The Devil’s Charm (Heirs & Spares #1)

Chapter One

Whatever Lucian did, he did it to the utmost.

There was just too much fun to be had for a young man who had all the means at his disposal and none of the responsibilities. It would be a travesty if he didn’t do everything he could to enjoy himself to the fullest extent possible.

Or at least that’s what he told himself.

It wasn’t that his father and his older brother hadn’t tried to give him various duties, but Lord Lucian Eldridge, second son of the Duke of Waxford, was adroit at finding ways to divert them to someone else. Because successful avoidance meant he had more time for his own particular pleasures.

“And what pleasures they are,”

he murmured.

Tonight’s pleasure was attending a ball, dressed in an impeccably fitted evening suit. A suit that was exquisitely tailored, showcasing the body he took pleasure in maintaining. Sometimes there was nothing so glorious as galloping for miles, until both horse and rider were exhausted, or running the perimeter of the family estate just because it was there.

The ball was in celebration of the wedding between two well-titled—and well-heeled—families. The bride’s family was hosting the event, and they had spared no expense, from the plethora of flowers atop every surface to the sumptuous food laid out on groaning buffet tables to the chandeliers casting their brilliant glow into every corner of the room. Lucian appreciated the family’s commitment; like him, they spared nothing in their attempt to have the most decadent and fulfilling ball ever.

The ballroom glittered with a combination of candles, ladies’ jewels, and highly polished silver. Lucian handed his hat and coat to a waiting footman, then made his way farther into the room.

Many of the guests’ heads swiveled at his arrival, their expressions lighting up. Lucian knew it was because of him; he wasn’t overly vain, but he knew that his presence at an event made it immediately more delightful. Whether it was charming the dowagers, dancing with the wallflowers, or introducing shy gentlemen to the friendliest people in Society, Lucian made a party sparkle.

“Evening, Cousin,”

a voice said at his elbow.

Lucian turned to see Robert Montague, his maternal aunt’s middle son. “Evening, Cousin,”

Lucian said, putting his arm around his cousin’s shoulder and waving at a few of the people who were trying to get his attention. He turned to meet Robert’s gaze. “It is a good thing I ran into you tonight. Father has asked me to ask you to oversee his Worcestershire estate.”

Which wasn’t precisely the truth: the duke had asked Lucian to oversee it, but Lucian was going to fulfill that duty by handing it over to someone else. Robert had recently lost his wife, and they’d had no children, so the man was in urgent and sudden need of something to occupy his time, to do something other than grieve. This was a perfect opportunity to do something good for someone else and divest himself of ownership of this project. Two birds, one stone. Or one estate, as it were.

Robert gave Lucian an astonished look. “Are you—I mean, is the duke certain?”

His expression turned longing. “It would be a remarkable opportunity, since Beth—”

and then he stopped, his mouth tightening.

“Absolutely,”

Lucian assured him, patting the other man’s back. His father would get the credit for giving Robert this chance, but that was fine; Lucian didn’t do anything for praise, he just wanted not to have to do anything, full stop. At least not anything that wasn’t chosen by him.

And he knew Robert would do a far better job than Lucian, which meant the duke would, eventually, be pleased. After some grousing about Lucian’s inability to take on any onerous duty.

Lucian had, thus far, refrained from pointing out that being the duke’s son was in itself an onerous duty, what with all the lecturing and pulled-down mouths and refusal to be joyful that was going on.

“Thank the duke for me, will you?”

Robert said, shaking Lucian’s hand vigorously. “I’m going home immediately to start planning.”

Robert headed toward the door, his steps sure and quick. Lucian watched his departure with satisfaction, then returned his attention to the party.

A few guests, seeing that he was now alone, began to make their way through the crowd to greet him, and he was hurriedly recalling all of their names when a haughty voice called him.

He spun on his heel, recognizing his father’s ancient aunt’s voice. The lady herself leaned on the arm of a younger woman, who looked as beleaguered as anybody would when dealing with Lady Georgiana Phipps. She was nearing seventy years old, and refused to be the kind of old lady who sat at home doing various needleworks.

“My lady,”

he replied, taking her outstretched hand and kissing it. “And Miss Toynbee.”

Miss Toynbee blushed at his greeting; some people of his class would have disdained to greet a lady’s companion, but Lucian liked making everyone around him happy. Besides, it required too much energy to process who did and did not deserve a greeting—he could better use his energy elsewhere.

