Loretta Chase - The Devil's Delilah (32 page)

"That is not necessary," Lord Streetham said hastily as the butler was leaving.

"Oh, but it is," said Mr. Desmond.

Bantwell left, closing the door behind him.

"We have not yet discussed your fervent desire to make amends," the Devil explained.

"I knew it was too easy."

"Certainly. You have not yet spoken with Angelica."

The earl turned startled eyes upon his host.

"I thought it best," said Mr. Desmond, "that the brandy be near at hand when you did."

Chapter 21

Mr.. Langdon's mama, with her youngest daughter in tow, burst upon London a few days after the earl's conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Desmond. She made direct for Melgrave House, where she launched into a fit of hysterical grief that would have done Mrs. Siddons proud.

Lord Streetham, however, knew he had far greater reason for hysterical grief. Her only son was merely getting married, not going off to some filthy battlefield to be killed by barbarous Frenchmen. This made an extremely distasteful task somewhat less offensive than it might have been, and he was able to call her to order with a respectable show of his usual imperiousness.

"My dear Edith," he said coldly, "you are quite absurd. The young lady is — " He paused to clear his throat of some obstruction. "She is utterly charming, beautiful, and intelligent. She will be" — there was another moment of difficulty — "one of the foremost hostesses of the Ton."

"A hostess!" Mrs. Langdon screamed. "The daughter of an actress. Devil Desmond's daughter. The mortification will kill me. Oh, how
could
my son — but I cannot blame Jack," she added with a sob. "What does he know of women — of anything but his stupid books? The minx has tricked him. You must put a stop to it, Marcus."

"Certainly not," said the earl. "I have already given them my blessing."

Mrs. Langdon promptly fainted dead away. When she revived, the world still had not got to the rightabout, for Lord Streetham only told her to take herself in hand and be sensible.

Thus began the making of amends. In the two months preceding the wedding, Lord Streetham found the amends he was obliged to make not unlike the labours of Hercules, though he was certain that cleaning the Augean stables was nothing to what he had to do.

When Mrs. Langdon's attitudes had been satisfactorily rearranged, the earl proceeded to those of Lord Stivling. This was a more formidable task, but Lord Streetham was formidable himself. Within a week, Lord Stivling had not only condescended to acknowledge his young relative, but agreed to provide her an extravagant betrothal celebration. By the day of this ball, the Baron Desmond had likewise been seized by a fit of Christian forgiveness. By the time the ball concluded, Miss Desmond's position, not only in her family but in Society as well, was as secure as she could have wished.

More important, both a comfortable annuity for her parents and a generous dowry for herself had very recently been arranged by the two families — and miraculously enough, without any prodding from Lord Streetham. Not only need she not ask her prospective spouse to support her parents, but she need not go to that spouse empty-handed. Though Mr. Langdon did not care two straws what she might cost him or what she brought him besides herself, Delilah was half Ornesby and half Desmond, after all, and had all their combined pride.

As it turned out, she also had Gwendolyn Langdon, with whom, to Jack's great amazement, she had become fast friends. Gwendolyn had even agreed to be Delilah's bridesmaid — primarily, the young lady told her brother, to assist Delilah should she come to her senses at the last minute and need to make a speedy getaway from the church.

A few days before the wedding, the two women were sitting together in Lady Potterby's parlour, inspecting a deck of cards.

"Now, run your hand along the back of the card," Miss Desmond was saying. "Do you feel the tiny pin pricks? It's a stupid trick, not subtle at all, but I promise you Lady Wells had such a deck — and everyone believes her such a high stickler."

Gwendolyn laughed. "Good heavens, no wonder Mama came away so cross from that party. And I had thought you refused to play because you wanted only to gaze at Jack in that perfectly revolting way. You really should not, you know. It makes him conceited, and so high-handed with Mama that I scarcely know him anymore."

"So," said Mr. Langdon, who had noiselessly entered the room. "You are teaching my sister to cheat at cards. That is very bad of you, Delilah. How will you face the minister in two days?"

"With resignation, I daresay," his sister answered. "I have been trying to open her eyes to her error, but she will not attend. She'll learn her mistake soon enough, when she tries to get your attention — for instance, if the house takes fire — and you will not look up from your book. Then it will be too late."

She turned to Delilah. "He'll never notice your new bonnets, you know. And he will not sympathise if the parlour maid is saucy, not to mention — "

"Go away, Gwendolyn," said Jack. "I have something particular to say to my affianced wife."

Gwendolyn eyed the package in her brother's hand. "A present — and you will not let me stay to see her open it. That is very bad of you," she said, though she did rise to leave. "But of course it can only be another book. Really, Jack," she added as she moved towards the door, "you are so
unromantic
."

When she was gone, Delilah reached out to take her husband-to-be by the hand and draw him to the sofa beside her.

