Read Online Devil Takes A Bride by Gaelen Foley - Free Book Online Page A

very, very dangerous.
    As she bent down to pick up the handkerchief his aunt dropped and handed it back to her with a smile, there was such tender sweetness in her eyes, such dignity and quiet strength in her manner that Dev, exhausted, felt something in him break.
    He was so tired and hungry and cold.
    Bleary-eyed, he stared at Miss Carlisle as if she might know better what to do with him than he knew what to do with himself.
    Slowly, she looked over and met his gaze in guarded uncertainty.
    Their eyes locked, and Dev forgot all about her drab clothes.
    Elizabeth Carlisle had the flawless complexion of a woman whose daily habits were beyond reproach. Only plenty of sleep, wholesome food, fresh country air, and a stainless conscience could have produced such creamy perfection, naught but a tinge of roses in her cheeks. She had a high forehead, a prominent nose that thrust forth at a decisive angle, straight and true, and finely shaped eyebrows of walnut brown. The left curved slightly higher than the right, giving her a quizzical expression, as though she were perpetually mulling over some intriguing notion. But her mouth was soft and sensitive, her lips plump, silky pink, and Dev had to jerk himself roughly out of her spell.
    On your guard, man.
The lying little baggage was a menace. His scowl returned just as the sound of clip-clopping hoofbeats approached, grinding carriage wheels clattering up the drive.
    â€œWho can that be?” Aunt Augusta murmured, turning toward the window.
    Through the lace curtain, Dev saw his shiny black traveling-coach roll up in front of the house, Ben peering out the carriage window.
    He shook his head to himself in disgust. So much for his haste. The luxurious traveling coach was a larger, slower vehicle, but obviously whatever time Dev had gained by taking his fast, ill-fated curricle had been lost again in sorting out the accident. He wished he had saved himself the trouble and had traveled in comfort, when a familiar voice from the doorway broke into his churning thoughts.
    â€œExcuse me, my lady?” Mrs. Rowland, the housekeeper who had served his aunt for thirty years, popped her head in the doorway with a questioning look. She was a short, stout, ruddy-cheeked woman of sixty in a white house cap and apron. “Might I trouble you for a moment, ma’am?”
    â€œYes, Mildred?” Aunt Augusta asked.
    Dev gave the housekeeper a weary smile and nod in greeting.
    â€œMy lord,” Mrs. Rowland said fondly, sketching a heavy-limbed curtsy, then glanced at her employer again. “His Lordship’s staff has just arrived, and I’ve a question about their accommodations—as well as this evening’s supper,” she added meaningfully.
    â€œAh, I’m on my way!” The two old women exchanged a conspiratorial look and would no doubt soon be plotting to make his favorite dessert for him—it pleased them to treat him as if he were still nine years old—but that suited Dev quite well.
    A moment of privacy with Miss Carlisle was all that he required. He would soon get to the bottom of this.
    The girl seemed eager to flee. “Let me get your chair for you, ma’am.” She started to follow, but Aunt Augusta shooed her off.
    â€œNo need, dear. Children, I shall return in a trice.” Gripping the wheels, the dowager rolled her chair easily out of the parlor.
    Immediately, Miss Carlisle mumbled some excuse, but Dev grabbed her arm as she tried to dart past him. “A moment of your time, mademoiselle!” He swung the door partly shut and met his captive’s look of alarm with a glower. “Whoever you are, you had better start talking. What in the hell is going on around here?”
    She looked down slowly at his leather-gloved fingers wrapped around her elbow, then flicked a defiant glance back up to his face. “You are no longer among the heathens, Lord Strathmore. Pray, do not act like one.”
    His eyes narrowed.