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To Tempt the Devil Pt. 01

By: ms_girl23



Prologue:

The Island, 1813

The woman stood on the shores of her homeland, gazing out to sea. In the distance, the ship was but a speck, no longer visible. The children had left, at last, as shehad always known they would have to.Their father had come to take them away. After seven years, he had finally come.

It was too soon.

She had been setting her plans for almost ten years, ten years before the duke had finally seen fit to take his children to his homeland - to her homeland. Even then, it had been almost too late, for the children had been almost grown, and would take time to adapt to the Island’s ways. She did not know how long the duke would stay. He had not mourned his wife, she knew, though he had been sad, for the children would no longer have a mother. He had come to the Island only for a brief respite from his life.

But fate had intervened, and the duke had found himself called upon to aid his country, to serve the King, and so for seven long years his children had been left on the Island, to face their legacy. To face their father’s legacy, which he had never known, having left the Island before he was of five years of age and thus unable to have fulfilled his destiny. It had been too late for him - but it was not too late for the children. No, it was not too late at all. 

He had entrusted the children to her sister’s care, never knowing her true identity. The woman smiled at the thought. Foolish, foolish man. To think his destroyer had been under his nose all along...and that he had willingly delivered his children into her hands!

But the time would come, soon, when her plans would come into fruition, when, at long last, she would restore the Island’s legacy. The children would return, one day, to take their rightful place in the world that they belonged in, and then their mother would finally be able to rest. Their father had foiled her in taking them away once, fifteen years ago, and then once again, seven years ago, but never again would he do so. He did not know it, but his death was drawing near. One day, soon, his children would return, and embrace his killers as their people. Embrace the land he had spurned.

One day. Soon.

Chapter One: In Which Faith’s Pending Matrimony is Discussed

London, 1825

“Fayfee,” the man slurred, lurching drunkenly at her. “Fayfee, I luf you. I luf you, Fayfee. Why -” (he hiccuped) “Why can’t you mar- marrrrrry me?” He clutched at her gown, staring dolefully up at her with glazed eyes, and swayed slightly as he fought to keep his balance.

Faith Elizabeth Amalia Sarah Jannelle de Courte Constantinos, fifth Countess of Devenry, seventh Viscountess of Rawlston, 12th Baronness of Tusane, daughter of the late 6th Duke of Edenvale, and sister to the 7th Duke of Edenvale, rolled her eyes and resisted the extraordinarily strong urge to stamp her foot. Firmly, but gently, she removed Lord Perry’s hands from her sleeve, and set him solidly against the wall where he proceeded to begin sliding downwards. With a sigh she grabbed his arms and heaved him up again, where he stood, this time swaying, but upright. 

Strains of music came tinkling in from the ballroom of the Mansfield’s elegant manor, where Faith had been a minute ago shrivelling up in boredom before being dragged quite gracelessly into one of the numerous alcoves of the hall by a drunk Lord Perry very much intent on (once again) declaring his eternal devotion. As tedious as the ball had been, she would have much preferred to stay there than to languish in Lord Perry’s drunken, although assuredly devoted, clutches. “Lord Perry,” she stated, trying to sound firm. “I have already told you why my brother turned down your suit - in fact, why he turned down all the gentlemen who have been calling on me. I am already betrothed, and therefore unavailable.” Much as she wished it otherwise, of course.

“Pah,” Perry said, managing to shower her with a rain of spittle while he was at it. 

“Silll - Silverssstone don’t deserrrve you, Fayfee. He don’t deserrrve anyone. Damn - damn devil’s spawn!” He lurched again, tumbling into her and almost sending her sprawling.

“I’m rather inclined to agree,” Faith muttered dryly, looking around and hoping no one had, as yet, noticed their altercation. With a heave, she set Perry back against the wall once more and backed away hastily before he could launch himself at her again.


“Wassat?” Perry mumbled, looking at her blearily. “You agree? Really Fayfee? You do? You’ll marry me! Oh Fayfee...” he grinned sleepily. “You’ve made me so happy...”

“No!” the startled exclamation tore out of her before she had a chance to subdue it, and she was instantly rewarded with the brokenhearted expression on Perry’s face. His lower lip stuck out, and she saw it quiver suspiciously. He was harmless, really, she thought with a sigh. Too devoted perhaps, for his own good, and too free with his money, but he was a young man still, and would learn to curb his impulses.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Faith said, trying to be as gentle as possible. “But I’m afraid the right to decide my marriage lies with my brother. You’ll have to consult him.”

Lord Perry’s face crumpled, looking almost as if he were about to burst into tears, and she immediately felt a fresh stab of guilt. It wasn’t his fault, really, she though with a twinge of shame. She supposed she had encouraged him, when she really hadn’t had the right to. But really, all she’d done was allow him to take her on the occasional ride around the park - she’d had no idea that he would take it as a sign of some sort of deeper feeling. “There, there,” she said awkwardly, patting his arm. “I’m sure you’ll find some lovely other young woman upon whom to bestow your affections - she’ll be most lucky, you’ll see.”

“No!” Perry cried suddenly, sounding remarkably lucid for his inebrieted state. “I won’t many another! And I won’t let you, either! If I can’t have you, no one will.” With disturbing grimmess and a surprising strength for all his unsteadiness, he latched onto Faith’s arm and began dragging her towards the side door behind them, wobbling all the way.

All traces of Faith’s good intentions vanished. “Here now!” she protested, trying forcefully to yank her arm out of his grip. “Let me go at once, sirrah, or I tell you straight, I’ll ,make sure you regret it!”

Lord Perry shook his head at her. “Sorry, my love,” he said regretfully. “Can’t do that. Besides, I know you’d never hurt me. I’m off to marry you, you see, and if I let you go, there’ll be no bride there! And if there’s no bride, there’s no wedding. You see my problem?”

“Oh yes,” Faith said grimly. “I see your problem.” Before he could do more than gape at her, she swung her fist and punched him, thereby knocking him conveniently out.

“Another disappointed suitor?” the amused male tones behind her drew Faith’s attention as he dusted off her hands and straightened her skirts. She swivelled around, panic flaring in her eyes before she realised it had been her brother Sylvester, who had spoken. “Don’t you make noise?” she demanded crossly. “I thought you were Lady Jersey come to crucify me.”

“Lady Jersey would make noise,” Sebastion reassured her blithely.

“I don’t suppose she’s named ‘silence’ for nothing,” Faith muttered.

Sylvester grinned. “I notice poor old Perry hasn’t recovered from the stunning blow you dealt him yet. What shall we do with him?”

“Leave him,” Faith shrugged. “He’ll wake up at some point. You ought to have been more clear with him about his suit, you know. He doesn’t seem to have got the point that you meant no.”

Her brother raised a ducal eyebrow. “Faith, my dear sister. My exact words to him were: ‘No, you may not marry my sister. If you broach the subject to me ever again I shall cut out your tongue.’ Exactly how clear did you wish me to be? By the way, someone is bound to trip over him if we leave him here.”

“You needn’t have been so cruel,” she insisted. “It probably triggered some sort of defence mechanism in him, made him shut out all opposition.”

“Do you mean he simply chose to ignore whatever he didn’t want to hear?”

“Yes,” she sighed. “He’s really very unfortunate, you know. His father was terribly cruel to him as a child, so now whenever someone says something he doesn’t want to hear - particularly cruelly - he simply chooses to ignore it.”

“Dear lord, Fayfee, when did you start analysing other people’s behaviour?”

She glowered at his deliberate mockery of her name. “I didn’t. He told me.”

“He did?”

“Of course,” Faith replied pragmatically. “How else do you suppose I found 

out?”

“Knowing you,” Sylvester muttered darkly, “I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that you hired a team of investigators to learn about Perry’s childhood.” He glanced down at the figure lying prone at their feet, and nudged him slightly. “He’s going to wake up with a devil of a headache.”

“I suppose he will,” Faith said calmly, taking her brother’s arm and steering him back into the ballroom. “Escort me back to the ball, Sylvester. It wouldn’t do for me to go about alone. Not at all proper, you know.”

Sylvester snorted. “No, of course. Wouldn’t do at all.” 

* * *

They returned from the ball shortly after midnight, which by London’s standards, was quite early. Most of the ton chose to stay out till nearly dawn, then sleeping in till noon, only to come out again that night and stay out till late. Neither Sylvester nor Faith had any inclination to retire, however, and so both adjoined to the drawing room, Sylvester for port, and Faith for brandy. It was not at all proper for young ladies of 18 to indulge in brandy, nor enjoy it the way she did, of course, but in the privacy of her own home there was nothing to stop her. Her brother certainly did not care to try - his sister’s carefully cultivated palate could discern the exact maturity, vintage, and lable of any particular wine. As yet she had never failed - and Sylvester was not about to divest her of the habit.

“This is armagnac,” Faith said, frowning at the amber liquid in her glass.

“So it is,” Sylvester said mildly from where he sprawled in the comfortable armchair in front of the fire, idly shuffling a deck of cards.

“Have we run out of cognac?”

“No,” her brother replied.

She was perplexed. “Then why is this armagnac?”

He shrugged. “I suppose Filks decided it was time you had a change.”

His tone was entirely too casual. She stared, hard, at him. “What are you up to now, Sylvester?”

“I was interested,” he said mildly, “In seeing whether you could still tell the difference between armagnac and cognac. There is a wager, you see, in White’s at the moment.”

Faith sighed. “Oh Sylvester, not another one.”

He grinned sheepishly. “I could not help it. There were a few fellows who claimed that they could tell the difference between a ninety year old vintage and a ninety one year old one, you see. I was compelled to tell them that my baby sister could do better. Well, not in so many words, of course. I merely referred to you as a certain lady, merely out of the schoolroom, whom I knew. I couldn’t let your reputation suffer any smearing.” Their eyes met and they exchanged identical grins, well aware that all de Courtes ate scandal for breakfast. Besides - Faith wasn’t aware that she had any reputation to speak of, at least as yet, so there could be no harm.

“I’m not your baby sister,” she said out of habit.

“No, dearest.”

An anticipatory, purposeful glow stole over Faith’s features. She smiled, suddenly. “When’s the test to be conducted?”

Sylvester grinned. “Next Friday. Whist or faro?”

“Whist.”

“Unwise, dearest,” he reprimanded gently. “I am better than you at whist.”

“I need the practice,” she replied.

Sylvester shrugged. “Very well.” He dealt the cards. She waited until he had dealt a full hand, then picked them up. “Have you seen Silverstone yet?”

“No,” he said absently, deftly rearranging his hand. “He doesn’t frequent the ton alot, I’m told. Prefers the demimonde. Apparently he has rather vampire-like tendencies = doesn’t like daylight. But then we would have known that.” 

