To Tempt the Devil Pt. 01

It would probably not have worked in any case, she knew. That did not justify, however, her own selfishness in carrying out such sordid works. The whole affair stank of juvenility and amateurs. And when it came to elaborate planning, she was not an amateur. One would never have known it though, to judge from the hasty, unthought-through plans she had made this time.

She could almost scream with frustration. She had failed, had misjudged both herself and her opposition, had been impetuous and hasty in her actions. And now it was too late, too late to do anything. There was only one thing left for it. There was no way she could stay and marry Silverstone - that was out of the question.

She would simply have to make a run for it.

It would not really be breaking her word to her father, she reasoned numbly. She was not really breaking the betrothal. It was just that, if Silverstone could not find her, he couldn’t very well marry her, could he? And he needed to marry at some point, and if not to her then surely to someone else, and to do so, he would have to break their betrothal. No, it would not be breaking her word, if he were the one who were to break the betrothal...

“Go into hiding, Faith? Good god girl, have you gone mad?”

Faith looked down at her feet, unable to meet Prudence’s eyes. “Its the only thing I can do,” she said in a small voice.

“Really, Faith,” said Amelia in a rather more gentler tone. “It does seem a little extreme.”

“No more than self ruination,” Prudence muttered, “I suppose we ought to be grateful that that didn’t get anywhere at least.”

“Faith!” Amelia exclaimed. “What’s this Prue’s talking about?”

“Don’t call me Prue,” Prudence interjected.

“Prue!” Faith said, exasperated. “This is not sharing time.”

“Excuse me,” Amelia said huffily. “I had no idea we were keeping secrets, Faith. I’m so sorry to have pried this one out of you.”

“Amy,” Faith sighed. “Its not that I didn’t want to tell you. Its just that I figured the less people who knew the better. Less chance of someone stopping me that way. Even Sylvester doesn’t know about my plans, and I always tell him everything.”

“How does Prudence know, then?” Amy persisted sulkily.

“She got drunk,” Prudence answered drily. “Lord Vardon had to escort her home and she didn’t want him knowing where she really lived so she directed him to my house. You can imagine Hicks’ surprise at being woken at three in the morning by a pair of drunkards intent on getting into the house.”

Amelia giggled. “Poor Hicks,” she said, all sulkiness apparently gone.

“Anyway,” Prudence continued briskly, “What’s this about going into hiding, Faith? You aren’t serious, are you?”

“Yes,” Faith said heavily. “I am. My other plans didn’t work, you see, and now there’s nothing left but to flee London, perhaps to one of my estates, and wait until Silverstone gets tired of looking for me. Once he realises he’s never going to find me, there’ll be nothing to it but for him to break the betrothal. And then I won’t be breaking my word to my father.”

“But aren’t you really?” Amelia said skeptically. “Since you’re the one who’s running away and avoiding the marriage?”

“No,” Faith said stubbornly. “It was like my other plan. If I was ruined, I’d still marry him if he wanted me, but of course, he wouldn’t. In this case, I’d still marry him if he could find me, but he won’t.”

“It doesn’t strike me as being the same,” Amy insisted. “You’re actually making it impossible for him to marry you, even if he wanted to. You’re preventing the marriage. Its not the same.”

“Never mind that,” Prudence cut in impatiently. “What I want to know is, how are you going to prevent Silverstone, or your brother from ransacking all your estates and finding you?”

“My brother won’t do that,” Faith said confidently. “And besides, even if he does, I’ll simply take myself off somewhere else. The world is a large place, after all. And Silverstone isn’t going to be able to ransack my estates, not without either my or Sylvester’s consent. My men wouldn’t let him in.”

“I don’t know,” said Prudence. “Where do you intend to go?”

“Probably Devernay,” Faith replied. “Its the estate that I own closest to the border with France. I can escape there if anything happens.”

“What about your brother? Won’t he be worried?”

“I can write him a note after I leave. He’ll understand.”

“I don’t like it,” Amelia said stubbornly. “It smells too much of cowardice to me. You’re taking the easy way out, Faith. Its not like you. There’s something not right, here.”

Though she shot a chagrinned look in Amelia’s direction, she remained silent, unwilling to contradict sentiments that were also her own. She had no wish to be branded a hypocrite as well as a coward.

* * *

“Sylvester,” said Faith that night as they sat over dinner before leaving for Lady Henley’s ball, “I have a favour to ask you.”