“Of course you would be here,”

Lady Georgiana said with a fond smile, gesticulating to the glittering ballroom. “I just met with your father’s secretary. I do so appreciate your thinking of me.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Your father needs my guidance; he doesn’t have the same acumen as I when it comes to matters before the House of Lords.”

Lucian answered with a modest nod of his head. His father had made an attempt to get him to take an interest in reviewing draft bills, public policy, and government oversight, all tasks for a responsible member to do. But Lucian had quickly finessed it so that Lady Georgiana was the designated assistant. She had long chafed at how little she was allowed to do and had already donated a large portion of her vast fortune to various charitable causes. Giving her something that would occupy her intellect was doing her a favor.

That it meant Lucian didn’t have to do that work was merely an added fillip of pleasure. Two birds, one stone. Or many laws, as it were.

Transferring duties to people who would actually appreciate them, would be fulfilled by them, was doing them all a favor. It brought him joy as well, to pair people with responsibilities that would suit them.

“I’m off to the card room,”

Lady Georgiana said, beckoning to Miss Toynbee. “Lucian, I will see you later.”

Lucian bowed, then scanned the room, searching for the bridegroom, his friend Samuel, Viscount of Alston. It took a certain skill to maintain distantly friendly eye contact with all who wished to speak to him—something he was quite adept at by now.

Musicians were on the second-floor gallery that overlooked the ballroom and were playing some sort of lively tune, while couples spun on the dance floor, skirts whirling to reveal a glimpse of ankle, the gentlemen’s black-and-white evening wear a stark contrast to the colorful gowns the ladies wore.

It was Lucian’s world, the place he felt most at home. A party filled with convivial guests, plenty of food and drink, nothing planned for the next day, and none of his dour, unfun-loving family in attendance.

That last part was the most salient.

He wished he’d known his father before The Event, as his father referred to it, when he’d been, by all accounts, at least as wild as Lucian. If not more. But then Halley’s Comet—the titular Event—had appeared in the sky, and his father had taken it as an omen to change his wild ways, marrying a woman nearly as dull as he, and spawning a brood of serious-minded children.

Except for Lucian, who’d arrived in the world laughing and hadn’t ceased since. Sometimes he wondered if he had been swapped out at birth with some dullard, but since he looked just like his father, he didn’t entertain the thought for long.

Finally, he spotted his friend, who had just picked up a glass from one of the passing footmen. “Get me one of those too, will you?”

he called.

His friend’s head snapped around, and then he grinned, taking another glass off the tray. Samuel advanced toward him, his grin growing impossibly wider.

“Eldridge, you’re here!”

Lucian stretched his hand out to take his glass, then tilted his head toward his friend. “And you look remarkably happy for someone who’s been joined for life to another person, Shammie.”

He accompanied his words with a mock shudder.

Samuel’s nickname had come about when his younger sister hadn’t been able to pronounce his name; he was Shammie to everyone except for his parents.

Samuel chuckled, then tapped his glass against Lucian’s. His gaze grew distant, a fond expression on his face. “I never would have believed I would be so content, Eldridge. Not with what we used to get up to,”

he added with a wink. “But Julia makes me want to be a better person—”

“I think you’re just fine as you are,”

Lucian interrupted. He couldn’t help but defend his friend, even if it was his friend who’d made the disparaging remark.

“And when I am with her, I feel fulfilled,”

Samuel continued, ignoring Lucian’s words. “She and I—it’s like we’re two halves of a whole, and I never saw it, even though our sisters have been friends all this time.”

Lucian gave Samuel a thoughtful look, biting back all of his usual quick, witty responses. That the marriage was good business, since Samuel’s family had financial ties to a shipping business, while the bride’s family came from a long line of merchants. That Samuel’s title gave him entrée to a wealthy family with an appropriate marriageable daughter that other, lesser-titled gentlemen did not have.

Samuel meant what he said, and that . . . that was rare. Lucian wouldn’t spoil the mood with a jaded comment that reflected his own attitude rather than his friend’s.

“I am happy for you,”

he said instead in a low, quiet voice.

“I just hope you can find someone as perfect for you as Julia is for me,”

Samuel replied, tapping his glass once again to Lucian’s.

