Chapter Ten

Daniel watched Miss St. Peters’s hasty departure with mixed feelings. He knew he was about to be very politely asked to leave and that there was nothing he could do but very politely oblige his host.

On the one hand, it meant escaping the temptation of being near a woman both increasingly attractive and unchangingly unavailable. On the other, it meant relinquishing the field, albeit only temporarily, to Lovelace, which rankled. But he didn’t fool himself that he wanted to stay purely to stymie the other man.

Good thing the decision is out of my hands.

St. Peters’s face was a study in chagrin as he continued, “I intended to have you join us for dinner this evening—”

“It’s quite all right,” he said, dismissing it with a gracious wave. “I’ll—”

“My mind is unchanged,” St. Peters interrupted. “If anything, I’d be even more pleased to retain your company, as your presence would provide a perfect opportunity to test Lovelace’s intent. But I leave it to you to accept—and let me be clear that you are under no obligation to do so. I would not dream of imposing upon you.”

A frisson of apprehension crept across Daniel’s flesh. To stay would be to expose himself further to Lovelace’s scrutiny and risk discovery. But it would also make things exceedingly awkward for the other man with regards to courtship. “He’ll see it as a challenge to his suit,” he warned.

The sly smile that curved his host’s mouth told him that was the whole point. “I’ll make clear that our business meeting simply ran late and that I invited you to stay and would brook no refusal. I’m not withdrawing my permission for him to court Olivia, but my having you stay will nevertheless send a subtle message. If he continues to pursue her hand despite knowing he’s fallen out of my favor, I’ll take it as a good sign that he truly cares for her.”

Knowing what he did of Lovelace, Daniel knew it wouldn’t work. Lovelace wouldn’t give up so easily, but he could hardly tell that to St. Peters. The only thing he could do was try to draw the other man out and make him reveal his true nature, his faults. Rather like he’d intended to do with Miss St. Peters.

So it was that Daniel found himself joining St. Peters in welcoming his guest.

Upon seeing him, Lovelace’s eyes narrowed in an expression that hid nothing of his displeasure. “Lord Devlin. What an unexpected pleasure,” he said, his tone belying the cordial greeting.

St. Peters was as good as his word in explaining his presence. “Olivia should be down at any moment. Until then, allow me to offer you gentlemen a libation.”

Having already partaken of the man’s brandy probably more than he ought, especially given the immediate situation, Daniel politely declined. The last thing he needed was a mind befuddled by liquor. Maintaining his false identity was imperative and would require all his skill and wit.

He sat quietly, listening as St. Peters inquired after the other man’s wellbeing and recent doings. Lovelace’s answers were perfunctory and his manner not particularly genial. Understandable, with his perceived rival sitting opposite, separated by a mere few feet of Aubusson rug. His attention kept straying from his host over to where Daniel sat, only to flick away again the instant Daniel met his eyes.

Affecting the blank expression he’d learned from years of watching his twin play cards, Daniel gave nothing away. Despite his seeming boredom, he carefully observed Lovelace’s every move, analyzing and cataloging it. At first the man half appeared as if he expected “Devlin” to leap up and pummel him into the ground at the slightest provocation, but then he slowly began to relax—and pointedly ignore him.

By the time Daniel marked Miss St. Peters’s arrival by the rustling of silk behind him, the other man was all but back to his normal, pompous self. Exerting iron will, he kept his eyes on Lovelace, marking how the other man’s eyes swept the new arrival with cool calculation and approval an instant before standing to greet her.

“My dear Miss St. Peters,” said Lovelace, bowing shortly. “How gracious of you to include me among your company this evening.”

The subtle reproach ought not to have been so satisfying, but Daniel couldn’t help being glad of the other man’s evident disappointment. At last, he allowed himself to rise and turn—only to be visually assaulted by Miss St. Peters in a mint silk affair that caused all the moisture in his mouth to vanish in an instant.