“Have you had a chance to find out where he goes?”

“Mostly at the gaming hells,” Sylvester replied. “I suppose Vadiste’s would be the most logical place to start. I haven’t had a chance to visit any yet, though. I will inform you when I do.”

“Mmm,” Faith replied, playing a queen. The movement of her hand was imperceptible, but Sylvester caught it nonetheless. His hand shot out to grasp her wrist, revealing the errant card. 

“Very good,” he said admiringly. “But not good enough. I saw you. I suppose if it had been anyone else, you would have gotten away with it, but you must not take such a chance, nonetheless. Practice, Faith.”

She sighed in exasperation. “No amount of practice will slip by your eye, Sylvester. I vow you have eyes on the back of your hands.”

“That’s the oddest misquote I’ve ever heard,” Sylvester said interestedly. “Perhaps you’d best stick with Piquet then, Faith.”

“No, I shall practice some more.”

“Very well.” He played the last card and won the game with a reasonable margin. “My hand.”

“Its always your hand,” she said irritably.

“Never fear, m’dear. Your time will come. One day you will be as talented as I.” His grin was teasing but his words were in all seriousness - with the right amount of training he knew his sisters skills as a gamester would some day surpass even his own - not that he intended to let her know that, of course. The life of a gamester was no life for her. She deserved a good marriage, and children, and a loving family. As for him...well, he still had a few years to go before he had to be married - he could afford to sow his wild oats for a while.

“Ha,” she said scornfully. “A lot of good that will do me, after I’m married to that devil Silverstone.”

Her brother regarded her thoughtfully for a moment. “You don’t have to, you know,” Sylvester said finally. “I could simply say that I had forbidden the match and no one could say otherwise. All you need to do is say the word and I’ll summon him to inform him of the break of his betrothal.”

“No,” Faith said sadly. “You can’t do that, because then I would be breaking my word to father. I promised him, before he died, that I would not break my engagement to Silverstone unless I believed that it - the betrothal - could endanger my life or yours, in some way.”

She frowned as she remembered the day she had made that promise, closing her eyes briefly at the memory. Their father had led a chaotic life - and his death had been just as unusual, to say the least. Even a year later, the memories of that day disturbed her - though not enough to make her change her ways. The years of training, in that way of life were too ingrained, too much a part of her now. Even if she had wanted to, she would never have been able to forget that part of her life. It was a part of her, as it was a part of Sylvester and their training would never let them forget it.

“Yes, that’s really going to happen,” Sylvester said sarcastically. “Whoever heard of an engagement endangering someone’s life?”

“Precisely,” Faith said dolefully. “The only way I’d be able to get out of it would be if he broke it, or if you really had some reason that you felt was legitimate enough to break it.”

“Your unhappiness is legitimate.”

“I’d be going against my word to father if I allowed you to do just because I told you to.”

“How on earth are you going to get him to break it?” Sylvester demanded. “There isn’t anyone in london who wouldn’t jump to marry you.”

“Oh pah,” Faith said derisively. “I’ve only had four suitors.”

“Its the start of the season, Faith dear. Your list of suitors hasn’t begun yet. There are dozens of men out there who would dearly love to have you. You are, after all, most eligible.”

She wrinkled her nose. “You make me sound like a cow.”

“Crude, my dear, but I suppose understandable if you want to put it that way. This whole Season business is rather like a market, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Faith said thoughtfully. “I can just picture the potential suitors haggling over marriage settlements like fishwives over prices while the debutantes stand by docilely like cows.”

“A most remarkable series of metaphors, my dear. You will no doubt be comparing me to a hawker next, selling my wares.”

“Oh no,” his sister said serenely. “That title I would reserve for the mamas.”

Sylvester laughed. “I can almost find it in my heart to feel sorry for Silverstone, for having to marry you. Almost, but not quite.”

“I’m more inclined to feel sorry for me.”

“Mmm...Self pity is unbecoming, my dear. I don’t think it will be so bad - surely he cannot be as terrible as they say. The ladies, at least, say he quite agreeable.”

“Are you so certain those are the opinions of ladies?” Faith retorted acidly.

“Most assuredly,” Sylvester replied without batting an eyelid. “Half of them are young married matrons of society.” This, of course, ought to have done nothing to comfort his sister, half the matrons of society being no better than most members of the demimonde, but seeing as to how she did not know that, he did not bother to enlighten her.

“I don’t care if the ladies believe he is agreeable. He probably knocked them all over the head while he was terrorising their children and turning out their poor defenceless maids onto the streets.”

Her brother stared at her in open mouthed astonishment. “Faith m’dear,” he said slowly, “Whatever gave you the idea that Silverstone goes about scaring small children and...er...turning out, ah, defenceless maids?”

“Lucinda told me,” Faith answered succinctly. “She used to work for him, and he turned her out for no reason at all when she spilt coffee over his newspaper.”

“That’s a reason dear,” Sylvester said absently. “She spilt coffee over his newspaper. You said he had none. And what about the children?”

“Mrs Biddle was the governess of a few of his nephews and neices. Apparently he likes to go storming around roaring at the children and terrifying them out of their wits.”

“My, my,” Sylvester said smoothly. “That is a grave accusation indeed. The man ought to go to trial.”

Faith, completely missing his veiled sarcasm, said exultantly, “Precisely what I think! Why, with all his crimes...”

“Sister dear,” Sylvester interrupted gently, “Do you have any proof?”

“Well, not for all his other crimes,” she admitted, “But he has plenty of vices and he acted most horribly to Lucinda and the children. And anyone who can treat women and children badly ought to be locked up.”

“Hmm,” Sylvester. “I suppose you’re right. You really believe he’s that terrible, then?”

“Yes!” she said staunchly. “He’s a monster. You haven’t heard some of things I have about him, Sylvester...he’s depraved, debauched, an utter profligate. And he is surely the cruellest man I’ve ever met.” She pressed her lips together. “Lucinda told me he once turned out an entire starving family on the street because they could not pay their rent.”

“Lucinda seems to have a remarkable lot to say,” Sylvester observed, picking up his glass of port. “Didn’t I dismiss her the other day? Seems to me that’s enough to prove that she’s not exactly trustworthy.”

“It is not just her,” Faith said grimly. “I met him once, when I was small, remember?”

“So you did,” her brother said, idly twirling the stem of his glass in his hand. “The summer before father took us off, as I recall. And you were awfully upset afterwards. You never did tell me what happened.”

Faith’s eyes lowered, and he saw her bite her lip. “You remember how Theo died?” 

Sylvester grimaced. How could he not? Faith had cried over that dog for a month. 

“Am I to assume that Silverstone had a hand in bringing it about?”

“He did not simply have a hand in it,” his sister said fiercely, “He had his both arms and legs in it, with the rest of him thrown in for good measure!”


To Tempt the Devil Pt. 01



“I see,” Sylvester said, concealing his amusement behind a cough. Faith eyed him suspiciously, and he hastily asked, “How did he do it, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“He poisoned her,” she said flatly.

“Ah,” he said. “I suppose it would be safe to say you really don’t want to marry him?”

“I really don’t want to marry anyone,” Faith corrected, and he rolled his eyes. This was an age old argument and he had no wish to start it again. 

“Faith -” he began. 

She cut him off. “But more specifically, I most definitely don’t want to marry him,” she continued. For a moment, she looked distant. “If I didn’t know suicide was a sin I’d even attempt that, to get out of this.” Her brother looked at her with alarm, and she hastily reassured him. “Don’t worry Sylvester. I have every intention of living, if only to make his life a lving hell. I just wished I didn’t have to feel compelled to.”

“But you won’t break your word.”

“No. Its going to be a monstrosity of a marriage, but I can’t break off the engagement.”

Simultaneously, brother and sister looked at eachother. “Wait - ” Sylvester began.

“Oh,” Faith said curiously. “But -”

“He can,” Sylvester finished. “Hmm.”

With a growing smile, Faith looked at him. “What are you planning, brother dear?”

He returned her look. “What are you?”

“Me?” her eyes widened innocently. “Plan? I do not plan. I am a mere female, after all. I shall leave it in your capable hands, Sylvester.” She swept up her skirts and stood. “I wish you good night, brother dear.” Still smiling, she retired to her rooms.

It was simple, really. She suspected that the only thing that would make Silverstone break the engagement was if either he or she were to die, or if she was deemed so unmarriageable that he was forced to break the engagement. She had heard, over the course of her life, people often talking about young women who had rendered themselves so, purely by the act of being seen unaccompanied with a man. Ridiculously easy to do. She would get out of the engagement, without breaking her word to her father, and in the meantime, she would rid herself of all future husbands as well.

She would ruin herself. 

Faith had never considered the life of a spinster to be at all disagreeable. In fact, if her parent’s marriage had been anything to go by, spinsterhood was far preferable to the state of matrimony. Living as she was, governed by no one but her brother, was hardly unpleasant. Sylvester was a reasonable man - he did not curtail or restrict her freedom beyond that which he felt would not benefit her health. She had seen what marriage did to people from firsthand experience - her parents had been prime examples. There was, as far as she was concerned, nothing whatsoever to recommend the state of matrimony.

It seemed to her that all marriage would do would be to restrict her freedom, take away her rights, and place her under the direct power of another man, a man who would no doubt not be as reasonable as her brother was. Furthermore, she would be expected to sit at home and produce heirs, remaining in a more or less constant state of pregnancy, before her husband could be satisfied and go off to seek his pleasure elsewhere. Even that was disagreeable - no matter how heinous her husband was, she was not of a mind to let him keep a mistress either - it simply went against her pride too much. In all counts, marriage held no advantages for her, only disadvantages. Faith was rather disposed towards taking the option where she would have the advantages. There was no reason whatsoever for her to get married. 

She did not need a protector, or money, or anyone to guide her, an argument that Society mamas were often disposed towards making in favour of matrimony. Besides the not inconsiderable inheritences that her parents had left her, she was, in her own right, a wealthy woman. And in the unlikelihood that something ever happened to that substantial fortune, she still had her dowry, which was really enough to support her and several other families besides. Not to mention that Sylvester would hardly let her starve.

No, there was no reason for her to get married at all, and an infinite number of reasons why she shouldn’t.

If she were ruined, Silverstone would have to break off the engagement, and Faith would not be breaking her word to her father. It had to be something of great enough import of course for him to do it, because the understanding, and the betrothal, was of long standing, had been in existance, in fact, since she were born. Her father and the old Marquess had been old friends, which was why her father had so desired the match. Assumably, the case was the same on Silverstone’s side, or she was certain that he would have backed out of it before now. Nothing but the most dire of consequences would prompt him to break the betrothal, if his father had been anything like hers. Ruination, in fact, was the perfect solution.