The two men sipped, then his friend gave Lucian an assessing look. “This isn’t the time, but I will be taking more of an interest in the business, now that Julia and I are wed. You could do worse than join me. Lord knows I will need the help.”

“Me, work?”

Lucian said, recoiling in mock horror. “But how could I possibly toil at a job and live up to my reputation as the most fun bachelor in London?”

Samuel gave him a knowing look. “I know that’s not all that’s going on in your brain, friend. Remember, I know you.”

Samuel’s words made Lucian feel uneasy, as though there was something he should be doing but hadn’t yet. But that was a ridiculous thought. It must just be the general happy-couple atmosphere in the room.

Besides, he hadn’t explored all the pleasures available to him yet. Whether such a task was even possible, given the scope of the world and Lucian being merely one man in it was another question entirely.

But he was very willing to try.

“Thank you,”

he replied. “I will consider it.”

And he would; Lucian was nothing if not open to possibility.

“Now let’s celebrate this marriage, shall we?”

Samuel said in a louder voice. “Come see everyone. We’ve been waiting for you.”

He led Lucian farther into the room, nodding and smiling to all the guests who clapped him on the back, wishing congratulations. Lucian, meanwhile, downed his glass of champagne and snatched another from the nearest footman, draining that one as well.

The bubbles tickled his nose, and the sparkling liquid slid down his throat with a welcome coolness. He felt a grin creeping back onto his face, and this time he allowed it, since he didn’t want to hold back on any of the joy on offer this evening.

Though Samuel’s words lingered in his mind—when I am with her, I feel fulfilled—and he had an unfamiliar pang, a feeling of . . . longing tighten his chest.

But another glass of champagne soon dispersed that, and he went to join Samuel and the rest of their friends.

“You just have to stay for a little while, wish your friend the best of luck, and you can be tucked into bed before one o’clock.”

Diantha wasn’t speaking to anyone but herself, but saying it aloud—albeit in a hushed whisper—made it seem more valid.

That she was here at all was a miracle.

Her father, the Earl of Courtenay, had taken his passion for spontaneity—acquired fifteen or so years earlier, when Halley’s Comet appeared in the sky, causing him to take stock of his life and decide to act only on his impulses from then on—and set fire to one of the estate’s apple trees earlier that evening, all because he was attempting to reduce the steps needed to make a pie, though he hadn’t figured out how to integrate the apple part with the dough part.

Diantha had had to direct the servants and the line of water buckets while simultaneously persuading her father to stop placing lit tinder at the base of the tree while flinging flour into the air.

That the Earl of Courtenay had never baked an actual pie in his life, even in a traditional way, was not to be an impediment to his current fancy.

She’d barely had time to shake the ashes from her hair and get dressed.

The problem with personal epiphanies, Diantha had frequently observed, was that they affected not just the individual but the individual’s entire family and connected social system.

For example, the incipient earl—who hadn’t been an earl at the time, just the second son—had taken his comet conclusion to heart and had eloped with the daughter of a local squire, a terrible mismatch in terms of his title, but most definitely a match of the heart.

Even now, the earl and his countess were madly in love, though neither of them had any sense at all. Perhaps that was what they had in common?

Their oldest daughter, Diantha, it seemed, had gotten all the possible sense in the family, and thus all the duties and responsibilities inherent in managing wealth, land, and Society had fallen to her.

Or rather, she had taken them, having seen early on that there was nobody else that was going to step up. The family’s fortunes were as erratic as her parents’ moods, and they were always on the verge of either ruin or feasting on lobster tails for breakfast. There was no in-between, and nobody but Diantha seemed to think it important to pay attention to.

It kept her up at night, the Courtenays’ fortunes. Or lack thereof.

She’d begun meeting with the estate steward at ten years old, had begun handling the accounting at twelve, and had put out more fires—both figurative and literal—than she could count.

But since she loved her family—even if she didn’t understand them, nor they her—it didn’t feel like a duty. More like an honored promise, though she only made promises to herself.

The most recent one being that she could escape home soon. Or at the very least, escape all the duties she’d taken on.

That the promise was relieving herself of something without knowing what to swap it with . . . well, that was her current conundrum. Because it was one thing to say one wished to be regarded in one’s family for more than just having all the answers or to be there when things were needed, but it was entirely another thing to replace that responsibility with—with what?