Her brother looked up from his plate and raised his brows at her enquiringly. “Yes?”

Faith swallowed. Her brother was looking particularly ducal tonight, she thought numbly, with his severe blue coat, cream waistcoat, and starched white shirt topped off with an elegantly tied cravat. It would only help in her cause.

She needed to go back to Vadiste’s one more time, tonight. She needed to see Lord Vardon, to speak to him once more, and perhaps, find the answer to her question. To do that, she needed her brother, and she needed him in his full ducal glory. She had a vague feeling that she would never be able to leave without having at least one last chance to speak to him - and she knew beyond a doubt, she would need all her brother’s influence for her to be able to approach Vardon again.

“I - I need to go to Vadistes,” Faith said softly. “Again. Once more, before we go to Lady Henley’s ball.”

Sylvester cocked his head. “I thought you said you were tired of that place?”

“I am. Only - I want to go back. Just once more. But I need your help.”

“My help? What the devil for?”

“A - er, certain gentleman may try to dissuade me from entering.”

To her surprise and chagrin, Sylvester laughed. “So that’s it, is it? You cheated some fool out of his allowance and now he doesn’t want you back to do it again. You ought to have been more careful, sis!”

Well, close enough, she thought. Lord Vardon had caught her cheating - though she was certain had it been anyone else, she never would have been, although it had been his cousin she had been cheating. “Yes,” she said, with a rueful shrug. “But what can I say? I simply have an urge to go back one more time - perhaps to try again. I know after I am married I will never be allowed back there.”

“You can push your luck, sometimes,” Sylvester murmured, regarding her levelly for a moment.

She shrugged again, and resumed eating.

Some time later, as Sylvester waited in the parlour for her to come down, she appeared at the head of the stairs. Her brother raised a brow - Faith was dressed in a rather more risque way than was normal for her, in a low cut, high waisted emerald green satin, simple bodice adorned with pearls and girthed by sparce, elegant lace.

She gestured awkwardly. “What do you think?”

What did she think? He thought with a roll of his eyes. “You look stunning,” he said drily. “Now hurry, if you would like to get to the Henley’s before 3.”

She started to make her way down, then paused.

“What is it now?” Sylvester demanded, exasperated.

“Wait,” Faith murmured. “I’ve forgotten my fan.”

* * *

The door to Vadiste’s was opened by the attendant who stood on duty, as Faith and his Grace entered regally, her hand on her brother’s arm. This was the first time she had appeared in Vadiste’s officially escorted by him for all to see. There would be speculation, she knew. For some, it would click, and they would realise she was his sister. For others, they would assume, as Lord Vardon had, that she was his mistress. She was not certain which story she wished to circulate, for as yet she was still uncertain of her own motives.

“I need you to simply escort me, and not ask any questions, and not to say anything either, unless you must. And if you hear anything, er, odd, please just go along with me,” she had told Sylvester as they alighted from the carriage. He had been curious, and somewhat taken aback at her odd request, but had agreed nonetheless. It was times like these that Faith was grateful she and Sylvester were so close. She did not know what she would have done without him.

They entered the main gaming room together, Sylvester relaxed and languidly at ease while his sister was as tensed up and highstrung as a bowstring. “Relax,” he murmured in her ear. “You’re very tense.” This tableau had the image of a lover whispering sweet nothings into his beloved’s ear - a fact that was not lost on several of the hell’s patrons. The men watched as the couple entered and made their customary survey of the room, nodding and smiling at acquaintances. Only Faith did not smile, for for some reason, she felt extraordinarily nervous. Glancing around until she spotted Vardon’s lean figure and sprawled limps in one of the large armchairs set in the very back of the room, where all serious gaming was going on. Vardon was seemingly engaged in a rather intense contest of whist with three others - Lord James Brantson the Earl of Erwick, Francis Markham, and Sir Timothy Fanshawe.

She nodded in that direction to Sylvester and obligingly, he escorted her towards the small party.

Faith steeled herself. Lord Vardon would not find it easy to abduct and throw her out in front of her brother.

He noticed her at once, of course. How could he not? It seemed that the moment she appeared, every male gaze was turned towards her, and almost every female one as well. The men, Vardon knew, were no doubt sizing up how much of a threat Edenvale would pose in their quest to obtain the lady’s favours. The women were most likely calculating just how quickly they could manage to boot her out of favour.

