London, December 1821
Perdita Darby tugged the hood of her cloak close about her face, shielding herself not just from the bitter wind that battered the hackney coach she’d hired, but from any watchful eyes lurking in the shadows. The street was empty, twilight and the cold having chased even the most dedicated late-night strollers to their homes. Even the street urchins, usually desperate for coin, were tucked away in their alleyways on a bitingly cold night such as this, seeking what warmth they could. Perdita feared the darkness might hide someone who would realize who she was or what she was going to do. That could spell ruin.
“M’lady?” The driver of the hired coach stood by the door and closed it as she tugged her skirts free. He began to doff his cap at her, but she waved for him to keep it on. The night was too cold for such things. He smiled gratefully and kicked the snow off his boots.
“Please wait for me here.” She pressed a few coins in his palm, and he nodded.
“Of course.” The driver pocketed the coins and climbed back up onto his seat. He bundled his heavy brown cloak over his body and huddled down for warmth.
Perdita faced the door of the townhouse in front of her. It was a lovely home, one that had been on Duke Street for many years. The noble arches were framed with ivy that grew up from the flower beds bordering the windows, even though the leaves had dropped away to expose the skeletal webbing of vines beneath. But in spring when the ivy was bright and sprawling, it would make this house look almost like a cottage deep in the Cotswolds, not a stately townhouse in the midst of a bustling city.
It was clear the owner of this house didn’t bother with a gardener who would have kept the ivy from spreading. But that shouldn’t have surprised her. She knew the owner of this house. Perdita planned to throw herself at his feet and beg for his help if she had to, and it didn’t matter if ballroom whispers called him the Devil of London.
She squared her shoulders.
Be brave. He’s the only one who can help you. Don’t let him know how frightened you are.
She marched up the steps and rapped the metal knocker mounted on the stout oak door. Suddenly doubt assailed her. This was a terrible idea. Her mind screamed at her to flee as she stood upon the threshold to the underworld.
Perhaps she could beg her parents to let her go to the continent for a few years and avoid the fate that had driven her to this door at such an hour. Yet that would only spare her, not her family, of the consequences of running away from the blackmail she was facing.
The door creaked, the old oak protesting as the hinges grudgingly gave in. A middle-aged butler stood there, his beady eyes peering down at her over his long, thin nose and pointed chin. His professional demeanor lacked the politeness expected of a servant in a decent household. His shoulders were broad, and he seemed far too muscular for a refined position of a butler. But this wasn’t a decent household. This was the devil’s own home.
“Er…” He blinked at her, apparently startled by her appearance. It was a risk to be seen standing on this particular doorstep after midnight, a fact of which she was all too aware.
“I must see Lord Darlington at once,” she told the man, praying he would let her inside. She could not take the risk of being seen and starting a scandal. Or rather, a different scandal than the one she was meticulously planning already.
The man hesitated, his body barring her entrance through the still partially closed door. “This is late, even for my master.”
Perdita didn’t back down. “I am aware of the hour, but he will want to see me.” She raised her chin and announced this with such regal bearing that he would not dare question her. He sighed and stepped away from the doorway. Her mother’s lessons, it seemed, hadn’t been wasted on her after all.
“This way, madam.” He waved a hand for her to step inside. She entered the townhouse, her body relaxing, but only just. She may have been out of view of the street, but she was still in very dangerous territory.
Two dim lamps illuminated the hall and staircase. She was surprised they were still lit. Was the master of the house still awake? She had assumed he would be, but the house was hushed and ghostly quiet. She took a moment to study her surroundings with open curiosity. The foyer was bare of any decorations, paintings, or even end tables. The starkness of it surprised her.
So this is where the Devil of London resides.
The furniture she glimpsed through a cracked-open door a few feet away—the drawing room perhaps—was outdated and threadbare. It made sense. The master of this house was rumored to be a desperate fortune hunter in dire straits. His desperation was no fault of his own, but rather due to his parents’ untimely deaths and their accumulated debts.
