In Bed With The Devil Part 8

"He cared for me only because he believed I was his grandson. If he believed otherwise, I have little doubt that he'd have slipped the noose around my neck himself. After all, I killed his remaining son."

A son who had a son: Marcus Langdon. The man who should be earl. Catherine knew him, because he, rather than his notorious cousin, was often invited to b.a.l.l.s as though people were preparing him for the day he'd a.s.sume his rightful place. But they'd obviously underestimated the present earl.

"I must admit to being confused by your confessions. They don't paint you in a very favorable light, and I can't help but wonder if you're telling me these things because you don't want me to like you."

"I don't know why I tell you these things. Perhaps because only a soul as dark as mine could ask of me what you have."

"I am nothing like you, my lord."

"Are you not? My hand shall do the deed, but it does it at your bidding. You will share the guilt, Lady Catherine. Be certain your conscience can stand the weight of it."

"It can." At least she thought it could. She hoped it could. She hated that she doubted. But she didn't see that any other recourse was available to her. "While your pretending to be the earl's grandson saved your neck, it also came at a very costly price. Because now, as a lord, you've having difficulty acquiring what you want: Frannie."

"I'm impressed by your astuteness, Lady Catherine. I've never been overly impressed with ladies of the n.o.bility."

"How many do you know well?"

"Obviously not nearly enough. Are you telling me that they're all as intriguing as you?"

Her heart gave a strange stutter, and she wondered if a woman could die from a man's attentions. It irritated her that she was pleased that he found her intriguing.

"I believe women are vastly underestimated. After all, we've been known, on more than one occasion, to rule an empire."

"You seem to think very highly of your gender."

"Indeed I do."

"Shouldn't you be married by now?"

It seemed an odd change in topic. Why was everyone so concerned with her marital status? "There is no law as to when one must marry."

"Why have you not?"

"Obviously I've not yet found any man worthy of me."

He chuckled. "Heaven help the man who does think he's worthy."

"I am not as bad as all that."

"I think as a wife you will be a challenge to any man."

"You don't think Frannie will be a challenge?"

"Of course not. Not once we overcome this obstacle."

"Is that truly what you want? Someone who never offers you a challenge? I think it would be rather boring."

"I've had enough challenges in my life, Lady Catherine. I welcome a marriage without them."

"Of course. Forgive me. It is not for me to judge what you seek in marriage."

Yet, she couldn't help but think about the reason Frannie had given her for not wanting to marry Claybourne.

"I owe him everything, and he owes me nothing. I'm accustomed to dealing with numbers and keeping everything balanced. It seems to me that our marriage would be incredibly lopsided. It doesn't seem like a pleasant way to live, and in time, I fear we would regret it and eventually lose whatever affection we hold for each other."

I owe him everything.

I'm not doing for her anything I've not done for her before.

Catherine couldn't help but think that the man Claybourne had killed was somehow tied in with Frannie. Would she ever know the whole story? Did she wish to know it? If his actions were truly justified, would she begin to see him in a favorable light? Would she begin to question her own plans involving him?

He was a man that at least one person felt she owed everything. Frannie hadn't used the word lightly. She truly felt she owed Claybourne everything. Catherine couldn't imagine being that much in debt to anyone. Oddly, she wanted to reach across the short distance separating Claybourne from her, take his hand in hers, and plead with him to tell her every sordid detail of his past.

Why was it the more time she spent in his company, the more he intrigued her?

Thankfully the coach came to a halt before she could carry through on what she was certain would be a rash decision. Did she truly want to know his past? Wouldn't the arrangement be better served if they kept their distance, were more strangers than friends?

The door opened, and she made a move toward it.

"Allow me to go first," Claybourne said.

"There's no need for you to escort me."

"I insist."

He stepped out, then a.s.sisted her in alighting from the coach. He walked with her until they reached the gate that led to the garden and the path used by those delivering goods to the residence.