"You had better kiss me," she said coaxingly, "or I shall be forced to believe your sister."

"I had better not," he answered, moving primly several inches away. "It always starts as but a kiss and ends by my having to put my head under the pump. Don't pout," he added, as her lower lip began to protrude. "Open your present. Perhaps I shall kiss you after."

Delilah dutifully untied the wrapping, though she declared herself far more interested in the person who had brought it. Then her eyes widened in amazement as she stared at the book in her lap.

"Papa's memoirs," she said, baffled. She looked up at Jack. "How can this be? I gave them to Papa that night when we returned."

"You gave him the manuscript Lord Streetham had 'amended,' " Jack corrected.

"Yes — and Papa gave it to the lawyer, so Lord Streetham could not give us any more trouble. That's why I don't understand — "

"We had to give Atkins something," Jack interrupted. "We might have given him a parcel of blank paper, but we'd have been found out too soon. I thought he might as well get memoirs, since that's what he wanted so badly. So, we rewrote them."

Delilah reflected as she gazed at the book cover. "I see," she said at last. "That's why Mama came with all those notes and letters. It had nothing to do with a legal case. Now I remember — Papa said something about it that night you brought me home — how you wanted people to think — " The gaze she raised to her betrothed was reproachful. "You let
me
think it, Jack."

"Don't look at me that way," he answered uncomfortably. "I suffered agonies of guilt the whole time. Originally, I didn't want to tell you because the plan was so farfetched. We had no idea whether we'd have enough time, whether we could delay printing long enough. Then, when I realised Tony had got you to confide in him, I couldn't risk it, because he might be reporting your conversations to his father. A lawsuit wouldn't alarm Lord Streetham, but what we were truly up to would — and he'd be quick to act."

Delilah flushed. "I suppose you were right," she admitted, "not to trust either me or Tony. Obviously, I was an idiot to trust him — "

"It's hard not to trust him. I've known him all my life, yet I believed a whole pack of lies — but then, he half-believed them himself."

Reflections upon the unhappy Lord Berne could not but be painful, yet they could not be thrust away so easily either. For a few moments the pair sat in silence — until Miss Desmond recalled that she still had not a satisfactory explanation for the book. She pointed out that the crisis had been resolved some time ago. Jack and Tony were bosom-bows again. In fact, the viscount was to be groomsman, before going abroad with his regiment. His father, moreover, had turned all Delilah's relatives up sweet.

"Everything has been tranquil and relatively sane for two months," she reminded severely, "yet you never once said a word about this." She gestured at the volume in her lap.

"Oh, yes. That." Jack fished out a piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to her. "The reviewer is anonymous," he said, "but I can make a guess who it is. A noted bibliophile of our mutual acquaintance. Member of Parliament, closely con-nected with the ministry, belted earl — that sort of thing."

Delilah swiftly perused the clipping. " 'Charming, lively tales of bygone days,' " she read aloud. " 'Not at all the prurient trash the public was led to expect. A work to be savoured — ' " She broke off to gaze at her fiance with undisguised admiration. "Oh, Jack — you wrote this book?"

"Hardly. Your father dictated, mainly, and we worked on the rephrasing together. I didn't want to cut the heart out of it, you know — so we went for more humour and less bawdiness. Your father is a genius, Delilah. I hope he continues to write — "

"I know he's a genius," she interrupted. "But I see I have a great deal to learn about
you
. You are even more underhanded than I thought."

"Am I?" He took up her hand rather absently and kissed it. The clipping fluttered to the floor.

She sighed. "Oh, Jack." Then she jerked her hand away. "There — you're doing it again. You still have not answered my question. Two months we've been engaged and you never told me you'd rewritten Papa's book."

Mr. Langdon's countenance assumed an expression of abstraction. "Didn't I?" he asked. "I must have forgot. So much on my mind, you know."

"You did not forget," she retorted. "And I will not be taken in by any more muddled looks."

"But it's true," he said gravely. "For two months I have been unable to think of anything but the night on which I will finally be permitted to slake my savage lust upon your innocent person."

"Slake your savage lust?" she repeated, turning a skeptical smile upon him. "That sounds rather like something you got out of a book."

"Yes. I get a great many things out of books. I got you because of one. I am a book-worm through and through and — " He paused, his eyes very dark now.

"And?" She reached up to brush a lock of hair back from his forehead.

"And I think I am about to mistake you for a volume of Ptolemy." He drew her face closer to his. "Make that Ovid," he said. His lips brushed lightly against hers. "Make that
Ars Amatoria
."

"Make it anything you like," she whispered impatiently as she threw her arms about his neck. "Only kiss me, Jack, properly — and
now
."

He did.

About the Author

Loretta Chase was named Best New Regency Author by
Romantic Times
. Ms. Chase resides in Worcester, MA with her husband, Walter.