Thus far, she’d thought about getting married (but to whom? She had yet to meet anyone who was remotely interested, not to mention she did not want to get married to just anyone); changing her name and becoming a governess or something (though, that would mean she’d never be able to see them again); or finding a way to make money that would also allow her to stay close to her family but keep her independence as well as ensure her family was equally secure.

The last option was obviously the best. That way, she wouldn’t have to compromise nor desert her family entirely.

That ladies didn’t work, that it would take a miracle of some sort to earn enough money to fulfill those wishes, was something she could not spend time thinking on at the moment. It was enough that she knew that who she was currently was not who she wanted to be. Even though that was nearly as muddled a thought as baking an apple pie with a tree.

She had a party to attend, after all.

Lady Julia Montbray, now Alston, Diantha’s best friend in the world excluding her younger sister, had gotten married, and Diantha was obliged to make an appearance at the celebration, even though the party would be nothing but pure enjoyment without any kind of redeeming feature.

Though, Diantha mused, a wry smile on her face, it would be rather odd to have an informative and therefore redeeming lecture on the properties of Mr. Faraday’s electromagnetic generator at a wedding party. Even she—the most pedantic person of her own acquaintance—could admit that would be far too dull a subject on such a festive occasion. Though, if it was her marriage, she would entertain—so to speak—the notion.

So she would have to tolerate the evening without any mention of Mr. Faraday and instead drink champagne, eat delicious bits of food, and perhaps venture onto the dance floor with a suitable partner.

All in all, it honestly didn’t seem too bad. Though, Diantha was constantly aware of all the obligations, duties, responsibilities, and cares that waited for her, and seeing all the perfectly happy partygoers only brought home that her life was very different from theirs.

At least she assumed so.

Maybe they too found solace in reading about great scientific minds doing great scientific things—it was so far from her reality that it was like an escape. Mr. Faraday probably wouldn’t be pleased his work was a diversion, but there it was.

But she doubted other people were actually like that.

Perhaps, the daring thought entered her mind, perhaps tonight she could try to be more like them, instead of wishing they were more like her?

Perhaps, she mused, the idea sending sparks through her body, just for tonight she could shed some of the shackles that bound her and just—radical though it seemed—have fun?

It felt like a dangerous idea, but plenty of other people did it all the time, and they seemed to be fine. And if she did relieve herself of her responsibilities—no, when she relieved herself of her responsibilities—it would be a good thing if she had had some experience with fun beforehand.

“Fun,”

she murmured to herself, trying it out in her mind. It sounded awkward, and not at all like herself.

Which was all the more reason to do it.

It wouldn’t change anything at home, no matter what she did. Her life of worry and responsibility would resume as soon as she stepped back inside her family’s home. It would be a moment in time, a few hours where she could let herself just be. Nobody would get hurt by it, and she might be able to feel like a regular Society lady rather than a Society worrier.

So why not?

It was only for one night. One night of fun.

“You have the oddest expression on your face,”

a voice said, amused.

Diantha turned to see her friend Julia, whose own expression was one of barely contained excitement. Julia wore a deliciously frothy gown made of white satin, bunches of lace catching up the skirts at haphazard angles. Her ash-blond hair was piled up on her head in wide curls, while a diamond-encrusted tiara was nestled within. Diamonds sparkled at her ears and throat, while long white evening gloves completed the ensemble.

“You look ravishing,”

Diantha said, taking her friend’s hands in hers. She held Julia’s arms out wide, assessing her outfit, while Julia regarded her with barely suppressed happiness.

“And you do as well. I told you pink was your color,”

Julia replied smugly.

Diantha glanced down at herself, a half smile tugging at her mouth. She had to admit she looked as good as she ever had. Another reason to allow herself to be free for a few hours: what she was wearing was too beautiful to encase a responsible person. Never mind someone who knew who Michael Faraday was.

It is possible to know Faraday and still have fun, a mischievous voice said in her head.

She’d allowed herself to purchase the most ridiculous gown she’d ever seen, despite it being so memorable as to be able to be worn only once or twice a Season. It was a fraction of what her mother had spent at the dressmaker’s the same day, this being one of the family’s lobster periods.