Faith frowned at her reflection in the mirror as she reached up and unpinned the dark brown tresses from their coils. She had sent her maid, Harriet, to bed early. 

She would not be able to tell her brother of her plan, which was the one thing that disturbed her about it. He would no doubt forbid her to go through with it - Sylvester had never understood her desire to reman unwed. She disliked having to lie to him. Nonetheless, this was her future. 

Only she could decide how it would go.

She had a plan, now. All that remained to be seen was how she would go about executing it. Faith smiled slightly as she donned her nightrail and climbed into bed. She wondered what Sylvester was planning.

Chapter Two: In Which Questions are Raised as to Faith’s Respectability

Vardon St James, Marquess of Silverstone, wondered what on earth a seemingly innocent young lady, a debutante if her simple white gown was to be believed, was doing in a gaming hell at 3 am in the morning. It surely did not tie in with the rest of the debutantes behaviour. Perhaps the girl had gone insane from all the curtseying and bowing, or perhaps it was simply the warm lemonade and stale cakes from Almacks that had driven her mad. In any case, she was here, and she did not look too deranged.

She was a comely chit, he thought, idly twirling the stem of his brandy balloon in his hand from where he lounged in a comfortable chair amidst the shadows. Voloptuous and sensual looking. Her hair, a brilliantly gleaming dark rich brown, was piled elegantly atop her head, the pure simple whiteness of her gown contrasting against the unusual golden apricot hue of her skin. Her eyes were a brilliant, glittering green, her lips delicate and lusciously red.

He watched with faint interest as she looked around, evidently seeing no familiar faces, and drifted towards a whist table. She looked completely out of place, in among the opulent red velvet walls and gleaming mahogany tables of Vadistes, the air sultry with smoke, the rich aromas of liqueur and the faint scents of perfume wafting from the skin of one of the various demi reps who frequented the hell.

The gentlemen at that table looked up, evidently seeing some worthy prey, and spoke to her. They exchanged a few words - one man stood, valiantly relinquishing his position at the table as she sat. Vardon raised his eyebrows. A mad debutante who was also a gambler? What were they teaching chits in school these days? She could hardly be out of the schoolroom, herself, he noted. Eighteen, if she was a day old. An innocent, unless his eyes deceived him. Those in the demimonde were there by choice - not by birth. Eighteen was surely too young to have made that choice. What the devil was she doing at Vadistes?

Her arrival had attracted attention other than his. He observed as several slavering wolves sauntered over to stand behind her, taking every advantage of being in their own domain, over she who was obviously not. To his interest, she did not seem the least perturbed over the attention that she was receiving. He watched as she flung out a handful of chips, deftly played for one hand, then raked in a much larger pile than the one she had just betted. Three hands later, she stood, much to the consternation of the gentlemen from whom she had just won a small fortune, and much to the delight of the young blades around her. One of them spoke to her, she nodded and smiled and let herself be led away. Vardon tensed, realising that the man was Jordan, his young cousin, then cocked his head and settled back with a curious little smile to watch some more.

* * *

“La, sir,” Faith said pertly, raising an eyebrow at the gentleman who had spoken. “Such impertinence! These questions that you ask! I vow I shall tell your mother on you.” This was uttered in a most capricious tone, one which made several of her companions regard her with amusement.

“Are you acquainted with my mother, my lady?” Andrew, Lord Basset, looked alarmed.

Faith grinned at Lord Basset, who had blanched slightly. “Lady Annabelle Basset, is she not? My mother and yours are great friends.”

“And who is your mother, my lady?” Lord Benedict asked, smoothly interjecting his own question, obviously hoping to catch her off guard.

“That I shall not tell you,” she replied and with a flick of her wrist opened her fan. Several of the gentlemen cried out in mock protest. “Unfair, lady!” One of them said teasingly. “To withhold your name while luring us with your beauty - ‘tis a cruel trick, mademoiselle.”

“But I have not withheld my name,” Faith said innocently. “You know it, do you not? ‘Tis Faith!”

“And a lovely name it is, too, Lady Faith,” said one man mournfully. “But it helps us naught in knowing your identity!”

She tilted her fan flirtatiously, and raised her eyebrows at him. “Ah, you have stirred my compassion sir. I shall make a deal with you.”

Lord Jordan leaned in closer, looking intrigued. “A deal, my lady? Of what manner?” His eyes gleamed beneath the dim lights of room, and Faith could not resist a sly smile. 

“A deal sir. Or a wager, if you would prefer. Here are my terms: we will engage in a game of whist, sir, you and I, and if you win, I shall give you my name. My full name,” she injected quickly, before he could voice any objections.

“And if you win, Lady Faith?”

“Then I shall have a boon from you, sir, whenever I wish it.”

“Done,” Jordan said exultantly, certain of his own victory.

She smiled. Victory was, indeed at hand.

* * *

What on earth were they doing now? More to the point, what was she up to? One moment the group had been merely standing about talking companionably - a scene familiar and certainly no different to any from the ton’s ballrooms, if one could not hear the conversation - the next moment she and Jordan had adjoined to one of the vacant card tables, a good deal of the politely slavering wolves following her. Did she know what a dangerous game she was playing? Vardon wondered idly. Surely she could not be so naive...unless she was not naive at all. Could her innocence be an act? He had seen and met more accomplished coquettes than she. Experience could be disguised, hidden beneath an innocent veneer...the more he thought of it, the likelier it seemed. Why else would a seemingly innocent young lady enter the doors of Vadistes, if not to seek and conquer some unwitting pigeon? Certainly no respectable lady in her right mind would enter the hell’s doors, let alone sit down at its tables and gamble like some hoydenish fallen woman. That was all she was, what she had to be - an extremely expensive kept woman. There was no other explanation for it.

Vardon watched with some admiration as she deftly shuffled the cards, and dealt them out. The game was between her and Jordan only, he noted. She picked up her cards and shuffled them them lightly, rearranging them in a preferred order. Jordan did the same, and the game began in earnest. 

For a time, Vardon found himself bored. It was merely a card game, certainly nothing unusual. The chit had a habit of flirting with her fan, moving it in a most mesmerising manner. One tended to follow its movements, from where it half concealed that intriguing face, to the small dainty hand and delicate fingers that grasped it, to the sensual swaying of her slender wrist. It was almost a dance, he thought idly...what the devil was that? He sat bolt upright. No, his eyes had not deceived him. Behind the hypnotic movements of the fan there had been something else - something quite nefarious. That flick of her wrist had concealed something. Grimly, he set down his brandy balloon, stood, and casually walked into the light towards the card table. Those that saw him emerge greeted him only with a courteous nod. He did not speak and was not spoken to. It was not until he had reached the card table that Jordan noticed his presence.

The boy stood abruptly, surprise and pleasure lighting his features. “Vardon, old chap! Didn’t expect to see you here...” he paused, rethought his words. “Well, I did, but since I didn’t see you, I didn’t know you were, so I didn’t think you were and I didn’t expect you...ah, never mind. Vardon, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. Lady Faith, m’cousin, Lord Vardon. Vardon, Lady Faith. I don’t know her last name yet,” he said confidingly. “But I expect I will soon.”

Ignoring his young cousin’s blatant lack of finesse, his lordship lazily regarded the lady from under heavy lids. A slight sneer curved the fine lips, and he paused a moment, before nodding curtly at her and taking a seat. From under his lashes he watched her, noting with savage satisfaction that she seemed to squirm under his gaze. He saw with some irony that he was the only one, among the small crowd around the table, who had done so. The rest were content to stand looking down at the game - and the lady’s gown, he had no doubt.

“What are the terms of the wager?” he inquired. “I assume that it is a wager?”

“Indeed,” one of the gentlemen, a Lord Basset, told him, as the couple were intensely engrossed in the play and could not answer. “She has wagered her name against a boon that Jordan will grant her. Must say m’lord, the odds are rather against young Jordan at the moment.” Raising an eyebrow at Basset’s temerity to call Jordan young when the pup was hardly a year younger than him himself, Vardon nodded and returned his gaze to Lady Faith, who had been, he observed, having a rather questionable stroke of luck throughout the night.

She could feel her eyes on him. He had been watching her for most of the night, she knew, but she could not think why he had chosen only now to come forward. Truthfully, she would have been better off had he not appeared at all. But he had, and now she was left to wonder, nervously, why. It was not because she was playing a game with his cousin. No, he could have observed it from where he had sat before.

His gaze unnerved her, those sleepy eyes, and that horrible, cruel sneer. It was disturbing how he sat there, still and silent, almost unblinking, watching her, and the game almost lazily, and yet with fierce intensity. She wished he would leave. She could not afford to lose this game - and for some reason, she did not feel she could risk another trick as the one she had done before. Ridiculous, of course. No one but Sylvester could catch her out these days, and she refused to believe there was a gamester more talented than her brother.

He was attractive, she realised, sneaking a glance at him out of the corner of her eye. His hair was thick, and a gleaming, silky black, the sweep of long sooty eyelashes against finely chiselled cheekbones mesmerising. His eyes were the dark glittering blue of a midnight sky, his features angled planes carved from granite, his nose aquiline, and aristocracy was evident in every line of his face. He was also, she noted, in demand. Very much so, to judge from the various female eyes that followed him across the room, and yet none dared to approach him. She wondered who he was, and it struck her that he would be perfect for her plan, a much better option than his young cousin, Jordan. She had been certain that a young, impressionable young man would be best suited to her purposes, easily persuaded, but it occured to her that it would probably not be so easy to get the amiable, charming Jordan to ruin her, especially it he did not feel so inclined. She sensed that beneath the easygoing demeanour was a spine of propriety. It would suit her purposes infinitely better if she were to find a man like Lord Vardon...in fact, she suspected he himself would suit her purposes better than even she could wish. Ha, Faith thought wryly, Just being seen with him ought to be enough to ruin her.

She won the game, much to her own relief and to Jordan’s chagrin. One look at Lord Vardon’s grim expression however, and she had the oddest notion that she wished she had lost it, instead. Brilliant. Now she was losing her sanity, as well.

Well, at least the game had finished, and now she no longer had to be anywhere near that disturbing gaze. Turning a brilliant smile on Lord Jordan, she said flirtatiously, “I’m afraid you’ve lost, my lord. But do not despair - there will be other occasions to learn my name. I am afraid though sir, that I must take leave of you now - ”

“Lady Faith,” the smooth, slightly husky tones of the man beside her interrupted her. 

“Do me the courtesy of escorting you on a stroll outside. It is rather stifling in here, is it not? You will benefit from the air.”

“Er -” said Faith.