It had to be a heavy burden to enter adulthood with the responsibilities of maintaining title and lands held in one’s own family without any money by which to do so. Any man in such a position was a dangerous man—particularly when it came to rich, unmarried heiresses.
Like me…
“Please wait while I speak to the master. Who shall I say is calling?” the butler asked.
“Perdita Darby,” she said, trying to still her trembling as she watched the butler go upstairs.
Perdita swallowed the knot of fear in her throat. This man had been desperate enough to kidnap her dearest friend, Alexandra Rockford, in order to win a five-thousand-pound wager by seducing her. That alone earned him his nickname in her eyes. To treat a woman’s virtue as something to be wagered on! In the end, however, he had failed. Alexandra had been rescued by Ambrose Worthing, a man so in love with her he had fought his best friend to free her.
Alexandra had assured Perdita that Lord Darlington hadn’t been entirely wicked—he’d only planned to convince the men involved in the wager that he had bedded her when he had not. But that did not make the Devil of London a hero, by any means. At best, he was a villain with a conscience. But Perdita was desperate enough to risk herself in his house tonight, knowing the danger and scandal that could fall upon her.
This is a terrible idea. Unfortunately, she had no other option. Only Lord Darlington could help her. She was prepared to do just about anything to escape her situation.
“Madam.” The butler appeared at the top of the stairs. “His Lordship will see you now.”
Perdita stared up at him, startled. “Upstairs? Not the drawing room?”
The old codger had the audacity to grin at her. “He insisted you meet upstairs, or I was to show you out.”
The nerve of the man, demanding she meet him upstairs! Did he treat all gentle-bred ladies like this? Or, knowing who was paying a call upon him, he was perhaps doing his best to frighten her off. Yes, that must be it. He thought she would be too afraid to go upstairs.
I’m not afraid. Well, I am, but I’ll be damned if I let him know that.
She lifted her skirts and ascended the stairs, her heart hammering. She followed the butler to a room where the door was slightly ajar. She glanced at the servant, but he was already departing.
Perdita pushed the door open and froze when she realized it was a bedchamber. Darlington had the audacity to call her to his bedchamber? Did he believe she had come for amorous reasons, or that she would condone such a brazen attempt at seduction? It was entirely possible, given the scandalous hour and the fact she was without a chaperone, but she would set him straight if he dared to try to seduce her.
She wished for the hundredth time it would have been possible to visit him during the day, but there had been no alternative. People would have seen her enter his home, and that would be the end of her carefully kept reputation. She tensed when a dark, rich voice spoke.
Vaughn Darlington, the viscount dubbed by ton as the Devil of London. His voice sent tingles of excitement and fear through her. She took an instinctive step back toward the door.
“Fleeing so soon? I would have wagered you were braver than that, Miss Darby. Or perhaps, given the lateness of the hour and the method of this meeting, I should call you Perdita?”
She bristled and pushed the hood of her cloak back to better peer around the room. There was a four-poster bed against one wall and a fire crackling in the hearth. The wood floor showed dusty outlines of where carpets had recently been. The dark-green brocaded curtains about the bed were faded, and a few rings were missing, letting the fabric gape in odd places. Worn and peeling silk wallpapers depicting men hunting in the forest covered the walls. A once beautiful wardrobe stood in one corner, a door missing. The shaving stand held a white china basin with a large crack down its side.
The masculine air of the room was overpowering, just as the man himself was, but the circumstances and the condition of his rooms filled her with a strange pity that made her go still as she turned her focus on the man himself.
Leaning against one worn, ancient chair was Lord Darlington. He was tall, broad shouldered, and had a dangerous look about his all too beautiful face. With piercing blue eyes and light-blond hair, Darlington could have passed for an angel if it weren’t for the sensual, wicked curve of his lips. He wore buff trousers and a white lawn shirt, with a dark-blue waistcoat. His cravat had been untied and lay loose over the back of one chair.
Perdita’s heart quickened. She had never stood in a room with a man in a state of partial undress like this. She forced herself to rally to the task at hand.