Its broad scoop neckline and minuscule cap sleeves left a great deal of creamy flesh on display. Never before had he thought of a woman’s shoulders as “enticing,” but hers certainly were. The artfully unruly mass of her hair was piled high in a charming arrangement that left a cascade of fiery curls trailing down over one to kiss the gentle swell of a plump breast.

Heat climbed up from beneath his cravat to prickle in his cheeks. Good Lord above… Where was the excitable little bluestocking with whom he’d spent the day? This woman was someone else entirely. Her movements were smooth and measured, almost indolent rather than decisive and businesslike. She exuded sensuality.

That she’d managed such a transformation in only half an hour seemed a miracle. She stared at him expectantly from half-lidded eyes the hue of forest shade, a tiny, knowing smile quirking one corner of her luscious mouth, and he remembered himself.

“Miss St. Peters.” He bowed deeply. “How lovely you look this evening,” then popped out of his mouth without forethought. At once, panic seized his heart. Why in Heaven’s name did I say that? But it was true. He’d never seen a more beautiful living example of the Lord’s work on this earth than the woman who drifted toward him now, her smile turned brilliant.

“You are most kind, Lord Devlin,” she murmured as she brushed past him to address her other guest. “Lord Lovelace, thank you for coming tonight.”

It was as if the sun had suddenly decided to shine its light elsewhere. On Lovelace, to be precise. And Daniel didn’t like it.

Lovelace took up the hand she proffered and brushed his lips across its back. “The pleasure is all mine, madam.”

No. He didn’t like it at all. Anger swelled in Daniel’s heart at the smug look the other man shot him over her shoulder. Anger, jealousy—he acknowledged it with grim resignation—and a hint of something even darker, something he dared not allow to fully surface as it was forbidden to feel that way for any being save the devil himself.

Reining in the sudden rise of these emotions took every ounce of self-control. You have no right to such feelings, he scolded himself. He had no claim on her and no intent to ever stake one. Stick to the business at hand.

Tonight, his business was getting Lovelace—as opposed to himself—to reveal his true character. Whereas he’d been reluctant to provoke Miss St. Peters to ire, he found himself rather relishing the idea of drawing out Lovelace’s venom. Recalling everything he knew about the man, he thought he had a fairly good idea where to begin.

Now that their hostess had finally arrived, she led them to the dining room, where to his surprise Daniel found himself seated at St. Peters’s right hand, opposite Lovelace. Perfect.

And just like that, battle lines were drawn as Lovelace attempted to cow him with a baleful glare while their hosts settled themselves. But Daniel knew well how to play that game. Many’s the time he’d had to stare down a recalcitrant youth until they’d confessed their part in some mischief. He’d become a master at it.

Fixing his opponent with a cool, unblinking gaze, he slowly arched one disdainful brow. It was an almost sinful pleasure watching the way the other man’s face gradually colored under his ministerial eye. Eventually, Lovelace had no choice but to concede—if only out of a desperate need to blink. Only when his now-sullen gaze slid away did Daniel allow himself the same relief, after which he pointedly ignored him.

Move and counter move.

The silent exchange had gone unnoticed by their hosts as Miss St. Peters was inquiring of her father as to whether or not he meant to attend Lady Bletchly’s soiree on Friday.

Her father shook his head. “No, my dear, I fear not. I’m obliged to be at Sumner’s that evening, though I may join you if my business is finished early enough.”

Lovelace’s mouth opened, but Daniel beat him to it. “I’ve accepted Lady Bletchly’s invitation. I would be happy to accompany you, if you require an escort.”

“Excellent idea,” boomed St. Peters as he waved at the servant bearing the wine to come forth. “What think you, Olivia?”

The redhead blinked at her father in apparent consternation for a heartbeat before answering, “I—of course. Yes. That would be most agreeable.”

If Daniel’s smile was a little self-satisfied, he couldn’t help it. “Excellent. I shall look forward to continuing our little debate on the way.”

“Debate?” asked Lovelace, gaze sharpening.