It was not, however, until she had approached his chair and had stood waiting behind him for several minutes, before he deigned to notice James clearing his throat rather repetitively and pointedly. Lazily, he laid down his cards, and turned his head, barely sparing her a glance before nodding Edenvale. The duke nodded back, grimly.

“Lord Vardon,” her dulcet tones shivered across his ears. “Would you grant me a game of cards? I propose a wager.”

He regarded her silently from under sleepy lids.

Faith took a breath, then plunged in. “A game of piquet, my lord. Three hands. If you should win, I shall never return to this place again, nor to any other place which I know you frequent. I am aware the sight of me displeases you.” She paused while the astonished group around them took this in. “And if I should win...I ask of you a boon.”

She seemed rather fond of those types of stakes, Vardon thought. He considered for a moment. What would she ask, if she won? More importantly, would she win? He did not trust her - yet he knew well enough that his own card skills were vastly superiour - far superiour to those of any woman. It was ludicrous that she, a mere chit, should beat him.

He had had the opportunity of versing her protector, however. A most worthy opponent. If the duke had chosen to teach his mistress some of his tricks...but nevermind. She would not beat him, nor would she use any of her cardsharping tricks. He would see to him.

With a short nod, he agreed to the terms of the wager.

While he settled at the whist table, he saw her turn to Edenvale and murmur, “After Lady Henley’s ball, will you take me to Amelia’s? I’ve made some plans.” The duke nodded once, unquestioning, and seemingly reassured, she continued. “Its all right. You can leave now - I just need to finish this.” Stoically, Sylvester merely raised one ducal eyebrow, and just as tacitly, bowed and left.

* * *

They sat down to a table a little further apart from the others, with only James, Timothy and Francis Markham looking on. As they had been present when the terms of the wager had been stated, it would have been exceedinly churlish to have denied them.

“Will you cut the cards, my lady?” Vardon slid the pack towards her. Faith took one glance at his slightly sneering, indolent expression, and pushed them back.

“You do the honours, my lord.”

The cards were cut and dealt efficiently, and as Faith picked up her hand, she flicked open her fan.

The sleepy eyes which had been trained on the cards he held in his hand snapped up. “Put that away,” he almost snarled.

Taken aback, Faith almost dropped her cards. “But its such a warm night,” she protested.

“Really, Vardon,” James put in. “You cannot deny the lady her fan!”

Vardon ignored him. “Put. It. Away.” He enunciated each word slowly and clearly. “I assume you are able to understand such a command?”

Realisation dawned in her eyes and she flushed, angrily, “I would not -”

“Wouldn’t you? I am not so sure of that, you see. Put it away.”

Before the amazed eyes of the three onlookers, slowly, she snapped the fan closed and laid it on the table. “There. You are satisfied?”

“My life is now complete,” he answered satirically, and the play began in earnest.

* * *

Faith was losing. This, she knew, and yet somehow, she could not seem to comprehend it. She had won the first hand with ease, more ease than she had expected, and then suddenly, had found herself playing quite desperately in the second hand, to lose by a mere margin. In the third hand, she found herself losing quite steadily. There had to be something wrong and yet, try as she might, she could not seem to detect any sign of foul play. She was tempted quite suddenly to flick open her fan again and woe betide anyone who tried to stop her.

The last discard was picked up, and suddenly the game had ended.

Vardon had won.

Damn it to hell. Standing stiffly, she nodded once to Vardon. “Congratulations, my lord. You’ve won. I give you good night. Gentlemen - have a good evening.” With a curtsey to the three onlookers, she swept out of the room. A moment later, Sylvester, having noticed her departure, rose too, and left.

Vardon sat back, a curious little smile playing about his face. His hands fingered still the delicate fan he held in his hands.

Chapter Nine: In Which Faith Finds Herself Ruined

Faith sighed, tapped her foot, and looked at the great grandfather clock set towards the back of the magnificently opulent ballroom, glittering with chanderliers and huge ornate brass candleholders at every corner. Great velvet drapes lined the walls, falling in sweeping folds towards the floors, and huge bouquets of exotic flowers were set around the room. The humid scents of humanity and exotic flowers as well as expensive perfumes rose around the room, serving to create a dreamy, almost stifling atmosphere, as the crowd milled and dancers swayed on the floor. Chatter filled the air, while the sounds of the orchestra set in the corner crested over, and mingled with, all other sounds.