“Excellent,” Lord Vardon said, taking her arm and steering her quite expertly towards the open windows on the terrace. “Kindly put one foot in front of the other, my lady. Yes, that’s it. Very good! Its called walking, these days, you know. I trust you do know how to walk? I would hate if you were to stumble and fall ungraciously on your very pretty face.”

Grinding her teeth together, she complied, then wrenched her arm out of his grip the moment they were outside. “We should not be here, you know,” she said imperiously. “People might talk.”

“Would that deter you?” Lord Vardon said, his voice filled with amusement. For a moment, she froze. How could he have known her motives? She had told no one, not even Sylvester. An angry red flush rose to her cheeks as she realised he had not meant that, but something else.

“What are you implying, sir?” she demanded. “I do hope you’ve dragged me out here for reasons other than to pester me with vague insults.”

“I do beg your pardon,” Vardon said, looking surprised. “I assure you, I do not mean them to be in any way vague. If you would like, I can clarify them for you.”

Her eyes widened with surprise and she inhaled sharply. “I will take no more of this,” she in a highly affronted tone, and turned on her heel to return to the room. 

His arm shot out like and gripped her wrist in a viselike grip, before pulling her back towards him so quickly she stumbled. “Not so fast,” he murmured, so close she could feel his breath rustling her hair. He was tall, she noted faintly. She barely came to his shoulder, although perhaps that could have been attributed to her own lack of size. “We still have things to discuss, you and I.”

“What things?” she demanded. “There is nothing between us, sir. I hardly know you, nor have I any wish to!”

“No,” he said thoughtfully, looking her in the eye. “But I, for one, would like to know you.”

She stilled. “Let go of me, sir, before I make you regret ever having touched me.” Her words were dispassionate, her expression calm.

He eyed her curiously. She seemed confident of her own abilities. Perhaps he should be worried? “Oh, I don’t think that will happen,” he said, casually. “What will you do if I don’t?”

She did not bother with words, merely kicked him in the shins, and waited patiently as he gave a shout of pain, released her wrist and bent to rub his leg. She did not bother to run, knowing he would catch her if she did, and stepped back, just out of his reach to wait for his recovery. It was surprisingly quick.




To Tempt the Devil Pt. 01



He straightened, and stared straight at her, his eyes murderously dark. “Vixen,” he hissed, and grabbed her.

She froze and stiffened in his grasp. Slowly, methodically, he drew her against him, then spun around in a quick movement, taking her with him until he had her against the stone wall. She felt it against her back - cold, and hard, and drew her breath in sharply. His gaze bore into hers, and she turned her face away, exposing the white column of her throat. He stared, mesmerised, then bent his head and licked her neck, running his tongue in a heated caress down the side of her throat until he reached the slope of her shoulders. His hands were sliding down her gown, pushing aside the fabric until he had bared her shoulder. She felt his lips there, then his teeth grazed her skin, and she stopped breathing when she felt him bite. It was gentle at first, until his teeth sank in and she gave a small gasp of pain. He laughed and soothed her skin with his tongue, kissing away the pain. “You deserved that, minx,” he said derisively.

From somewhere she summoned up the energy to speak, to push him away. Face scarlett with humiliation at her own lack of willpower, she straightened her dress and stepped away from him. As if from very far away, she heard his voice. “I’ve marked you,” he observed, in a voice filled with satisfaction.

It was the last straw. With an outraged shout she raised her hand and struck him. He did not react fast enough and her knuckles struck his cheek, turning his face and resulting in a cut lip for him and rather raw knuckles for her. It couldn’t be any measly slap, he thought ruefully, not for her. Why couldn’t he meet a normal female for once?

He licked a bead of blood from his lips and regarded her silently for a moment. She stared back at him. “I suppose I deserved that,” he said finally.

“Yes,” she agreed. “You did. You had no right to - to maul me, like you did.”

He considered. “Maul?” he said thoughtfully. “Interesting choice of words. Yes, I suppose you could say I did that, though it strikes me as rather crude. I prefer the term make love to, personally.”

“Ha,” she spat. “Love has nothing to do with it. All that nonsense - its just perverted lust.”

“Oh I agree,” he said amiably. “Nothing at all. Rather odd choice of words there too, if you think about it. Though I wouldn’t go so far as to call it perverted. The instinct to reproduce is quite natural, after all.”

“Enough!” Faith cried, frustration evident in every line of her body. “What is the purpose of this? What did you drag me out here for?”

“I would have thought that were obvious,” Vardon said mildly.

She stamped her foot. He observed the gesture with amusement. “Surely you cannot have dragged me out here for - for -” she gestured wildly. “That!”

“Why ever not?”

The cool facade dropped calmly back into place. “I would hope, sir,” she said archly, “That you are not in the habit of dragging random women out onto terraces specifically for the purposes of mauling them.”

He could not suppress his laughter. “I am tempted,” he informed her dryly, “To inform you that I am, solely to crush your hopes and observe your reaction. However, I will concede, it was not my intention when I brought you out here.”

Faith fought down her impatience. “What was it then?”

He did not answer immediately. “You have a dab hand at cards, my lady.”

“You are avoiding the question.”

“Not at all. I notice you employ your fan to good use as well.”

She froze. It could not be. But it was. He had seen - but how? She wondered, wildly, if she could push him over the balcony and get away with it. No, she thought sadly. He was too big. She tried for incomprehension. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean, sir.”

“Oh, I think you do,” he said, leaning back against the wall with his shoulders and regarding her from under hooded eyes.

“I most certainly do not. If you’ve nothing more than obscure accusations to make at me my lord, I will go inside now.” She turned to leave.

“Stop.”

She did.

“Turn around.”

Gritting her teeth and cursing herself for being unable to resist, she swivelled slowly and met his eyes, now cold and sharp, all traces of humour gone.

He spoke, enunciating each word clearly. “I do not take kindly to being taken for a fool, my lady, nor do I take kindly anyone who sets out to harm my family. Jordan is my family. I do not wish to see you with him from this moment, nor do I wish to see you set foot in this venue once more.”

“You think to forbid me entrance here, sir?”

“Yes.”

“And do you own this club, Lord Vardon?”

He met her gaze squarely. “No.”

“Then how do you propose to keep me out?”

A small smile curved his lips. “Believe me, my dear. I have my ways.”

“No doubt you shall throw me out physically, if I come in?”

He shrugged. “It is a possibility.”

“And how do you propose to keep me from your cousin, my lord? He is his own master, after all. Who are you to decide with whom he associates? Am I to take it that you choose his friends, his home and what he eats, as well?”

“My cousin is my charge,” Vardon said coolly. “As such, he is my responsibility. You may cheat as many foolish gulls as you like, my lady. But you will leave Jordan alone.”

“Bah,” Faith said scornfully. “I cheated him of nothing. His stakes were my name, which I would not have told him anyway.”

He stared at her in astonishment. “You admit that you would have reneged on your wager?”

“No,” Faith said coldly. “But I have several names, you see. I promised to give him my last name - but I don’t go by my last name.”

“Really?” Vardon eyed her with interest. “Why is that? Are your parents separated, perhaps, so you go by your mother’s maiden name? Or perhaps you are illegitimate?”

“Oh its nothing like that,” Faith said airily, repressing her irritation at being thought illegitimate. “Its just that at some point in the line, a few generations ago I believe, the family only had a female heir, and she was the only one in the entire lineage. I think my family has a thing with producing only one heir - I’ve never understood how we’ve survived this long. Anyway, she married, and so the d - er, title, passed on to her son, who bore his father’s name and not his mothers name, the name of the titled family. Only the son decided that he’d only go by his mother’s name, and not his fathers. I don’t know why - his father was probably mean to him. He didn’t do anything like change his name - he simply only went about with his second last name rather than his last, if you know what I mean. And his children - er, child - kept up the tradition, right up to my father’s generation, who also did the same thing.”

“I see,” said Vardon. “How very curious. I don’t suppose its widely known that your name isn’t really your name?”

“No. No one knows, really, except the family, a few close friends who don’t spread it around, and you, although you don’t know who I am, so it doesn’t count.”

“I could find out.”

“But you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m going to tell you not to,” she said matter of factly. “And you’re a gentleman.”

He smiled. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”

“I will make you a deal, then,” she said grudgingly. “In return for your promise not to make any enquiries about me, I shall leave your cousin alone.”

“What about Vadistes?”

“Don’t push it,” she warned.

“Very well. You need not include that in our bargain. Nonetheless, you will not set 

foot in here again.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“Because I told you to,” he threw her words back at her. “And you’re a lady...or are you? How old are you, Lady Faith?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“You’ve no business being here,” he pointed out. “You’re not so masterly a coquette as you would have us believe, my dear. Any experienced flirt would have taken our...er...encounter, in stride. Your reaction was not that of a sophistocate, but an innocent.” No sophistocate would have thrown him off either, he thought dryly.

“How can you be so sure, my lord? Have you had any innocents lately?”

“I don’t make it a habit to associate with any innocents at all. I find them tiring.”

“Yes,” she said with a smile. “They are, aren’t they?”

“Commendable attempt, my dear, but sadly lacking in conviction.”

“Oh, pah,” Faith snapped. “It is pointless to talk to you. I’m leaving.”

So she did, wondering all the while how Lord Vardon would explain his going into a sojourn out onto the balcony with a young lady, intact and coming back out of it with a split lip and various other injuries. She did not think he would find it easy.

Neither did he. Upon being asked by James Brantson how he’d attained that particular injury, his response was, “I tripped.” Realising that unless he admitted to having fallen flat on his face, he could not explain the entire state of his face, he added, “While I was at it, the wall decided to get friendly.” Thus, the bruise on his cheek was also explained.

Chapter Three: In Which Faith Sets an Unlikely Goal

She had not planned on setting him as her goal, but somehow, it had happened. Inexplicably, she had decided that he was the one who would further her plans. Fair enough, Faith supposed. If she was going to be ruined, she might as well be well and truly ruined. Judging solely from what had happened tonight, she knew he was not completely averse to her. He had done what he had as punishment, and intimidation, she knew, but if he had done it once surely he could be induced to do it again, preferably in surrounds of her choosing the next time. She did not intend to let him touch her any more than was necessary, of course. Ruination in name was one thing - she had no intention of selling herself - or rather whoring, to put it crudely - to achieve her purposes, no matter how much she may have wanted them.

Going into a gaming hell was disreputable, she knew, but it was simply not disreputable enough. Especially when she was escorted by her brother. No one had known who she was - those who frequented gaming hells mostly did not frequent the ton’s ballrooms. And if any of the ton did happen to see her, the most censure she would be able to attract would be the indulgent condescension granted to the young and spirited, and unceasingly curious. She had, after all, been escorted by her brother who was, after all, the Honorable Duke of Edenvale. They could hardly accuse her of being unchaperoned. Society was wont to be indulgent on those with both money and a title - and she had both, a highly unusual occurrence for young, unmarried women. It was really too bad, the society matrons would say, that she was already engaged to Silverstone. 