“Lord Darlington, I come here with a proposal.” Her tone was brusque with a manner of business about it. This was not about seduction, no matter how sinful he made her feel. Though she’d rehearsed this speech a dozen times on her own, she had not been prepared for the strange and frightening feelings that assaulted her now as she spoke to him alone.
He crossed his arms as he studied her with that wicked twist of his lips, making her breath quicken. She shifted in place, and her boots scraped softly against the wood floor.
“Do go on.” He chuckled, seeming to enjoy her discomfort.
“Well, you see…” She spoke haltingly, still mortified that she was here begging him for his help. “I need to stop an unwanted marriage proposal.” She twined her fingers nervously as she removed her gloves. “My mother has convinced a certain gentleman that I am willing to consider his offer, when I most certainly am not.”
She tried not to think of Mr. Samuel Milburn and how that man had made it clear he would imprison her in a life that would slowly kill her. She could still see him leaning in close to her and whispering: “The women I care for know better than to seek the company of others, when I should be enough. My home has all you will need, so I will hear no talk of travel or nights out. They would only distract you from your duty, which would be pleasing me.”
He was a brute and a tyrant and worse, but Perdita’s mother, despite her ambitious nature, didn’t usually believe in society gossip.
Perdita did. She’d heard that Milburn had thrown a woman to her death from a window, but because the woman was his mistress, no questions were asked. It had been dismissed as an unfortunate accident. All Perdita knew for sure was that this man was a monster. She had tried to tell her father and mother what she’d heard, but her words had been dismissed as idle talk. If her older brother Thomas hadn’t been away at sea serving in His Majesty’s royal navy, she would have sought his help.
In Perdita’s experience, being a wealthy heiress was a terrible burden. It put a mark on her. She’d fought off fortune hunters for the last few years, but a man like Milburn was dangerous in other ways. He didn’t care about her money—he cared about breaking her spirit and possibly even killing her if she didn’t give him what he desired. She was sport.
She’d made the mistake of meeting him at a dinner party last fall, and he had immediately shown an interest in her once he’d learned she was none other than Miss Darby, the beloved lady of the ton who all sought to please with their praise and their many invitations.
Perdita had not wished to cultivate such a favored reputation on purpose, but it had happened quite naturally. But to Milburn she became a prize he wished to win—and then suffocate and destroy. Once he had her in his sights, he had been able to contrive a scheme that could destroy her family and blackmail her into accepting his proposal.
“What does this have to do with me? Or did you merely wish to tumble in my sheets to avoid marrying some silly young buck? I don’t care much for ruining innocents, but in your case I might make an exception,” Darlington said, his sharp gaze on her.
Perdita considered reminding him he had in fact attempted to ruin her innocent friend over a wager, but she thought better of it. Quarreling with him now would not aid her in acquiring his help.
“I wish to engage your services.” She still couldn’t say the words. It was too humiliating.
“My services?” He shifted slightly, a frown curving his lips. “What services do you require?” When Darlington said services, it sounded sinful, wicked.
“I wish to hire your cooperation in appearing to be engaged to me, publicly. Not a true engagement, just for a few months, to deter the other gentleman so he will leave me be.” She glanced down, playing with her gloves. She was betting that Milburn would lose interest if he believed he had another challenger for her hand.
His eyes turned wintry, almost chilling as they settled on her fidgeting hands. “So I’m to play your fiancé? What’s to be my reward in scaring the bounder off?” Darlington still leaned against the side of the chair, but Perdita was more aware of him than ever. The small distance between them seemed to shrink every second.
“I will pay you. I have access to some of my dowry. It is invested in a private bank with Lady Rosalind Lennox. My father put the funds in his name, but he allows me to have some control over them.”
Darlington stroked his chin. “I require a more permanent solution than a temporary flow of money. You said you bank with Lady Lennox?” He continued to stare at her with that assessing gaze, and she suddenly feared he might not agree, that he might consider blackmailing her directly for her funds in the bank by exposing her visit to his townhouse. Surely he wouldn’t dare.
When he still gazed at her expectantly, she realized he awaited some response to his question. She nodded.