They’d been discussing the merits and potential pitfalls of having a special committee appointed to approve membership to the new club for special cases when Lovelace had arrived. Daniel was for it. She was against, believing that, as it was at Almack’s, it would give too much power to too few and possibly result in the will of the majority being overridden.

“Oh, it’s nothing important,” he said, laughing it off as a servant offered him soup. Nodding acceptance, he threw in, “Just a minor difference of opinion.”

But Lovelace was nothing if not determined to be part of the conversation. “Perhaps I may help you arrive at a resolution?”

Daniel shot a conspiratorial glance at Miss St. Peters and chuckled softly. “I shall leave it to the lady to decide.” Devilish glee arose within his breast at the way Lovelace’s nostrils pinched.

Miss St. Peters smiled softly and shook her head. “Truly, it is a matter of little consequence. Certainly not worth stirring up potential dissension at the dinner table. But tell me, Lord Lovelace, shall you be attending the Bletchly event, as well?” she asked, smoothly steering the conversation in a different direction before taking up a steaming spoonful of creamed celery soup.

It was clear the matter had been closed to further discussion, which apparently rankled Lovelace, if his clipped answer was any indication. “I had not planned to do so.”

Now Daniel wasn’t a gambling man, but he’d wager the fellow rearranged his schedule and showed up at Bletchly’s on Friday. “Pity,” he murmured just loud enough for him to hear, all but guaranteeing it. Sure enough, the other man positively bristled, his glare returning full force. Oh, he’d show up, and when he did, Daniel would ensure he made an absolute ass of himself.

…

Oh, my. Olivia was hard put not to grin in glee. Jealousy was indeed a wonderful tool when properly wielded! She’d thought to be the one wielding it tonight, but Devlin had taken up the challenge in her stead. His faintly amused demeanor and allusion to their little secret was like a kick to a hornets’ nest. Lovelace looked on the verge of apoplexy.

Devlin knew exactly what he was doing, too. The question was why. And why had he volunteered to escort her when she already had a willing beau who’d been on the very cusp of asking her himself? There can only be one reason.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to solidify her position—and Devlin couldn’t be allowed to think he’d won the war. “Oh, well then, perhaps we’ll see each other at Lord Worthington’s the week following?”

Lovelace’s face brightened as he answered in haste, “I shall indeed be attending that event. Have you an escort? If not, it would be my honor to accompany you.”

Don’t look at Devlin! “How very kind of you,” she told Lovelace, favoring him with an indulgent smile. “I’m delighted to accept.” She forced herself to not check Devlin’s reaction. Let him stew and wonder what it meant. If it made him anxious, it would be very easy to put all other rivals behind him by making an offer himself.

Turning from her, Lovelace leveled gloating eyes at the man seated across from him. Now she looked to see Devlin’s expression gone perfectly blank. A thrill shot through her from stem to stern. In her father’s shadow, she’d learned that a face devoid of all emotion generally meant the exact opposite.

Victory. Devlin wasn’t an official suitor yet—but he soon would be.

Her father chose that moment to push his soup bowl aside and speak. “I understand you recently purchased a property off Wilmott,” he said to Lovelace in a tone of mild interest. “Are you planning to open a theater?”

Their guest’s face paled a shade, but he quickly recovered. “I’ve no plans for it, actually. The owner was suffering financial difficulty, and I thought it prudent to snap it up before someone else did.” He flicked a glance at Devlin as he said these words. “I may simply turn around and sell it if I receive a lucrative enough offer. Or I may decide to invest further in it. I know not as of yet.”

Papa arched a brow and grunted before answering, “I should think a theater would do well in that area. There are too many to the south, all atop each other, and it’s always such a bother getting in and out. Offer Londoners an attractive alternative—make it lavish, lure a good company to the stage, and people will likely leap at the chance to avoid the usual crush.”

“I’ll consider it,” replied Lovelace in a flat tone, clearly not pleased to be offered business advice from a rival, no matter how sensible it seemed or how he was trying to ingratiate himself as a potential son-in-law.