She placed her hand on the latch. "Good night, my lord. I'll see you tomorrow at midnight."

"Catherine?"

She froze. His voice held a roughness, a seriousness that almost terrified her, and an informality that was equally frightening. She thought she should look at him, but she was afraid of what she might see, what he might say. So she waited, barely breathing.

"This person you want dispensed with, is it because he...did he force his attentions-his body-on you?"

She dared to look over her shoulder at him. Dark and formidable, he stood there in the shadows.

"You don't have to tell me the details, but if he took your virtue against your will, you have but to give me his name now, tonight, and your portion of our arrangement will be concluded, and I shall immediately see to mine."

Her throat tightened painfully with the realization of what he was asking and what he was offering. Surely he was not as n.o.ble as all that. "Are you saying you'd not require me to teach Frannie before you took care of the matter?"

"I am."

How easy it would be to just say yes. To have the matter taken care of expeditiously and quickly. She would never see him again. And if she'd not witnessed his odd honesty, if she'd not begun to question her opinion of him, if she'd not begun to realize that he possessed a moral code that was to be admired, she might have taken advantage of his offer. But the truth was that she selfishly didn't want this moment to be the last she ever saw of him.

Earlier he'd spoken about wanting something so desperately as to be willing to do, to believe, anything in order to obtain it. He felt that way about Frannie. She was his deepest desire, marriage to her the dream he wanted realized. And he was willing to give it up, for Catherine-who meant nothing to him-if she'd been wronged.

Claybourne quite simply fascinated her. She'd never known a man who seemed quite so complex, a man who seemed to have so many varying facets to him. He was not all evil. Nor was he all good. It was an immensely captivating combination.

"My virtue remains intact."

He seemed to wilt just a bit as though he'd been preparing himself for the blow of learning that she'd been harmed.

"I'll see you tomorrow, my lord."

He bowed slightly. "Tomorrow."

She went in through the gate and closed it quietly behind her. She didn't wish to acknowledge how his concern had touched her.

Claybourne was far more dangerous than she realized. Whether a sinner or a saint, he held her interest as no other man ever had.

Chapter 6.

Frannie Darling stepped out of Dodger's Drawing Room-the elegant name she'd suggested for something rather inelegant at its core, as though pretty words could make sin acceptable-and walked toward the stairs that led to the small flat where she lived. It was still part of Dodger's, but the outside entrance at least made her feel as though she were stepping away from the dregs and into a better life.

Not that she didn't have the means to live in a fancier dwelling. She did. Feagan's lads treated her as an equal, and she shared in the profits from their ventures. She could live in a palace if she wanted, but the money she earned was never for her. Others were far more deserving.

As she made her way up the stairs, she smelled the familiar richly scented tobacco. It was a much more pleasant aroma than it had been when they were children. Jack could afford the very finest customized tobacco now.

Yet still he packed it into the long clay pipe he'd begun using when he was a lad of eight. It wasn't unusual for Feagan's lads to smoke and drink spirits at a young age. Kept them warm. The pipe was part of Jack's past, a reminder of what he'd been before Luke's grandfather had offered them a chance at a better life. They'd all brought something with them.

Jack had stayed in the residence in St. James's only long enough to learn what he needed in order to gain what he wanted. He'd never been happy living with the Earl of Claybourne. But then as far as Frannie knew, he'd never been truly happy anywhere-except for the slight contentment he seemed to have with Feagan. Jack had been the most skilled of their little band, always bringing in the most coins and handkerchiefs, always sitting by the fire with Feagan-Feagan drinking his gin, Jack drinking gin and smoking his pipe-both of them whispering late into the night. As far as Frannie knew, Jack's was the only opinion Feagan ever sought.

"'Ello, Frannie," he said as she reached the landing. Outside the gaming h.e.l.l, he was never the businessman he was indoors. Still, he was astute. Always looking for the angle that would give him more than he held.