She had not seen him this evening. Odd, really, considering that her brother had sworn he’d glimpsed him once or twice. But then, she hadn’t heard anyone mentioning him, either. It seemed that the only gossip that touched the Marquess was that which was out of his presence, for the ton certainly had no qualms discussing him in his absence. 

Faith shivered slightly at the thought of him. She was of age now, and surely Silverstone would come any day now to collect his bride. She hoped it would not be soon - she needed some time at least for her plans to be put into practice. But with the death of her father over a year ago, she knew Sylvester was probably antsy to get her settled - if not to Silverstone then to someone else. He had never understood her desire to remain unwed - but he would not have to, if her plans came through.

He had escorted her tonight to Vadistes without a thought - they were so close that he would accede to almost every one of her wishes - providing they did not endanger her, of course. A gaming hell, to his point of view, could bring about no harm, and he knew she had been itching to test out her card skills against players other than he. 

In any case, she could not hope to be truly ruined unless the deed was done under the eyes of the ton, preferably with a great deal of people there to witness. She did not mind that people would talk - gossip had never fazed her as long as it wasn’t to her face. Then it would mean that she would have to retaliate and she would rather avoid confrontations. They were always so often messy.

Ruination in a gaming hell had a distinctly dramatic ring to it, but there were simply not enough members of the ton present to create a large enough scandal. And the scandal had to be large enough if she wanted Silverstone to break off the betrothal. She suspected that the man ate scandal for breakfast and nothing short of complete and utter ruination would deter him from his course. From the one time she had met him he had seemed singlemindedly determined to follow his father’s wishes, despite her utmost attempts to persuade him to her point of view. Of course, that had been a good 10 years ago. She did not know if his strength of determination might have changed at all. Better not to risk it, though. She was not about to go through all that scandal without her plan at least working.

She decided, ostensibly at that moment, that the scene would have to be at a tonnish ball. Preferably a large one. Somehow, someway, she would lure Lord Vardon to one of the ton’s ballrooms (god knew how she’d manage it - he looked the sort that only came into the glittering lights of the ton under pain of death, all the better, really, but deuced inconvenient) and then, somehow, someway, find herself in a compromising position with him. If he was a true gentlemen, he would offer for her - which ought to satisfy his conscience, if it even existed - but she would, of course, decline. It would rather defeat her purpose if she avoided being wed to one degenerate only to be roped into marriage with another. She did not plan on being wed at all, for that matter, as she intended to hie off to her country estate in Devenry, or perhaps Rawlston or Tusane would do as well, anywhere to escape the ton, as soon as the news broke out and Silverstone called off the engagement. She smiled slightly to herself in the darkness as she lay in bed. It was a matter of two weeks, at most, she predicted. It could not take long - it was, after all, a universal truth that all bad men wanted to ruin any innocent young ladies. Why else would ruination be so easy?

* * *

Her appearance surprised him. He did not know why - she had made quite clear that she had no intention of obeying his decree. And why should she? Where she went and spent her time was no business of his. He, really, had no right to dictate to her. 

All this Vardon’s brain understood logically and reasonably. His mind comprehended her defiance.

His body did not. 

Rising from his seat in the shadows, brandy glass in hand, he threw down his cards on the table, rapped out a curt, “Excuse me, gentlemen. I have some other business to attend to. Pray, continue the game.” To the surprised, and amused looks of his gaming partners he stepped out of the area where all serious gaming was conducted and stepped into the more brightly lit main area of the salon, where already, he could see the wolves flocking towards her. Impetuous fool, he thought in disgust. Could she not see the signs that she was exuding? Could she not see the danger that she was attracting? A third, more sobering thought froze him in his tracks. Or perhaps she did know? Perhaps the attention she attracted was coincidental - but intentional. How else to explain a seeming innocent in a gaming hell - unless she was not an innocent? This unexpected spurt of anger fueled his rage at her defiance, and he seemed to see nothing but red as he stalked towards her.

The more sophisticated wolves and young bucks alike sensed a new element to their game and unerrringly stood aside as he approached, relinquishing their positions with chagrin but no hesitation. Vardon grimly accepted all this as his due, and as he came into her line of vision, executed a smooth bow, forcing an expression of calm civility onto his face. “Lady Faith,” he said softly. “A pleasure. I did not...expect...to see you here again.”

Faith met his gaze defiantly. “Odd,” she said in decidedly curious accents. “I do distinctly recall saying sir, that I would see you again the next time I came here.”

He heard a laugh behind him, saw James Brantson out of the corner of his eye. “Seems your losing your memory in your dotage, Vardon,” he drawled. “P’raps you ought to sit down? Wouldn’t want to overexert yourself now...the ague, you know,” he said confidingly to Faith.

She pressed her lips together to avoid from chortling with amusement. It occured to her that, aside from her own provoking comments, she’d never seen anyone mock, or rather, insult Lord Vardon to his face, or even behind his back before, at least, now while he was in the same building with him. She rather pitied the young man who had had the gall to do so. Presumably he did not know him well. Why, she was willing to bet that Vardon was almost as bad as Silverstone himself! Which, of course, made him all the more perfect to her plans. She frowned slightly. She was thinking about her plans too much lately - a rather bad thing, since she wasn’t quite sure how she was to proceed, anyway. No, better to simply let things happen - and go with them until she could figure out what to do. No use pondering at every moment over everything that had happened.

Vardon endured Brantson’s mockery in silence, then turned and leveled cold eyes on him, one brow slightly raised. “Is it to be Hyde Park?”

James laughed, the sound obviously disturbing a good deal of those clustered around them. “Oh don’t bother to go through the entire process of calling me out, Var. I’ll simply apologise at the last minute and do it again. And no matter how many times you call me out I’ll simply apologise again...you won’t get rid of me through a duel.”

“Then I’ll simply have to find another...less conspicuous way,” Vardon rejoined smoothly. “I’ve heard that poison works remarkably well.”

James laughed again and backed away, hands raised, palms up. “All right, all right. I concede. The field’s all yours, old chap. Just don’t come running back to me when you realise you’re out of your depth and in need of desperate help. I won’t help you, my friend.” With those last cryptic words and a sly glance at Faith, he spun and strolled off, whistling jauntily.

“Now that’s bravery,” Faith said, admiration evident in her voice.

Vardon repressed his irritation. “Lady Faith. If you would do me the honour of taking a stroll with me?”

Her lips curved slightly, and she inclined her head. “Certainly,” she said graciously, looking around at the gentlemen surrounding her. “You will, I trust, excuse me, gentlemen?”

He took her arm as they walked, subtly but expertly steering her towards the doorway. “Where are you taking me?” Faith hissed.

“I feel an urge to sample the night air,” he said easily. “I’m certain you have no objections?”

There was no way she could without raising a scene, and she had no particular wish to, not with Sylvester playing only a room away. There was no need to draw any attention to herself any longer - she had chosen her objective. Besides, surely there was no harm in taking a stroll outside for a bit?

She was wrong. Rather than stopping at the outside parlour and heading towards the open french doors that led onto the terrace, he led her right on past the cloakroom, down the stairs, past the surprised looking attendant on duty in the corridor, and somehow managed to convey her right out the door. She stumbled down the few stone steps, taken aback at the cold night air, realising she had left her cloak inside. But then, she had not expected their “outside stroll” to be conducted in the streets in front of a gaming hell. 

“What are you doing?” Faith demanded, staring up at him as he stood leaning against the doorway, regarding her placidly.




To Tempt the Devil Pt. 01



“I told you not to come back,” he said imperturbably.

“And I told you that you had no right to tell me what to do! You hold absolutely no power over me, my lord.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” he drawled, raising one imperious brow at her. He did mind that he was infuriating her - rather, it was quite amusing. He did not pause at that moment to question his own motives - why he was so intent on forcing her to stay away. He only knew that she did not belong here - that the world of gaming hells was not her world. Thus far, he had never seen her in any risque establisment other than Vadistes - it was only to be assumed, then, that she was part of the ton. With a considerable amount of satisfaction, he folded his arms, leaned against the door, and regarded her calmly.

Faith, on the other hand, wanted to scream with frustration. She reminded herself, severely, that ladies of consequence did not stand in the street and scream. She settled instead for biting words, vainly hoping she would be enough for him to let her pass. “Now that you’ve shoved me out into the cold what do you expect me to do? Walk home by myself?”

“Oh, is it cold?” he inquired with an air of surprise. “I hadn’t realised. I suppose you’ll have to bear it though - such, after all, are the consequences of disobedience.”

She stared at him in fascination. “You do enjoy being beastly, don’t you?”

He straightened one impeccable cuff, glancing up at her from under lowered lashes. “I find it tolerably amusing. And no, I don’t expect you to walk home by yourself. If a hack does not come around in the next, say, five minutes, I intend to escort you home myself.”

“And if I do not come?”

“What are your choices? You aren’t going to go back in there. Will you stay here all night?”

“How do you intend to stop me?”

“I shall simply stand here all night, until you decide to leave.”

Faith thought wildly for a moment. She could not do as he said and simply go home. Apart from such an act being completely against her principles - there was not a chance in hell that she would let such an arrogant scoundrel dictate to her in such a way - Sylvester was still in there, and under the impression that she was, too. She could not leave without telling him. But how to do that, without risking her identity as well?

She grasped at any straws she could reach. “What about other guests? What if they wish to enter? You will have to step aside then.”

“Yes, my dear,” Vardon said patiently. “But I will only do so long enough for whoever it is to enter. Afterwards I shall step back again. And if you should happen to sneak inside for some reason, allow me to assure you that I will simply drag you back out again.”

At a loss for words, she floundered, then settled for the first thing that came to her head. “You are despicable,” she spat. “I cannot believe you would have me stand here for the entire night in the cold.”

He shrugged out of his own coat and threw it to her. Instinctively, she caught it. It was still warm with his body heat. “Put it on,” Vardon advised. “Unless you wish to stand there all night in the cold?”

Reluctantly, she put it on and was immediately warmer for it. Sulkily, she glowered up at him for a moment longer then turned her back on him and sat down on the steps, some way beneath his feet.

To her offence he laughed and came down the steps to sit beside her. “You are much too stubborn for your own good m’dear,” he chided. “You will end up drowned in a lake one day for it.”

“I expect you’ll be the one to do the drowning,” Faith retorted bitterly.

“Ah, don’t pout. Its not very grown up. I assume you do want to appear grown up?”