It was barely half past midnight. Much too early to leave. She smiled and nodded as Lady Sally Jersey drifted past, conversing animatedly with Countess Lieven. It was really too bad, she thought, that she had not been born with a title, estates, and a duke for a brother. It would have meant a great deal less trouble.

She repressed the urge to roll her eyes as yet another young dandy, this one dressed in puce and ruffles, came by to solicit her hand. She refused politely, and looked about for Sylvester, who, damn him, was dancing with a lovely, junoesque woman with wide baby blue eyes, and very bright gold ringlets. She blinked - Sylvester couldn’t be dancing with Lord Vardon’s mistress? But he was - although she supposed it really wasn’t that odd.

As the dance ended, Sylvester bowed to his partner, then offered her his arm and led her off the floor. To Faith’s surprise, they came straight towards her. Sylvester paused, and with a curiously enigmatic look, presented her to his companion.

“Faith my love. Have you met my charming companion yet?”

“I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure,” she replied coolly.

“Well then my dear - if I may present you to her ladyship, Anna Deverney, Baroness of Morgay. My lady, my sister, Faith de Courte.”

Anna smiled charmingly, while looking her over calculatingly. The chit could be no more than eighteen, she guessed. Pretty, but not much competition. At least, not with anyone she would be interested in - neither James, nor, Vardon, she knew, were in the least interested in schoolroom chits. “Delighted to meet you, Miss de Courte. Faith, did you say your name was?” Something occurred to her, something Silverstone had yelled out when they had been making love the other day. At the time, the baroness had thought he were simply crying out an imprecation of sorts, but now that she had met a girl, with the name Faith, she had to wonder. Was it, perhaps, merely a coincidence? God knew, the word “faith” was often uttered simply in place of a rather more extreme uttering, but could he perhaps have met her? No, impossible to believe Vardon had been taken in by a debutante...She realised, with a start, that the chit was saying something.

“Lady de Courte,” she was saying.

Anna frowned, casting her most contemptuous look over her. “I beg your pardon?”

The girl did not blink. “I said, the correct form of address you must use is Lady de Courte, as my mother no longer lives and I am the only remaining female in the line. You may, of course, call me Lady Faith, or just Faith, but I am not a miss.” Faith had the distinct impression that Sylvester was smothering a laugh.

Anna smirked. “Oh, oh yes, of course. Do forgive me, I forgot.” She cast a flirtatious look towards the duke. “His Grace is, after all, your brother. As such I imagine you are entitled to the title of Lady.”

“Actually,” Sylvester broke in, “Faith is a lady in her own right. Countess, you know.”

“Oh?” Anna raised her brows. “Of which earldom? Some little province in the south, I daresay. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard of it.”

Faith smiled. “I believe you have. I assume you’ve heard of the Earldom of Devernay?”

To Faith’s extreme delight, the Baroness blanched. “Yes,” she said stiffly. “Yes, I believe I might have heard of it.” She turned to Sylvester, and said sweetly, “Your grace, would you mind very much escorting me to the withdrawing room? I don’t feel very well.”

“Er,” said Sylvester. “I was rather thinking -”

“That’s all right, Sylvester,” Faith said with a small smile. “Its getting rather stuffy in here. I might take a turn outside. Please do escort the baroness. I would hate to have her collapse on the floor at your feet.” She met her brother’s eyes and quirked a brow slightly, then moved on quickly before he could see how tired she really was.

Coming up to a footman, she whispered a few quick instructions for her carriage to be brought forward, and for a message to be delivered to her brother once she had left, then made her way towards the gardens. She breathed in the slightly cooler night air as she stepped out onto the terrace, then headed in the direction of the rose garden. The moon peaked out from behind grey clouds, casting enough light for her to see her path clearly, even without the lanterns that hung along the way. The scent of roses mingled with the fresh night air - she exhaled gratefully. She would have a few minutes of peace, here, before returning to the hectic ballroom. Near an empty bench stood an entire row of blossoming red roses. Unable to resist, she drifted towards them, then bent, inhaling deeply of the luxurious, wonderfully sweet scent.

Hands, large, warm strong hands, clasped around her waist, and she felt, quite suddenly, the heat of a very large body pressed against her back. She froze, and the voice, intimately familiar now, breathed in her ear, “No need to be alarmed, child. I’ve only come to collect my winnings.”