The Devil's Delilah (Regency Noblemen 2)

Delilah glanced from one compassionate countenance to the other. Then she gave an exasperated sigh, rose from her chair, and stomped out of the room.

Chapter Nineteen

Being a man of honour and possessed of a powerful sense of justice, Mr. Langdon knew where his duty lay. He had a most disagreeable task to perform, but he did not shrink from it. He would do what honour required of him... and then he would hang himself. It was quite simple, really. All would be over within a matter of hours.

Accordingly, after he had lain in his bed long enough to call it rest, he arose, dressed, and taking up the neat bundle Mr. Fellows had made of Lord Berne’s clothes, took himself to Melgrave House.

Though the butler admitted him with some reluctance, he did admit him, no orders having been given to the contrary, and directed Jack to the viscount’s dressing room.

Lord Berne glanced at his friend’s face, then at the bundle he handed the valet.

“Leave us,” the viscount told his servant.

The valet exited.

“There is no point in calling me out,” said Lord Berne before Jack could speak. “If you force me to a duel, I promise to delope. You may kill me if you like. I cannot blame you. You’d be doing me a great favour, in fact. I wish I was dead.” He said all this without his usual dramatic vehemence, though his face was white and rigid.

Jack looked at him in incomprehension. “I don’t think you understand, Tony. It was I last night—”

“I know. I guessed it when my father told me how he found me so speedily. He told me you’d been here looking for me earlier.”

He turned from his friend’s gaze. “I should not have hit you. I might have killed you. I should not have done a great many things, as my father has pointed out at length. He says I’m to offer for Lady Jane today,” Tony went on bitterly. “If I do not, he’ll cut off my allowance and forbid every tradesman in the kingdom to extend me credit. If he had another son, I’m sure he wouldn’t hesitate to have me transported.”

Jack thought that if Conscience had been a living creature, it would have risen up and throttled him on the spot.

“This is all my fault,” he said. “I misjudged you horribly. You’ve told me repeatedly how much you cared for Miss Desmond and I refused to believe you. I persisted in thinking this was like every other passing fancy, when naturally it couldn’t be. You’ve never spoken so of other women, never persisted so long.”

The viscount smiled faintly. “An hour, Jack. Maybe a day. Certainly I never nearly murdered my friends on such an account. Yes, it was—is— different, but—”

“And you might have been married by now, if I hadn’t jumped on my charger. Gad, I shall never forgive myself. Lady Jane—Tony, you cannot do it.”

“I must. I am not equipped to live modestly, and, being a perfect gentleman, I have no productive skills by which to earn my keep. I’m not even a good card player.” The smile turned bleak.

Jack considered a moment. “Miss Desmond is,” he said absently. “Her father taught her a great many things, including how to use a pistol.” Noting his friend’s bafflement, he added, “You knew she had a pistol with her, didn’t you, Tony?”

“No,” came the stunned reply.

“That’s why I made her throw down her reticule. She would have shot me without turning a hair.”

Lord Berne found a chair and fell into it, his face working strangely.

Jack moved to the dresser. Jewelled tie pins, rings, watchchains, and seals lay strewn about in gay abandon. Idly he began arranging and rearranging these in tidy lines.

“How idiotic I was,” he said, “to think you could dishonour her, even if you’d meant to—though I do apologise for thinking you would. You know enough of women to know she’s a treasure.”

He placed an emerald tie pin next to a diamond ring, frowned, and moved it next to one of the seals.

“There’s no one, there never will be anyone like her,” he went on. “You saw that, and told yourself you could never settle for anything less.”

Lord Berne was staring at the carpet.

“It’s more than beauty, isn’t it?” said Jack. “Even though it’s a beauty that breaks your heart. When she’s near, you feel you’re in some wild, primitive, very dangerous place. Yet there’s something so tender and fragile about her, as well. She will strike out and wound you, and even as you’re reeling from it, you ache to protect her—perhaps from herself.”

He drew a deep breath and moved away from the dresser. Tony looked up, and there was dawning respect in his blue eyes.

“How do you know so much, Jack,” he asked.

Jack shrugged. “She’s the Devil’s daughter,” he answered lightly enough. “She makes every man a little mad, I think, and so to some extent, every man must understand.”

“You love her.” It was not a question.

“I love quiet and peace, everything in its proper place. When one is forever muddled, you know, one prefers that everything else not be so.”

“That’s no answer,” said the viscount quietly. “But I won’t plague you. I’ve done enough of that-more than I knew. If it’s any comfort to you, I shall be paying, all the rest of my life. Lady Jane will see to it.”

“In that case,” said his friend, “you’re a great fool.”

And without another word, the friend was gone.

An hour after his conversation with Jack, Lord Berne was at Potterby House. To be precise, he was in the study with Mr. Desmond, under whose withering, green-eyed scrutiny the viscount struggled in vain not to quail. The viscount seemed to be shrinking smaller by the minute under that gaze, until he felt he was looking up at the Devil’s boot. At least, the young man thought wryly, it wasn’t a cloven hoof.

“Marry her?” Desmond was saying in the most affable way. “Why the deuce should I give my daughter into the keeping of an ill-gotten, lying, sneaking, idle wretch of a pretty boy like yourself? Even if I didn’t think you were mad as a hatter— which I do, incidentally. Even if I were not convinced you were a prime candidate for Bedlam, why should I give her into the custody of one whose father has done everything possible to destroy my family?” He turned away and sauntered to the window. “I only ask for information,” he added.

“When you put it like that,” said a thoroughly crushed Lord Berne, “I really cannot imagine any satisfactory answer.”

“Then perhaps you are not quite so deranged as I thought. You are correct. There is no satisfactory answer.”

Mr. Desmond continued to gaze out the window. After an agonisingly long minute he said, “She tells me you never touched her. Is that so, or was she protecting you?”

“It is true, sir.” The green eyes fastened on him again and Lord Berne, to his horrour, heard himself adding, “I did not have the opportunity.”

“That’s just as well,” was the cool reply. “She would have shot you.”

The viscount wondered wildly if what he’d heard was true: that the Devil was a mesmerist. Certainly one could not possibly tear one’s gaze from those glittering eyes. No more had Lord Berne been able to keep back his ghastly confessions, for it seemed as though that control too had been given over entirely to the Devil’s keeping.

“Moreover,” Desmond went on, “it would give me the greatest pleasure to shoot you myself. Unfortunately, that would only play into your father’s hands. He would like to see me hanged. He’s longed for such a conclusion these five and twenty years. Do you know why?”

Lord Berne shook his head.

“Because my wife would not have him.” He smiled faintly. “They say Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. How little they know. How little you know, My Lord. But you have a beautiful face and a fine figure, and perhaps Delilah will take those into account. At any rate, I’m confident she’ll provide you a most stimulating education.”

Lord Berne required a moment to digest this speech. “I beg your pardon, sir. Are you giving me your permission?” he asked, astonished.

“I have no choice. I am so overcome by your audacity that I have not the strength of mind to resist you.”

“But you hate me,” said Lord Berne.

“My dear young man, you are scarcely worthy of so much energy. I do, however, pity you, for a number of reasons—your obsession with Delilah being not the least of these. Whether she accepts you or not, she will make you thoroughly wretched, and there is some satisfaction in that. She will make your father even more wretched, and to be perfectly frank, I find the prospect irresistible.”