She sent him a look of outrage, at a loss as to how to reply to such a blatant insult. She settled in the end for lofty silence. Somehow the silence didn’t seem very lofty.

“Faith,” Vardon said, musingly. “I don’t suppose you also have a number of sisters named Hope, Charity, and Patience?”

She struggled to keep her lips from curving but he caught the twitch at the corner of her mouth nontheless. “No. I was the only daughter.”

“Any other siblings, then?”

“Only my brother.”

“He is older than you?”

“Yes, he’s 23.”

“Aha!” Vardon exclaimed triumphantly. At her bemused look, he explained. “I know definitely now that you cannot be over twenty three.”

“Oh pah,” Faith said with a roll of her eyes. “That leaves you a range of about seven ages to choose from. It is a rather diverse range, my lord.”

“True,” he admitted. “You could be sixteen or twenty two. I would say, however, that you are a great deal more likely to be sixteen.”

She laughed it off, but inwardly cringed. He had come much too close to target. Much of her plan, she had realised after thinking about a number of the comments that he had made, depended on him thinking her at least a little older than she was. She was not certain that even the baddest of men would have a taste for schoolroom chits, and while she had graduated slightly from that, she was still very close to it. Besides, to judge from his comments, he seemed to prefer sophistocated women. She would just have to overcome that barrier somehow - it was not as if she expected him to bed her - a compromise could be achieved with a great deal less than that. Certainly, in more or less every story that she had heard, it had taken no more than for the lady and gentleman in question to have been seen together unchaperoned for longer 5 minutes. No, that should not be a problem at all.

This, now. This was a problem.

“Why won’t you let me go back into Vadistes?” Faith asked suddenly, after a lapse in their conversation had ensued for some time.

“It is no place for you,” he had answered simply. “I have told you already.”

She clenched her teeth. “And I have told you already that where I go is no business of yours. You have no right, whatsoever, to tell me what to do. Why - why, you don’t even know me! You don’t even know my last name?”

“That can be rectified rather quickly, don’t you think?”

“Its Constantinos,” she answered loftily. “But I’ve already told you - it doesn’t matter that you know it, because we don’t go by that anyway.”

“Yes, I know,” he said with a little sigh. “Why do you want to go back in there so badly anyway? It is surely no place for an innocent.”

“Well,” Faith said thoughtfully. “I’m not sure what gambling hell’s were invented for, you see, but I thought I might go in there and gamble a bit. Do you think they’d let me if I asked nicely enough?”

“Ah,” Vardon said with a small smile. “The gambling. You are quite a gamester, aren’t you Lady Faith?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” she replied coolly. “But I enjoy cards, yes. What has that to do with anything?” But she already knew. Even as he spoke she groaned inwardly. How on earth could he have seen?

“That’s another thing, you see,” he mused. “You seem to be innocent. Yet you are at a gaming hell at the early hours of the morning. Your lack of sophistocation is also quite transparent, and yet you are an accomplished cardsharp. I get the impression, that, given any amount of time, you would cause quite a disturbance, my dear.”

“And so to protect your precious stability you’ve decided to bundle me up and send me away.”

“A quaint way of putting it,” he observed. “But yes, I suppose so.”

“A cowards way out, sir.”

“But no! How can it be? I am sending you away - I am not running away, my self.”

“It amounts to the same time, when I am obviously helpless against you. To pray on the weaker is the act of a bully, my lord.”

“I believe its the act of survival. Survival of the fittest as they say.”

“That,” she informed him tartly, “Is known as procreation. One’s rate of survival in the jungle, I believe, is based upon one’s ability to reproduce. What you are doing is partial extermination. Rather like ridding a house of bugs, if you understand me, but rather than ridding them well and truly you have simply decided to pick them up and deposit them somewhere else.”

“I find it intriguing that you liken yourself to bugs, my dear.”

“I do not liken myself to bugs,” she explained in exasperation. “I liken the threat that I pose, apparently, to your little world. You do not like it, therefore, instead of working to perhaps overcome, or coexist with it, you simply send it away to wreak havoc somewhere else. It no longer becomes your problem - someone else can deal with the threat.”

“Are you suggesting my dear,” he said in awed tones, “That I completely exterminate you? What do you suggest? Throwing you in the Thames? Although I suppose that would be avoiding the problem again again...the threat to the fish and all that. I suppose you’d cheat them all out of their seaweed. No...another way...”

“Fish don’t eat seaweed,” Faith informed him blithely.

“No but I’m sure they use it as currency,” Vardon replied. “Poisoning, perhaps? Yes, my dear. I believe I shall poison you.”

His last words were spoken just in time for James Brantson, Lord Erwick to step out the door and hear. “Good god Vardon,” Brantson exclaimed. “You’ve taken to threatening little girls now?”

“I am certainly not little!” Faith rose and turned to face Brantson indignantly.

“Yes, James,” Vardon said obligingly. “I have it on good authority that she is anywhere between the ages of 16 and 23. Quite an old maid, you see.”

“Oh, Lady Faith,” James said, looking rather taken aback. “I do apologise. I didn’t recognise you out there. I take it back. You aren’t little. You just look little, when you’re sitting down.”

Unsure whether to take that as an apology or another insult Faith merely smiled faintly. A thought struck her, a chance at escape, and she seized it eagerly.

“Lord Erwick,” she said demurely. “I’m not feeling at all well. Its the cold, you see. I fear I’m taking on a fit of the vapours. Would you lend me your arm for a few moments? I would like to go inside now.”

“Certainly, my lady,” James said without hesitation, helping her up the steps and through the door before Vardon could so much as say a word. 

The moment they reached the cloakroom, however, Faith abruptly released his arm, saying brightly with a commendable show of surprise, “Oh my. I do believe I’m feeling much better. Thank you ever so much, Lord Erwick. I don’t know how I could have managed those steps without you.” Flashing him a brilliant smile, she grabbed her cloak and took off down the hallway to find Sylvester before Lord Vardon could catch up with her.

* * *

James was still staring after her when Vardon finally caught up to him, looking extremely irritated and put out. “Remarkable chit,” he said absently. “Don’t think I’ve ever met a lady who thanked me for helping her up a flight of stairs and then took off running, before. Who do you suppose she is, Silverstone?”

“Haven’t the faintest,” Vardon grunted, wishing he could throttle his friend.

“How old do you think she is?”

Vardon shrugged. “Sixteen.”

“No, she’s too accomplished a coquette for that. I’d say 19 or 20. Do you suppose she’s demimonde or respectable?”

“Don’t care.”

James eyed him with amusement. “You seem to be rather out of spirits tonight, Silverstone. I heard tell you walked out on a game of cards the moment you spotted our lady friend here. And then there was that whole poison business. You weren’t serious, were you?”

“Yes,” Vardon said implacably.

James stared at him in horror. “Good god man. You can’t be serious!”

Silverstone grinned. “No,” he said. “But its always pleasant to know what you believe me capable of, Erwick.”

James smiled. “Of course, Vardon. Anytime you need your worst fears confirmed, just come to me. I’ll tell you what a lout you are.”

“Thank you,” Vardon said ironically. “I was unaware up to now that my greatest fear was being a lout. But now that you have informed me of the fact, I know that I may forever rest easy. Thank you, James. You have vastly improved my life.”

“I seem to be forever doing that,” James observed sadly. “I wonder if it isn’t my life to improve yours.”

“Rest assured,” Vardon said comfortingly. “If it is, you won’t ever lack for something to do. My life can always be improved on.”

“No, no,” Erwick protested. “I disagree. Your life really can’t be improved upon much more than it already is. Now, if we were talking about you, personally...”

“But we aren’t,” Vardon said grimly. “For which I shall forever be grateful. Now, if you will excuse me...”

“Off to chase your ladybird?”

To his credit, Vardon did look horrified, James thought musingly. He wondered if with some practice he could trigger that look more often. 

“Good lord, no.”

James seized on this with alacrity. “Not to your taste? An innocent then? And haute ton, to boot?”

“She’s a cardsharp,” Vardon informed him flatly.

“Ah,” James smiled with satisfaction. “Demimonde. But new to the business, no doubt. I shall enjoy teaching her a great deal.” He started towards the main salon.

“James.” Vardon’s voice reached him as he was halfway down the corridor. He stopped and turned. “Yes?”

“Leave the chit alone.”

“Why? You said yourself, you weren’t interested. Does that not make her fair game for the rest of us? Besides - ‘tis not as though she were an innocent. No innocent would do what she has.”

“Nevertheless...” he let the word trail.

James pressed his lips tightly together. He thought for a moment, then nodded, jerkily. “Fine. I will leave her. But I cannot speak for the others.”

“I will deal with the others,” Vardon said softly.

“God knows why I put up with you,” James muttered as he stalked off.

“Because you are a fool?” Vardon called after him.

James stopped. He turned his head, asking over his shoulder. “Are you insulting me, Silverstone?”

Vardon thought for a moment. “It was not my intention to do such,” she said contemplatively. “But by all means, call me out.” His gaze locked with his friend’s. “Just remember, Erwick, that I am not like you. Once I am issued a challenge, I never apologise.”

James shook his head. “No,” he said tiredly. “No, you don’t.” He continued on his way.

Chapter Four: In Which a Series of Visits are Conducted

“I really don’t know why you must insist on all this secrecy,” Sylvester grumbled as he slid into the carriage. They had just barely escaped Vadistes without alerting Lord Vardon, and were both still breathing hard. Sylvester, in all his years and in various bad nightmares had pictured fleeing gaming hells in the dead of the night for various reasons, but never had he imagined doing it because his little sister had insisted he do so in order to avoid one of her rather overly attentive suitors. He did not imagine that the man she had told him about was anything other than that, but it never hurt not to take an unnecessary chance. They had both grown up with that rule - and now was no time to break the habit. After escaping from Vardon, Faith had been unable to find Sylvester, and had thus had to hide in the cloakroom for a while, until she judged it safe to search for her brother again. She was more successful the second time, but upon enquiry learnt that Sylvester was engaged in a rather important card game. She had retreated to the cloak room once again, and had only ventured out again when she realised that the card game would probably have finished by then.

“I told you already,” Faith said impatiently. “I don’t want anyone to recognise me at this stage. If someone does, I can always have you as my security, so no one can talk about my not being chaperoned, but it is better if people simply do not know who I am. We avoid gossip more easily that way.” And gossip at this stage, she thought, would destroy everything. Faith had realised, quite suddenly, that her position as Sylvester’s sister and a duke’s daughter as well as a countess, viscountess, and baronet would make her rather unappealing to ruin, unless Lord Vardon happened to be a fortune hunter, which she was quite certain that he was not. It had occured to her that Sylvester might very well do something stupid like call him out - and then either one or the other would probably die. It was not a pleasant thought, and one she would have to consider carefully. She could always hope that Sylvester would be reasonable and realise that the entire thing was her fault...no, better yet, she would tell him. Once the deed was done, there would be nothing he could do to stop her, and she would also take also responsibility upon herself. Satisfied with her solution, she sat back. 