“Then you are acquainted with Lord Lennox, her husband? He is a selective but successful investor. I wish to be involved in whatever scheme he chooses to invest in next.”
Perdita nodded again. She was well acquainted with Rosalind Lennox, but she only knew of her husband, Ashton Lennox, in passing. Perhaps she could persuade Rosalind to allow Darlington to invest with her husband. She only hoped such a request wouldn’t seem inappropriate to her friend. It was a risk she had to take to avoid marriage to a man like Samuel Milburn.
“I believe I can arrange a meeting. As to whether he allows you to invest…” There was no way she could guarantee that.
Darlington pushed away from the chair and came up to her. The simple action seemed to change everything between them. Before he hadn’t seemed so threatening. But now with his towering frame so close, she felt very much like a tiny rabbit facing a very large wolf. She knew he was tall, but standing inches away from him made her feel small and feminine in a way she never had before. It took a moment for her to catch her breath. She had to tilt her face back to look up at him.
“I suppose that would be good enough. But you know once we have begun this charade, everyone will expect us to marry.” It sounded like he was warning her. They would never marry. If there was one thing she was certain of, she would not marry the Devil of London.
“I am aware of that. After a time I deem prudent, you may cry off our engagement and go on as you please.” She had to be completely sure Samuel Milburn was no longer interested in her, and only then could she risk a public break with Lord Darlington. Otherwise, her family’s reputation would be ruined, and her father might be facing penalties under English law.
His lips twitched in an amused smile. “And you are ready to brave the ton after being jilted by me?” The wolfish smile that stole across his lips was not reassuring. “I doubt any other man would have you once I’ve been your lover.”
“We would not be lovers, only engaged.”
Darlington laughed softly. “Any woman I asked to marry me would certainly be my lover beforehand. I wouldn’t wish to marry a woman unless I was positive I enjoyed my time with her in bed.”
She ignored his scandalous words. “Being jilted by the likes of you, even if some assume we’ve been lovers, is better than having a man like Samuel Milburn find a way to compromise me. I know the sort of man he is, and as unbelievable as it is, he is worse than you.” She threw her shoulders back and glared at him, daring him to argue the point.
“Milburn?” Darlington’s eyes widened. “That’s the man who is chasing your skirts?”
“Yes. Do you know him?”
He nodded slowly. “Unfortunately, I do. We’ve run into each other at various clubs.” He paused as though choosing his words carefully, weighing what she ought to hear or not as the case might be. “Most of the ton see him as a delightful gentleman who could do no wrong. Others know him as I do. Some would say he and I have similar tastes in pain—not in receiving it but causing it.”
“A taste for pain?” Perdita shuddered. She’d heard Milburn had thrown his mistress out of a window. Any future with a man like that would seal her fate, but she hadn’t heard the same of Darlington. He wasn’t cruel, though she’d heard he was impossibly wicked. Even a fleeting kiss upon the hand during an introduction had been known to cause such scandals that ladies in the ballroom took flight to escape, like a flock of birds dressed in silk and tulle.
“Yes.” Darlington’s eyes were on her face again. “We require something a little different in our bed play.” He paused again, his eyes dark and fathomless as he stared at her. “But unlike him, my goal is always pleasure. A crying, hurting woman is not arousing to me. But for Milburn, it makes his blood turn to fire.”
Darlington’s bold words on such a subject made her take another step back.
“You like to cause pain in bed?” She hated how her words trembled as they escaped her. Surely whispers of this would have reached her if that were true. “This was a mistake. I should—”
He reached up and cupped her cheek when she tried to pull away, then wound a strong arm around her waist, her cloak bunching above her bottom. She had to face him now and hear whatever it was he wished to say.
“There are two types of pain, love. One is slight, expected, and leads to intense pleasure. The other is selfish and part of a need to be cruel and harsh. I prefer the former, not the latter.”
His words didn’t make any sense. Pain was pain, wasn’t it? She wrinkled her nose and prepared to argue this, but she never had the chance. He lowered his head and captured her mouth with his. Perdita was frozen in shock. The feel of his soft warm lips moving over hers was strange but increasingly delightful.