It was made of multiple layers of silk in a variety of pink shades, all gathered into skillful twists that looked artless but required hours of crafting. Dark pink velvet ribbons hung from each twist, while pale pink netting pretending it was sleeves draped her upper arms. She wore a necklace consisting of multiple strands of pearls, while pearl drops hung from her ears.

Her gloves were also pink, the palest, most fragile color of the inside of an oyster’s shell, as were her slippers.

It was remarkable, she thought, how wearing something so frivolous made one feel frivolous—even if one was the most serious, thoughtful person in the room. Which she most definitely was.

But tonight she wasn’t dressed like the most serious, thoughtful person in the room. Tonight she looked garbed for fun. Which meant she would have fun, no matter how much work it might be.

An oxymoronic thought, but it would be something she had never done before. And she did believe in challenging herself.

“Since I am dressed so impractically,”

Diantha said, gesturing down at her gown, “I think I should endeavor to live up to the promise of my gown. Tonight, I am going to have fun. Tonight I am going to be irresponsible, even.”

Julia turned an admiring gaze on her. “Bravo! It’s high time you did something that wasn’t for someone else.”

“Exactly,”

Diantha said, ignoring the flutter in her stomach at her resolution. She couldn’t talk about it anymore or she’d change her mind. “Where is your husband?”

she asked, glancing over Julia’s blond head to where a group of gentlemen were gathered near the punch bowl. There were five of them, all holding glasses of various spirits, and Diantha could hear their barks of laughter as they spoke among themselves.

Julia turned as well, nodding to the group. “He’s the handsome one in the black evening coat.”

Diantha poked her friend in the ribs. “That does not narrow it down, and you know it.”

Julia laughed in response, then lowered her voice. “Shammie’s the one standing next to the black-haired gentleman. He’s on the left side, the one who’s speaking now.”

Diantha refocused on the group, her attention going to the black-haired gentleman instead of Julia’s husband.

Because if her gown made her feel frivolous, seeing this gentleman from across the room made her feel positively feral. Not in an uncivilized, untamed kind of way but as though she wanted to stalk over there and take his neck in her teeth and drag him away somewhere so she could . . . do things to him.

So perhaps yes, both uncivilized and untamed.

He was tall and lean, his shoulders broad, his waist narrow. His legs made up much of his height, and he made even the smallest gestures of conversation look elegant. As she watched, he flipped his hand over to make some point or another, and his practically poetic fingers dangled in the air while the corner of his mouth twisted up in amusement.

It was his face, however, that most caught her attention. His nose was strong and hawklike, a sharp contrast to the sensual fullness of his mouth. His face was long and narrow, with high cheekbones emphasizing his dark eyes and eyebrows. He looked like the embodiment of a fallen angel in a painting, a Lucifer perhaps, who Diantha always thought looked far more compelling than any of the nonfallen angels.

That was most definitely a fault in religious art: the bad side always looked more appealing than the side of the angels. There was something edgy and dangerous about the man, something that made her want to beard him in his den and conquer him. As if he was a lion and she was the lion tamer.

Apparently animal husbandry was her theme for the evening.

“Diantha?”

Julia said, startling her from her whole zoo fantasy.

“Yes, of course,”

Diantha said, making Julia give her a suspicious look. “I would like you to introduce me to your husband," she continued, speaking in what she hoped was a sprightly manner. She made an effort to wrest her attention away from Lucifer to the gentleman beside him, presumably Julia’s husband.

He was also tall, with brown hair and a pleasant face, which burst into a smile in response to something Lucifer said. As she watched, he glanced over toward them, his smile growing even deeper as he spotted Julia.

“Come meet Shammie,”

Julia said, tugging Diantha toward the group.

Lucifer had turned also, and Diantha felt as though she was actually inside of Mr. Faraday’s generator—as though she’d been blasted with an electric current that lit her up from her toes to the top of her head. His dark eyes seemed as though they were boring a hole through her, and she felt her breath catch in anticipation.

If this was the result of wearing such a beautiful gown, she’d either have to buy several dozen more of them or consign this one to the base of an apple tree in anticipation of future pie endeavors.

Either way, this was all too dangerous.

“The one standing next to him,”

Julia said, indicating Lucifer, “that’s his friend, the Duke of Waxford’s son.”

Oh. The Duke of Waxford. Her father’s previous business partner. The one her father now considered his bitterest rival. The one he’d loathed ever since he’d seen that blasted comet.

Lucifer was that man’s son.