The man was proud to the point of arrogance, and Olivia found it off-putting. It was one thing to be self-confident. It was another to be so conceited that one dismissed good counsel out of hand. Biting her tongue, she refrained from making a remark to that effect and did as she always did at her father’s meetings: stayed quiet and observed.

The soup was removed and replaced with the next course. She hardly tasted the food as she listened to the three men discussing various topics. Architecture, politics, recent goings-on at court. She listened, restricting herself to only providing input when a question was put to her directly. Almost always, these came from Devlin. Each time she provided a knowledgeable response, Lovelace’s face registered surprise and vague disgruntlement. It was apparent that he thought she should offer no opinion on what was generally considered the purview of men.

It made her itch to slap him. Especially when he talked over her to put forward his own opinion. The sight of Devlin’s thunderous scowl at this impolite behavior, however, was enough to mitigate her wrath. If Lovelace’s treatment of her resulted in Devlin making himself her champion, so much the better.

Oh, yes! Pitting them against each other had been a brilliant idea.

Throughout the dinner, Devlin grew quieter and like her offered his opinion only when asked, allowing Lovelace to dominate the conversation.

And he did. By the time dessert was served, Lovelace was the only one talking. His current diatribe was on the state of the city’s drainage system, and her father’s expression, though neutral to the unfamiliar eye, told her he’d quite lost his enthusiasm.

Devlin wore an equally benign expression, but when she caught his glance, she saw to her surprise that his eyes were sparkling with merriment. Even as she watched, one corner of his mouth quirked up in a wry smile.

Alarm bells pealed in her mind. Oh, you think this is funny, do you? You think you’ve won and can rest on your laurels? You’ll have no rest until a ring is on my finger.

“Lord Lovelace,” she cut in smoothly the moment the man paused to draw breath. “I wonder if you would be interested in playing a game of chess? Papa and I usually play after dinner. We have several boards.” Turning to her father before the other man could answer, she added, “Papa, you could play against Lord Devlin while I play against Lord Lovelace.”

Papa’s eyes took on a wicked gleam. “I think that a most entertaining idea. Lovelace, I assume you play?”

Everyone turned to regard Lovelace, who’d wiped his face clean of the shock of being interrupted in the midst of his soliloquy. After a brief hesitation, he cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course.” His gaze flicked back to her. “Whatever you wish.”

Clasping her hands in an exaggerated show of feminine delight, she said, “Wonderful! We’ll all play, and then the two winners shall play each other while the losers watch, and we shall learn who the best is among us four.”

No matter what the outcome, she’d come out a winner. If she won against Lovelace, he’d have no choice but to acknowledge her intellect, and then she’d have the opportunity to play her father or Devlin in front of him and further rectify the man’s opinion of women. If she lost, it would rankle, but then he’d have to play against either her father or Devlin. Either option would prove both entertaining and educational.

They retired to the salon, had the boards brought out, and set them up. Despite her offer to allow the guest to play white and make the first move, Lovelace insisted on taking black. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Devlin pick up a white pawn.

A pinch-faced Lovelace tipped his king only twenty-two moves later. Papa tipped his ten minutes later with a nod of admiration to his opponent.

She’d be playing Devlin.

He settled himself across from her, and they reset the pieces. Every time their fingers accidentally brushed, the current between them snapped to life and set her nerves afire. She’d been looking forward to playing against him, especially knowing he was skilled enough to best her father, but now a frisson of trepidation crept up her spine. Chess required intense focus, and right now she couldn’t concentrate on anything but the sensations running riot throughout her body.

It’s only a game. She’d already proven herself his equal in mind. Nothing could negate that, as long as she didn’t do anything blatantly stupid. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she gestured readiness for him to begin.

His large hand decisively moved the first piece, pawn to E4.

From then on it was a dance of move and countermove.

Little more than half an hour later, Olivia tipped her king but felt no shame in doing so. She’d played well. He’d just played better. It was with a little shock that she registered soft applause from behind her. Turning, she looked to her father, whose face shone with pride.

“Well played, daughter.”