"Dodger." In their youth, he'd been Dodger more often than Jack. He'd been skilled at dodging the hands that wanted to grab him when the target realized his pockets were being picked. It was usually the other thief who clumsily tipped off their intended prey. They'd all scatter when that happened.

Only once had Jack gone back to try to help a thief who wasn't quite as nimble. He'd gone back for Luke. It had been the only time Jack had ever been caught.

"Lovely evening tonight," she said.

"Oh, yeah, the fog is b.l.o.o.d.y luvely. Think there's anywhere in England where they don't have fog?"

"Would you move if there was?"

"Not likely. I doubt there's a city anywhere where I can make more money."

"There's more to life than coin."

"Not for me there's not."

Sighing, she looked out at the fog. It was like life, preventing her from seeing what was beyond reach. She wasn't unhappy. She simply felt that something important was missing from her life.

Jack puffed on his pipe, and they stood in silence for a while. She always enjoyed Jack's company even if they weren't talking. As a matter of fact, she usually enjoyed it most when they weren't. He had the uncanny knack of knowing what she was thinking.

"Why didn't you tell him the truth, Frannie, instead of making up all those silly excuses?" he asked after a while, his voice low as though he thought Luke might be waiting around a corner listening.

"I couldn't, Jack. I didn't want to hurt him. Not after all he's done for me."

"Not hurt him? All you've done is prolong the matter. And now he's brought a b.l.o.o.d.y stranger into our midst to teach you what you already know."

Her chest tightened painfully. "I know I've made a mess of things. I do love him, but I don't want to marry him. I don't want to be a countess. I just want to do what I want to do."

"He won't stop you from doing that."

"Oh, I know that well enough, but it won't be the same. Oh, G.o.d, maybe I should just marry him, be done with the worry over hurting him, but I don't think he'd be really happy with me. Sometimes having the dream makes you more content than having the reality."

"That doesn't make a b.l.o.o.d.y bit of sense."

"I heard about your blasted wagers. Why did you keep encouraging him to ask me when you knew how I felt?" she asked, almost as disappointed with him as she was with herself.

"Because he needs to know the truth, and it needs to come from you. He won't believe it from anyone else."

He puffed, she sulked.

"He likes her," Jack said, his voice low.

Frannie felt an unfamiliar p.r.i.c.k of...what? Jealousy?

"Who? Lady Catherine?"

Nodding, he puffed on his pipe again. "Warned me to stay clear of her. It wasn't an idle threat either. d.a.m.ned near had me trembling in my shoes the way he came after me."

She wasn't quite certain how she felt about that. She should be relieved, but a part of her mourned the prospect of losing a portion of Luke's heart. She'd held it all for so long, and yet she knew she couldn't hold it forever. It wasn't fair to him. As much as she cared for him, what she felt was the love of a sister for a brother, not a woman for a man.

"Maybe he feels responsible, bringing her into our den of criminals, thinks you'll corrupt or ruin her. You may no longer live with Feagan, but you're still recruiting people, enticing them to the dark side of London."

He grinned around his pipe. "Where's the harm? We're all going to h.e.l.l anyway. Might as well have a bit of fun along the way, and the more the merrier and all that."

"You're so like Feagan. You know, I used to pretend he was my father. We both had red hair that was so irritatingly curly." She shrugged. "It seemed likely he could be."

She waited, hoping Jack would laugh at her silly confession. He'd been with Feagan the longest, knew everything. But Jack simply tapped his pipe against the landing railing, sending the ash into the darkness below.

"Good night, Frannie. Sleep well."

He jaunted down the steps. He had rooms next to hers, but she knew it would be dawn before he retired to them. She knew a good deal about Jack Dodger.

But not everything. None of them knew everything. They all had their secrets, but she suspected Jack's were the worst of the lot.

Luke strode into his library, crossed over to the table, poured a generous amount of whiskey into a gla.s.s, and immediately tossed it down, relishing the burning sensation. Whatever had possessed him to tell Catherine the things he told her?