“Yes, I know,” Sylvester was saying. “I still find it ridiculous that I have to wait until you enter before I do

“Did you win much tonight?”

“Ten thousand,” he answered casually. “I played your friend Silverstone in Piquet.”

She laughed with exhilaration. “What were the stakes?”

He smiled. That was always her first question. “100 pounds a point.”

“I take it you took the Rubicon?”

“Oh, yes. I also won some other smaller amounts off some others. Not worth much, though. The bulk of my winnings came from your fiance’s pocket, m’dear.”

“Ah,” she said with a grin. “The important card game that I was told about.”

“Yes, that one. He’s a dab hand at cards, your Silverstone. If it weren’t for the fact that my cards were marked I’m quite certain we would have tied. He, of course, played perfectly straight. If I didn’t know better I’d think he had honour.”

Faith stared at him, agape. “You played marked cards?”

“No,” Sebastian replied, laughing. “I just wanted to see if you noticed I’d said that. You seem rather out of sorts, Fayfee. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she replied, and sighed. “I didn’t see Silverstone tonight either.”

“Hmm. Never mind. There’s always next time.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

They spent the rest of the ride home in thoughtful silence.

* * *

The next morning was filled with visits from callers. Both Sylvester and Faith were, therefore, engaged for the better part of the morning. It was not until late-afternoon that Faith had any time to herself, and even then Sylvester waylaid her plans by inviting her for a drive around the park. She could not see that harm - those she associated with in the gaming hells did not usually go for drives around the park - tame was not a word that they would understood. She would not push her luck though. Informing Sylvester strictly that he had to take her back after 20 minutes, she donned her ugliest gown, pulled her hair into a severe bun on top of her head, and put on a pair of horn rimmed spectacles that made her positively blind. Those who did comment on her appearance would no doubt do it behind her back - that did not faze her. Her main priority was not running the risk of being recognised from those from Vadistes.

“Good god!” Sylvester exclaimed the moment he saw her. “What the devil are you doing, Faith?”

“I’m going for a drive around the park with you,” Faith said blithely. “Did you not ask me to?”

“Well, yes, I did. But what on earth have you done to yourself?”

“I?” she looked down at herself in surprise. “I haven’t done anything.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Sylvester said impatiently. “What the devil are you doing with those spectacles? You don’t need them.”

“I have recently developed an odd affliction - my eyesight is affected when I venture outdoors.”

“You didn’t have them on last night, or yesterday morning.”

“It is only very recent. And it occurs only in the morning.”

Bemused, Sylvester raised an eyebrow at her. “What are you up to, sister dear?”

“Up to?” Faith said innocently. “I’m not up to anything. Why would I be up to anything? Now, are we going to go on that drive or will you stand here and squabble with me over my spectacles for the whole day?”

“I admit that the latter is tempting,” Sylvester murmured as he swung her up onto the phaeton and vaulted in himself. “But I will have to pass and we shall merely go for a drive in the park.”




To Tempt the Devil Pt. 01



* * *

Shortly after Sylvester and Faith returned from their unusually short drive in the park, a young man in his very early twenties knocked on the door of Silverstone House. Cottsloe, the butler, opened the door with alacrity, and stood staring in mute astonishment at the man on the doorstep. Justin, Lord St James smiled and said easily, “How are you, Cottsloe?”

The butler beamed. “My lord,” Cottsloe said happily. “May I be the first to congratualate you on your son. Welcome home, my lord.”

“Thank you,” Justin said, a hint of pride evident in his voice. “I trust your wife is well?”

“Oh, she’s bloomin’, m’lord. I think his lordship is in bed at the moment, if you’d like to see him.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t mind paying the old chap a call,” Justin said casually, and walked in.

* * *

There was light. Too much light. Light, and noise. Not a good combination for his head.

Voices, too. Cottsloe’s, and someone elses. Very familiar, but his brain was too muddled to remember properly. Then there were no more voices, but footstesp, curiously familiar footsteps approaching his bed. He buried his face into his pillow and grunted a muffled, “Get out.”

“Surely now,” came those familiar tones again. “That’s no way to treat me. I came all the way from America with my wife and child to see you, and you tell me to get out?”

Who the devil was it? He was tempted to find out, but could not summon the energy to lift his eyelids.

He heard the rattle and clang of objects hitting together, and his head began to pound. Light. Oh god, more light. It was flooding the room. With a groan - no, noise. Noise was not good, he opened his eyes, saw nothing but darkness, and lifted his head from the pillow. A flash of headboard greeted him, then blackness as his head throbbed and stars seemed to flash before his eyes. He resisted the urge to groan again, knowing it would only bring more pain, and slowly, painfully, turned onto his back, falling back onto the pillows with a soft sigh. His eyes closed again.

“Back to your old habits, I see,” came Justin’s voice.

Justin. Oh, god no. It was Justin.

The sinner was going to be reprimanded by the saint. The devil was going to be lectured by god. Good was about to defeat evil.

Oh lord. Death would be a welcome distraction to the pain he was in now.

Yes. Death. Death was good. He just wished that Justin would leave him to die in peace.

“Come on, Vardon old chap,” Justin. So he wasn’t gone yet? Vardon supposed he was still alive then. The thought was not comforting. “Get up. I’ve news for you.”

Vardon surrendered. He gave up. He let the inevitable happen.

He opened his eyes.

Blearily he peered up at Justin’s bright, blond, sunny countenance.

“What?” he rasped.

“Ah, here now,” Justin scolded. “I won’t tell you when you’re glowering up at me still half drunk like that. I’ll just go get your valet - what’s his name again?”

“Henley.”

“Yes, that’s right. Good old Henley. How long have you had him for?”

“A month.”

“Hmm. If I was a betting man, I’d wager that Cottsloe’s not too happy about that.”

“Cottsloe was my valet. He is now my butler, a position that, I assure you, is vastly superiour to that of valet. How I run my household is, by the way, none of your business,” Vardon informed his brother as frostily as he was able to in his groggy state. “Now tell me your damn news, or get out.”

“See? That’s exactly what I mean. I can’t have you in such a state. I’m off to get Henley.” And before the Marquess could say a word, he was off.

Vardon groaned and sank back into his pillows, closing his eyes. Why now? Off all the times of the day for Justin to pick, why did the ass have to choose now? But then Justin had never stood for London hours, Vardon remembered. While the rest of the town was about gallivanting, Justin had always been already tucked into bed like a good little boy, and while the rest of the town lolled in bed the boy was already up and about his business. He had always been a steady, pious child, and it had always been an unspoken sentiment with their father that he regretted the younger of the brothers had not stood to inherit. It was the general consensus that Justin would always have made a much better Marquess than Vardon did.

He frowned, his eyes still closed. It was rather quiet. Perhaps he’d dreamed it all? he thought hopefully. Perhaps it had all been a rather vivid nightmare and he had simply dreamed up Justin’s presence.

Henley chose that moment to step into the room, armed with the customary change of clothes, the concoction of odious liquid that he constantly held to be essential to his lordship’s health, and the steady of train of footmen who lumbered into the room, clutching buckets of water.

Justin popped his head back into the room. Damn. He hadn’t dreamed it, then. “Have your bath, old chap,” he advised. “I’ll be in the breakfast parlour when you come down. Don’t take too long.” With the same cheerful grin that he seemed to perpetually wear, he took off.

Vardon groaned.

* * *

Some time later (well, a great deal of time later) his lordship came down (freshly bathed, shaved, and dressed) to the breakfast parlour, fully expecting his brother to have taken off after two hours. His hopes, however, were crushed when he stepped in to find Justin sitting peacefully at the table, perusing a copy of the Times. 

“You,” he scowled. “Why are you still here?”

Justin widened his eyes innocently. “I’ve still to tell you your news.”

Vardon glowered and pulled out a chair, sitting down. “So tell me. And then go away.”

“I won’t tell you when you’re scowling like that,” Justin said tranquily.

Vardon gritted his teeth and said in tones of extremely forced sweetness. “I apologise, brother dear. I was unforgiveably uncivil. Please, do regale me with your delightful news.”

Justin burst out laughing. “Oh, you haven’t changed at all, I see,” he said. “Very well. I came to tell you that my wife just had another son.”

That was it? “Congratualations. I suppose I have another heir then, now.” He paused, then eyed his brother unfavourably. “Doesn’t your wife ever get tired of it? Remaining in a constant state of pregnancy, that is?”

Justin blithely ignored this highly affrontive remark and continued. “And that I’ve seen your fiance. She was driving in the park with her brother.”

“What?”

“Your fiance. You do remember Miss - no, she’s titled, isn’t she? Lady de Courte, don’t you?”

“Lady de Courte,” Vardon mused. “The name sounds familiar.”

Justin stared at him, aghast. “Good lord, brother. You don’t mean to tell me that you’ve forgotten?”

Vardon shook his head. “No. I just couldn’t seem to remember the chit’s name. Ah well. I suppose I’ll see her soon enough.”

“Which reminds me. Have you ever met her?”

“Once, when she was still a child. It must have been more than ten years ago. She was about six or seven, as I recall. An unfortunate looking child.”

“Yes, well,” Justin grimaced. “I’m sorry to say that however unfortunate she used to look, she hasn’t changed.”

Vardon shrugged. “I always knew father would choose an ugly wife for me. Punish me for my sins, I suppose.”

Justin shook his head. “I don’t understand it. Her brother is good looking enough - whatever happened to her?”

“As I said. Unfortunate, but I will live with it. I don’t expect anything more than an heir from her.”

“Mmm. You’ve met the brother too, haven’t you? Duke of Edenvale, isn’t he?”

“Yes. He won a small fortune off me last night. Took off in a hurry too.” He smiled wolfishly. “I wonder why?”

“I can’t imagine,” Justin said placidly. “When do you intend to present yourself to Lady de Courte?”

Vardon shrugged. “As soon as I see her.”

Justin frowned. “You won’t call on her?”

“Why should I? I’ll just wait until I run into her.”

“She’s not one of the demimonde Vardon,” Justin scolded. “The only events she attends are balls and so forth. If you wait to run into her, she’ll turn into an old maid before you even set eyes on her.”

“And we couldn’t have that, could we?” Vardon said bitterly.

“Yes,” Justin said sternly. “You must do your duty by the family, Silverstone.” Silverstone grimaced. Justin only ever used his title when he was trying to make a point.

“Oh alright,” he grumbled. “I’ll go and call on the chit, as long as you go away and stop nagging me.”

