock until he followed her into blind pleasure. Where there was only his body, his sweat, his harsh breaths in her ear. Only him.
When they came back to themselves, to the wainscotting digging into her back and her left foot tingling numbly, he moved his hand away from her mouth, eyes like green fire.
“Wife.”