She’d never been kissed before but had often imagined how it would feel. She mimicked his mouth and gasped as he licked the seam of her lips with his tongue. The velvety feel of his tongue touching her lips was both sinful and decadent. Her knees went weak beneath her heavy skirts. She grasped his shoulders, frantic not to lose hold of him. The heat between their mouths intensified, and a heady dazed feeling began to slink through her limbs and into her lower belly. She could do this for hours…
His lips wandered from hers down to her throat just above where her cloak covered her shoulders. He placed a kiss there and then suddenly nipped her skin with his teeth. The bite sent a jolt through her, and a fierce, shocking pulse beat between her thighs. She whimpered and tried to push away, not because it hurt, but because the rush of sensations had been too much. She’d never—
“That, my love, is pain mixed with pleasure.” Darlington whispered this against the skin of her throat, still holding her fast so she could not escape. Shivers rippled down her spine, and she closed her eyes. This was frightening. He was frightening, but a part of her wanted to understand more of what he was showing her.
From the moment she’d first seen him at her mother’s garden party a few months before, she’d been intrigued by his mysteries. She wouldn’t deny it. Any decent young lady would not have allowed herself to be fascinated by such a notorious rogue, but now more than ever she wondered if perhaps she wasn’t as decent as she ought to be.
Darlington slowly released her waist, but the hand that still held her face seemed to burn her skin. He brushed his thumb over her lips, leaving a tingling sensation that trailed from her mouth down to her toes. She raised her eyes to his, her world tilting on its axis as she stared up at him. There was no going back from that kiss. She’d taken a bite of the forbidden apple, and the juices were sweet upon her lips.
“You’re still trembling,” he observed, his voice was low and gentle, but rather than soothe her, she felt excited by it.
“It is always like that?” she asked, wondering why Mother had never mentioned that lips could meet in such a blaze of fire when she’d discussed the ways men and women could be together.
Darlington touched her lips once more before dropping his hands. “Not always. Too many marriages are built upon the wrong foundations, and passions are rarely taken into account.” He turned away from her and walked over to the fire, placing one hand on the mantle as he gazed into the flames.
“If you want to play this game, Miss Darby, it must be played convincingly. Milburn won’t accept a mere declaration of our engagement. He knows me too well. He’s also not the sort to give up easily.” Darlington’s face was lit by firelight. For a moment, he looked more like Hades, the Greek god of the underworld, than a mere London rogue. Perdita was entranced by the sight of him. He was a lure she couldn’t resist. How many women had come into his room before her and fallen under his spell?
“What did you have in mind?”
“I suppose you recall what befell Alexandra Rockford in my home? A public display. That is what I mean. Milburn will need to see us in a compromising position.” He turned to face her. “And that means more than a simple kiss.”
Perdita bit her bottom lip. A simple kiss? Not to her. That kiss had been her undoing. She was wise enough to know he had changed her life in a few short minutes.
“If it helps me escape Samuel Milburn, then I agree to do whatever is necessary.” She raised her chin, earning a slow smile from him that made her blush.
“What?” she demanded as he continued to smile at her.
“I never would’ve guessed you would agree. Of all ladies, you seem to be the most…”
Perdita narrowed her eyes. “Most what?”
“Let us say I’m surprised at your defiant streak, that is all.”
Perdita stared at him challengingly. “I behave appropriately in public, a dutiful daughter and a well-bred lady, but you have no idea what sort of woman I really am.” He truly didn’t. She was a lady, well-versed in conversation, a charming hostess, a delight among the ton, but that wasn’t all she was. There were other, hidden sides of herself she dared not reveal.
Darlington’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Now that is most interesting. As your fiancé, I will make it my sacred duty to uncover these hidden facets of your character.”
She tilted her head, studying him in return. “How about your services then?” She wanted to keep this matter as businesslike between them as she could manage. He would no doubt rob her of her good sense with his kisses, but if she held fast and reminded them both this was only business and nothing more, then perhaps she might survive this devil’s bargain with her heart intact.