Devlin’s voice was warm as he drew her attention back, saying, “Very well played, indeed. If it makes you feel any better, thus far the only person I know capable of besting me is my saintly brother.”

She smiled at the thought of him, one of London’s top card players and, according to her Papa, a great strategist, getting trounced by a clergyman. “Perhaps one day I’ll meet him and test his mettle, too.” She regretted the lighthearted words as soon as they left her lips, however, as she watched sudden wariness flash in his eyes.

A soft, sneering voice grated from behind. “I imagine the good reverend is far too busy overseeing his parish to engage in such frivolity anymore.”

Lovelace! She’d forgotten the man was even here. And she had no answer to give him on the subject.

Fortunately, the implied question wasn’t meant for him. Devlin’s face was a study in indifference as he replied, “We played quite a bit over the holiday, actually. If anything, his skill has improved. He informed me that several members of his flock are decent players and have kept him sharp over the years.”

Lovelace let out an amused huff of laughter. “I must say I’m surprised to learn Berkshire’s sheep have the leisure time for such pursuits with their shepherd. I suppose this modern age has liberated the unwashed masses from many of their labors, enabling them to emulate their betters to whatever degree they can manage within their limited means.”

It was a deliberate provocation. And it was working. Bright blood rushed into Devlin’s cheeks. “Though the salt of the earth are indeed among his flock, not all my brother’s parishioners are without education or means,” he said, clearly nettled. “It might also surprise you to know that one of the best chess players in Harper’s Grove happens to be a farmer.”

She couldn’t stand it anymore. Twisting in her seat, she looked up at Lovelace and her father, who stood beside him.

Lovelace’s lip curled with distaste as he moved out from behind her to stand beside their chess table. “Well, I’m glad your brother is able to take at least some small pleasure amid his humble life of toil and servitude, even if it reduces him to keeping company with, as you put it, ‘the salt of the earth.’ I suppose the clerical collar does require him to mix with those beneath him in a way none of us here would be willing to tolerate.”

Devlin’s brows collided, and his blue eyes sparked with ire. “Beneath him? Tolerate? It is the labor of the working classes you so despise upon which any society is built and maintained. While manners and means may set us apart, it might behoove you to recall that kings and beggars alike will face the Lord and that in His sight all stand equal. He is neither partial to the poor nor defers to the great.”

Surprise wrote itself all over Lovelace’s face. And, no doubt, her own.

She sat, slack-jawed, as the tension in the room became all but unbearable.

Papa broke it with a soft laugh and came to stand on the opposite side of the table from Lovelace. “Well said, Lord Devlin. We may not till the earth, but we’ve all certainly labored for our gains—and I’m sure all our ancestries would reveal a bit of salt.” He stared pointedly at Lovelace, as if to remind him that his host’s roots were about as “salty” as they came. “The highest king’s blood originates in the same dust of creation as that of the lowliest of his servants. Those I employ are beholden to me for their living, but I could not provide such a living without the efforts of others. We are dependent upon each other.”

Lovelace swallowed, and his gaze darted nervously between the three of them as they waited expectantly for him to reply. When it came, it was full of careful contrition. “I humbly beg your pardon if I’ve unintentionally given any offense. I merely meant that to stray outside one’s own sphere—in either direction—causes discomfort. On both sides,” he awkwardly amended.

What a haughty piece of work he is! She couldn’t stand people whose opinion of themselves was so swollen. Smiling sweetly, she met and held his gaze. “Then, in your opinion, all who seek to ‘marry up’ are in error, and any who wed below their rank are lowering their standards.” In other words, by wooing her he was self-admittedly “slumming it.”

The color bled from Lovelace’s cheeks, but he otherwise maintained outward calm. “Perhaps I should revise my statement to say that straying too far beyond one’s own sphere often leads to uncomfortable situations.” An awkward smile twitched his lips. “A scullery maid and a duke make for an ill-suited pair, do they not? Manners and a certain understanding of each other’s world are required. You and I, for example, both comprehend the rules of the spheres in which we move.”