Justin rose to his full height, looking down his nose at his brother. “I,” he said pompously, “Would not stoop to so low a tactic as nagging.” He grinned and suddenly. “Will I see you at Almacks on Wednesday, Vardon?” He ducked, avoiding the spoon that his brother threw at him, and laughing, escaped from the breakfast parlour intact. 

* * *

“Are you still engaged to Lord Silverstone, Faith?” Amelia Fontana asked over a mouthful of cake. “It seems awfully strange that he hasn’t come to call yet.” She swallowed that previous substantial mouthful and continued with another. “And its been, what, a year and a half after after your father died? Rather lax of him, I say.”

“Yes, but what else would you expect of Silverstone?” Prudence Maclinton asked dissapprovingly. “If he were to behave in any manner approaching respectability we’d all believe the devil had come to earth.”

“Oh?” Faith asked, amused. “I was under the impression he was here already.”

Prudence finished the cake that had been occupying her and reached for another, wavering, then picking it up at last. “I really shouldn’t,” she said mournfully. “Mama says I’m getting fat.” She bit into it anyway.

“Your mama doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Prudence reassured her. “I’m of the opinion that she’s far too thin herself. I don’t believe she has enough blood - perhaps that’s why she’s constantly having the vapours.”

“Unkind, Prudence,” Faith chided. “But she is right, Amy. You have a lovely figure.”

Amy blushed to the roots of her golden curls.

“I was merely making a medical observation,” Prudence protested. “‘Tis not my fault that the lady is anemic.”

“Ane - Anem - what?” Amelia asked blankly.

“I believe she suffers from a lack of red blood cells,” Prudence informed her matter of factly. “From a lack of iron, I believe. I read about it in an Italian medical journal. I don’t think anyone has quite grasped the concept as yet, but it sounds very intriguing.”

“I daresay,” Faith said dryly. “After all, who doesn’t want to learn about red blood cells and a lack of iron?”

“Precisely!” Prudence exclaimed fervently. “I really don’t understand why more people aren’t interested. Its very fascinating.”

“No doubt,” Faith murmured.

“But back to Silverstone,” Amelia put in, eager to be rid of the subject of her mother’s health. Her round baby blue eyes sparkled mischievously. “Have you met him yet?”

“No,” Faith sighed. “I don’t particularly want to, either. The longer that he puts off the marriage, the better. He’s in town, though. Sylvester’s seen him.”

“Oh?” Prudence said, a frown in her dark brown eyes. “Rather odd to have met your brother and still not come calling, isn’t it?”

Faith shrugged. “It matters not to me whether he comes or not. I’d rather he not come at all, in truth.”

“Unkind, Faith,” Amelia interjected. “You do not mean that. Why, I have heard that he is the most handsome men in London! Many would say that you are lucky to have such a betrothed.”

“Many a fools,” Prudence retorted, and Faith was inclined to agree. “I have heard that he is a perfect beast.”

“Surely he cannot be perfectly beastly?” Amelia said with a frown. “I’m sure he must have some redeeming qualities.”

“Other than his title, his wealth, and his looks, I can’t seem to see any,” Faith muttered.

“Oh, fustian,” Amelia replied. “Everyone has a good quality. I’m sure that the only reason you haven’t found it yet is that you haven’t met him.”

“Speaking of which,” Prudence said with a small grin, “That’s about to change.”

“What?” Faith jumped to her feet. “He’s here? Where? Do you see him?”

“I don’t see him,” Prudence said, looking out the window. “But I do see his coach. And its most definitely stopping in front of your house. What will you do?”

“See him of course,” Amelia said quickly.

“No! I mean - no, I don’t want to. Ah - I’m going to hide. In the closet. If Sylvester or one of the servants comes up to find me say I’m ill. Or I’ve left. Or something.” Before either girls could respond she had dived inside the armour and slid the door shut.

As she had predicted, footsteps shortly mounted the stairs, and someone knocked on the door. At Prudence’s command to enter, their butler, Yates opened the door and began, in tones of stiff courtesy, “Lady Faith, His Grace bids you to join him - “ he paused midsentence, looking bewildered. “Where is Her Ladyship?” he queried politely.

“She’s er, ill,” Amelia blurted out, the same moment that Prudence, realising the rather ridiculous nature of that excuse said that her ladyship had gone out. The girls looked at eachother in almost comical dismay and then Prudence swiftly amended, “That is to say, her ladyship felt ill, therefore, went out to get some air.”

“Er, I see,” said Yates, evidently still at a loss. “Most strange. I could have sworn I heard her voice a moment or so ago.”

“She left only just recently,” Amelia said quickly. “Look, I do believe she’s just crossed the street. If we hurry, we may be able to catch her yet. Come, Yates!” She stood, firmly took the butler’s arm and began propelling him towards the door. Prudence, glancing once at the still closed armoir, followed, careful to close the door behind her as they made their way down the stairs. They were crossing the parlour when they were stopped by His Grace, who called from the drawing room, “Yates! Where is her ladyship?” Prudence and Amelia were thus compelled to join the duke in the drawing room, where they stood most awkwardly and tried not to stare at the compelling figure who lounged in a large, comfortable chair, long limbs sprawled about carelessly. Both men immediately stood.

“Your grace,” Prudence murmured, sinking in a deep curtsey. Beside her, Amelia did the same.

Sylvester ran an appreciative eye over his sister’s friends. Prudence, the oldest of the three, tall, long limbed and redheaded, was an unusual beauty, while the pleasant, plump and pleasing Amelia with her blond curls and bright blue eyes was always amiable. They were an odd trio, he thought briefly. He had always wondered how three such different girls could have become such fast friends. 

He smiled graciously at the girls, murmuring his how do you do’s, before turning to the Marquess of Silverstone. “Silverstone, may I introduce you to Miss Prudence Maclinton?”

“Honored,” Silverstone said softly, bowing over her hand.

“And Miss Amelia Fontana.”

“A pleasure.”

“Miss Maclinton, Miss Fontana, Lord St James, Marquess of Silverstone.”

The introductions over with, Sylvester proceeded to the foremost business that was occupying his mind. “But where is my sister, my ladies?”

“Er,” said Prudence.

“She went out,” said Amelia brightly.

“Out?” Silverstone murmured. “With company over? What very bad form...”

Prudence shot him a muted glare while Sylvester chose to ignore his guest’s transgression in politeness and turned to look questioningly at said unfortunate young lady, who promptly flushed and looked at her feet.

“She was ill,” Amelia offered.

“I don’t seem to understand,” Sylvester said, scratching his head. “She went out, but you said she was ill?”

“It was because she was ill that she went out,” Amelia explained. “She had a headache, you see, and thought some fresh air would do good.”

“But she left her guests here,” Silverstone said softly. “How very curious.”

“We didn’t feel inclined to join her on her walk,” Prudence said defensively.

“Not very charitable of you m’dear,” Silverstone said with a curve of his lips. “A comrade in need and all that, you know.”

“She didn’t want us to accompany her,” Amelia said.

Silverstone merely raised an eyebrow.

“What I’d like to know,” Prudence said loudly, “Is why we’re being subjected to the fifth degree. I don’t believe there’s any call for all these questions, do you? Surely we’ve said all that’s to be said. Your sister, your grace, went out for a walk. I expect she will be back shortly. And now if you will excuse us, we will take our leave. Good day, Your Grace, Mr Silverstone.”

And with that, the two girls marched out.

“Mr Silverstone?” Vardon asked in amusement.

Sylvester shook his head. “Miss Maclinton is recently from the Americas. I don’t believe gentry exists there - she slips, sometimes, you know. It took her six months to remember to call me either Edenvale, Sylvester, or Your Grace, and not Mr Edenvale. Poor girl. Its very confusing for her, you know.”

“I can imagine,” Vardon murmured. “She has more than enough spirit to compensate for the confusion, though.”

“Mmm,” Sylvester said with a small, fond, smile. “She’s very spirited.”

Vardon gazed thoughtfully at him for a moment, then spoke. “I take it those two ladies were your sister’s close friends?”

“Yes,” Sylvester replied, coming out of his reverie. “They’ve all known eachother for well over ten years, now. Odd isn’t it. The redhead the blonde and the brunette?”

“Your sisters a brunette?” Vardon said, frowning. “I rather recalled her to have black hair - raven, I would have called it. Did she dye it?”

“No, it lightened over time. Still very dark though. Do you remember her?”

“Vaguely,” he muttered. “She was a vicious little hoyden then. I trust she has changed and...er...matured with age?”

“Oh, yes,” Sylvester said with a chuckle. “Yes, she’s changed.”

“Well,” said Vardon, stretching out his legs with a small sigh. “Since your sister isn’t here, I suppose we might as well discuss the marriage contracts? We may as well, seeing as I’m to wait for her return.” His ironic look told what he thought of that articular event happening.

“Hmm,” said Sylvester with a thoughtful look at the stairs. “I suppose we may as well. Will you take dinner with us, Silverstone?”

His lordship agreed, and they sat down to plan the marriage contracts.

* * *

Harriet Browning, Faith’s sometimes upstairs maid and sometimes downstairs maid, wondered what her mistress was doing in the closet.

“Dear lord, my lady!” she exclaimed, almost falling over in shock and dropping the pile of neatly pressed gowns she was clutching. “What are you doing in here?”

“Shh!” Faith hissed. “Are they still down there?”

“Do you mean His Grace and His Lordships?” the maid asked, wide eyed. “Yes, they’re all still down there.”

“All?” Faith asked faintly.

“Yes, his Lordship’s brother came to call and a few of His Grace’s friends as well. They told me you were out, my lady! What are you doing here in a closet?”

“Hiding,” Faith informed her grimly.

“Yes, but what the devil for?”

“I don’t want to see Silverstone.”

“Why not?” Harriet exclaimed in genuine astonishment. “A better looking man I’ve never seen! Why, I’d love to look at him all day!”

“I don’t care how good looking he is,” Faith muttered. “I don’t want to see him.” She did not explain that, if, on the off chance that he had glimpsed her at Vadistes, he would recognise her, which could be the end to all her plans. She was certain that no self respecting fiance would let his intended run wild in a gaming hell, which explained half the reason for her constant secrecy when attending Vadistes with Sylvester. Furthermore, if he should make it known that she was his intended, she was quite certain that it would greatly diminish her chances of being properly ruined. She could not risk it, not when she had risked so much already.

“Well, alright my lady,” Harriet said grudgingly. “I suppose you don’t have to see him if you don’t want to. He’s staying for dinner though, so if you intend to keep hiding do you want me to bring you up a tray of something? I daresay you’ve gotten quite hungry standing in that closet all day.”