“I have one last question before I agree, and I demand honesty in your answer.”
She weighed the risk of losing his help against any question he might demand and then nodded. “Ask.”
“What hold does Milburn have over you that leaves you in such fear? I do not believe for a moment that your parents would force you to accept a match with him even if he dragged you down with scandal. No, there is something that makes you fear you might have no choice to accept if he pursues you.” Darlington played with the cuffs of his right-hand sleeve. “What does he hold over you, Miss Darby?”
It was the one question she didn’t want to answer, but she knew she had to.
“In private, he has claimed that he can prove my father was involved in the smuggling of goods into England and evading taxes.” She hesitated, hoping she could trust Darlington with such information.
“And is he? Guilty, I mean?”
“No! I mean, that is to say, he isn’t. But I fear the men he invests with might very well be guilty. I believe Milburn might even be working with them to frame my father, and unfortunately I have no way of stopping them. If I marry him, he says he will destroy the evidence, but if I do not…”
“And you believe that an engagement to me will stop him?”
“It has to,” she whispered. “If he no longer desires me, then he has no reason to go through with his threats. And you are one of the most wicked men in London. If he isn’t afraid of you and tries to take what is yours, such as a future wife, he would be mad.”
The corners of lips twitched. “That is certainly true. I wouldn’t hesitate to destroy any who dared take what is mine, especially a woman. Very well, I agree to this scheme, mad though it is.” Darlington held out one hand to her. “Shall we shake upon it?” He was quite serious, except for the wicked gleam in his eyes. A gleam that promised every moment with him would be deliciously sinful torture.
Perdita placed her palm in his. “We have an accord.”
“Agreed.” He turned her hand in his, lifting it to his lips as he kissed her knuckles.
“Good.” She hesitated, relishing the feel of his lips upon her bare fingers before she tugged her hand free of his. “My mother is hosting a Christmas party at our estate in Lothbrook. I will see to it that you are invited. Please bring your valet, and have him pack enough clothes to last through Christmas.”
Darlington nodded, but when she turned to leave, he caught her arm.
“Yes? Lord Darlington?” She eyed his hand on her arm. He did not release her, not like another man would.
“Given our new intimacy, it would please me to be called Vaughn whenever we are alone.”
“Vaughn.” She tested the sound of his given name, hating that she liked how smoothly it rolled off her tongue.
“And I expect to be introduced to Lord and Lady Lennox before the end of this year. Will that be possible?”
Perdita nodded. “Yes. I will arrange it as soon as I can.”
“Good.” He tucked her arm in his. “Let me escort you out.”
“Really, my lord—Vaughn. There’s no need.”
“I need to practice playing the part of a gentleman. I fear I may be a bit rusty.”
She remained silent as he led her down the stairs. When he opened the front door, she paused as the bitter wind cut through her. She glanced at him a moment longer before she pulled her cloak hood back up, concealing her features. She rushed to the waiting coach and climbed inside. She chanced one last peek at him through the curtains. He stood there in the doorway without a coat. She remembered the heat of his body pressed to hers and shivered, but not from the cold.
How strange to have made a bargain with Vaughn, Viscount Darlington. They were now bound together, and though they were united in their mission, she felt incredibly alone. She wished she could talk to her dear friend Alexandra, but she was the last person Perdita could confide in when it came to Vaughn.
When Vaughn had kidnapped Alex, it had been a terrifying ordeal, even after Vaughn had revealed he had no intention of harming her. When Alex learned of her supposed engagement to Vaughn, she would no doubt rush to Perdita and try to put a stop to her madness. It was not a meeting Perdita looked forward to, but she and Alex had such different views on how to handle society. Alex had hidden from it while Perdita had embraced it.
Perdita needed Vaughn’s dangerous reputation. It was the last shield she had against Samuel Milburn. It was something her dear friend would not understand because she was not the target of Milburn’s evil intent. Perdita had sold her soul to a lesser devil to protect herself from a worse one.
She prayed only that their scheme would work, or she was doomed.