Meaning he knew how to navigate her sphere and, though she lacked the breeding, she understood the behavior required to move within his. Meaning he thought her and Papa beneath him, held them in contempt, yet deigned to suffer their society.

Before she could formulate a suitably scathing reply, however, Devlin jumped in. “Then your bias is one based on an individual’s education and deportment rather than means.”

“I suppose so, yes,” answered Lovelace, chin lifting in challenge.

A smile that was positively ferocious slowly curved Devlin’s mouth. “Then by your reasoning, a well-mannered, educated peasant is a more desirable companion than a rich, titled idiot possessing the manners of a pig. I can but agree.”

Her own mouth dropped open yet again as the inference hit the other man like a slap. Sweet Lord above, he did not just…he did.

The blood that had left Lovelace’s cheeks a moment ago now came rushing back in mottled blotches of scarlet. But he could hardly disagree with Devlin’s extrapolation. He must either concur with his rival or risk giving even greater insult to his “peasant” hosts. His face became a battleground upon which fury warred with prudence.

Prudence won out. “Indeed. ‘Manners maketh man,’ as they say,” said Lovelace with a sickly smile that faded into something hard and angry. “I’m glad we see eye-to-eye on the subject.”

A raised brow was Devlin’s only response. Inwardly, Olivia couldn’t help but praise his masterful handling of the other man.

Swallowing, Lovelace glanced at the clock on the mantel and then back at his hosts. “Alas, the hour is later than I thought. Much as I’ve enjoyed your company this evening, I fear overstaying my welcome.”

Papa’s lips thinned as he regarded Lovelace, but when he spoke, his manner was as pleasant as anything. “You are most thoughtful.” Going to the bell pull, he gave it a sharp yank that belied his mild tone. Almost at once, a servant entered, and her father gave orders for Lovelace’s carriage to be brought around. His gaze settled on their other guest. “Lord Devlin, if it’s convenient, I’d like to finish our earlier conversation before you leave.”

To his credit, Devlin showed no sign of gloating at his rival as he answered, “I’m at your disposal, of course.” As if the tension in the room wasn’t as thick as treacle, he leaned back in his chair and began resetting the chessboard.

The look on Lovelace’s face could’ve soured new milk. It had been made quite clear who was the favored horse in this race. Turning to her, he bowed shortly and favored her with what she supposed must be a charming smile. “I remain your devoted servant, Miss St. Peters, and anticipate our next meeting.”

She couldn’t for the world fathom why when he plainly thought so little of her. Rising, she dipped a shallow curtsy. “As do I.”

Released of further social obligation and dismissed, he turned awkwardly and went to wait before the tall windows overlooking the lamp-lit street outside.

Olivia wondered why he’d ever sought to woo her. One only wed someone they held in contempt if they stood to gain a great deal from the union. But what could he possibly hope to gain by marrying her? He was already wealthy and on decent terms with all of Papa’s associates. She’d assumed that was the reason why Papa had encouraged the pairing to begin with. Now, she wasn’t so sure.

Whatever Lovelace’s reason for wanting her, he’d managed to bungle it nicely. In a way, she was relieved. On the other hand, she was now at a loss as to how to maintain pressure on Devlin. In spite of some serious misgivings, she decided it was worth suffering the man’s company a bit longer if it meant keeping the nets tight around her true quarry.

Going over to Lovelace, she said, “I enjoyed our game tonight.” Ignoring his startled look, she went on, “And I really do look forward to seeing you at the Worthington ball.”

Very softly, so as not to be heard by the others, he replied, “As do I.” He hesitated a moment before continuing with, “Truly, I meant no offense earlier, but I fear my words were grossly misunderstood by your other guest and then cast in a very ill light. I hope you did not think I intended any insult toward you or your family?”

Oh, like the others, she’d understood him perfectly. But she’d let him think she believed the lie. “Of course not.”

“And surely you know I hold you both in the very highest regard?”

“Indeed.”

Some of the tension bled from his posture. “I’m glad.”