The Devil to Pay (26 page)

She wanted to wait, to draw it out, and savor the decadence. But when he stroked again and again, touching his tongue to her sweet, secret center, she began to shake. She dug her fingers into the carpet, trying to hold off the waves threatening to pound her. Her effort was useless. His every stroke was a sweet, hot flame which sent the warm, delicious swirling sensation into the pit of her belly again, and lower still, until she was writhing and sobbing and coming undone.

She returned to earth, and reached out for him, heard her voice softly pleading for him. She yearned for his weight and his warmth.

“Eager girl,” he said, easing her back onto the carpet. He moved on top, and spread her legs wide with his knee. For a time, his fingers worked her, sliding deep inside, deep into the wetness she could feel and hear. “So pretty,” he whispered. “So needy, Sidonie. You flatter me.”

“I want you,” she said. “Please, Aleric, now?”

And she did want him, with surprising desperation. She wanted the weight of his body to bear her down into the softness of the carpet, wanted his jutting hardness to fill her. She reached out, and took him into her hands. He groaned, a deep, raw sound and leaned back to expose himself fully to her touch. His obvious pleasure emboldened her. Again and again, she stroked the thick length of his erection, marveling in the silky, warm weight of him, in the sense of barely suppressed power inside him.

He groaned again and bent forward to brace himself on one arm, his head bowed low over hers. Then with deliberate, excruciatingly slow movements, he sheathed himself inside her. Eager, Sidonie lifted herself to take him deeper, but he forced her hips back to the carpet with his powerful arms. “Oh, slow, love!” he warned. “Go slow. I don’t think you realize what you do to me.”

Deliberately, she tightened her flesh around his heated length, and Devellyn made a sound of pure pain. “Oh, minx!” he rasped. “Be still, or I’ll be of no more use to you tonight.”

She settled greedily onto the carpet. Inch by heated inch he buried himself inside her, then began to stroke hard and deep in earnest. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled through the sky, and the lashing rain heightened. Two lovers, hidden from the world. Sheltered by the night. On and on he stroked her, pulling at her flesh, then sheathing himself deeply and sweetly, caressing her body with every stroke.

Devellyn’s rhythm was perfect. Soon, the rough sound of his breath sawing in and out of his chest filled the darkness. “Sidonie! Oh, love!”

Beneath him, she felt her body quicken and begin to shake. The thunder came again, louder and closer. Devellyn buried himself deep on a guttural cry, and then, quite unexpectedly, Sidonie was torn from every earthly thing. Light and joy surrounded her. And then she was dragged under by the rolling waves of pleasure.

Eons later, Sidonie came half-awake to the feeling of Devellyn sliding a sofa pillow beneath her head. Then he curled himself around her, and drew her back into the curve of his body. She relaxed against the firm wall of his chest, blissfully oblivious to the storm, and drifted away again.

Though he could barely make out the shape of her face, Devellyn watched Sidonie drowse for what might have been hours. He could not sleep. The stormy weather was nothing to the turbulence in his mind and in his heart.
His heart.
Until now, he’d not been sure he had one. Sweet heaven, he was in deep. That gut-wrenching need he had felt for her was real, he realized. And it was barely—just
barely
—sated. His heart and mind wanted her again. But his body needed rest.

Lightning splintered the sky and lit the room, casting a sliver of light over Sidonie’s face. But he needed no light to remember her every feature. Her delicate nose. Her fine, oval eyes which were set at just a bit of an angle. The inky, finely arched brows which accented them. How odd that she should be half-English—half-
Hilliard
—when she looked so very French. How had he not known? Not guessed? There was so much he yearned to know about her. So much he wished to ask. She was still a mystery to him, and he found it tantalizing. He was surprised it should be so. He had known many women in the carnal sense, but his curiosity had never gone much further.

Distant thunder rolled again, and Devellyn wondered at the time. Servants might be stirring soon. He should wake her, perhaps, and take his leave? She would take him to her bed again, and soon, he hoped. He had pleased her well. And never had he taken such pleasure in doing so. That, too, was disconcerting. He slid reluctantly away from the warmth of her body. By the occasional flicker of light, he could see she lay on her right side in perfect repose, her face half-turned into the pillow he’d slipped beneath her head. He found it hard to leave her.

Perhaps he need not go just yet? He dug through the pile of clothing, extracted his pocket watch, and went to the window, pulling back one of the drapes. But the wind had blown out half the streetlamps, and in the feeble yellow light, he could not make out the numbers. Frustrated, he turned from the window, but in that instant, the room exploded with light, flashing once, twice, three times, before the crash of thunder swept it from the sky. Devellyn froze, his arm still holding the drapery, his eyes still fixed on her beautiful body. On her warm ivory skin. On her full, perfect breasts…

Something like panic seized him. Devellyn jerked the drape fully open and strode across the room. He dropped to his knees, staring at the small spot the lightning had illuminated. For a moment, he could not breathe. He felt his fingers clawing into the carpet she lay upon, and yet his hands were numb.

He had
seen
it. He dragged his arm across his brow, and felt the cold sheen of sweat on his face. Good God Almighty. That could not be! Fate could not be so cold and cruel. No, not even to him. In the yellow gloom, he could almost pretend it was a bruise. But it wasn’t.
That
was not something a man imagined after having the most sensual, most earth-shattering experience of his life. Good God, he had to think!

But an inhuman sound was already clawing its way up through his chest; something heavy and choking, like a sob too long suppressed. He wanted to howl with beastly pain. He wanted to make her cower, naked, while he demanded his answers. He felt his throat constrict, and felt the hot, urgent press of tears behind his eyes.

This was not just trickery. This was betrayal. He was not at all sure he could survive another. As if beyond his control, his hand encircled her slender throat. In the gloom, she looked so tender, so innocent, but in that moment, he wished mightily to strangle her.

Sidonie must have felt his fingers tightening, for she woke with a start and went stiff. “Devellyn—?”

He grabbed her by both shoulders, and jerked her half up. “Get up, damn you!” he growled. “Who are you? Tell me!”

Sidonie tried to push him away. “Stop,” she whispered. “You’re hurting me.”

He gave her a good shake. “You deceitful bitch!” he said. “How could you do this?”

He sensed her come fully awake, sensed the moment she suspected her ruse was over. “Devellyn, stop!” she said, scrabbling onto her knees. “You’re having a nightmare.”

“You’re damned right, I am.” She moved to flee, but he grabbed her and dragged her down again. “I saw it, Sidonie. I
know
who you are.”

“S-Saw…what?”

He shook her again. “By God, don’t pretend! The oh-so-proper Madame Saint-Godard! You’ve fooled them all, haven’t you?”

He sensed her body sag with resignation. “It is not what you think,” she whispered, trying to jerk from his grasp. “It’s
not.”

He tightened his grip ruthlessly. “And where have I heard that before?” he retorted, gripping her arm. “What are you up to, Sidonie? What’s your game?”

Sidonie was sobbing softly now. “Leave me alone,” she whispered, collapsing. “Get out, Devellyn. I did not ask you to come here. And I am not
up to
anything, except making a fool of myself over you.”

He shoved her away, and she fell back onto the rug. In the gloom, he saw her reach for her chemise, as if she wished to cover her nakedness. He looked at her in disgust. “The Black Angel!” he said, getting to his feet. “You really thought to make a fool of me, didn’t you? Well, it won’t happen twice, you scheming little witch.”

He was jerking on his clothes now. Sidonie still cowered on the rug. “I didn’t think anything,” she whispered. “I didn’t plan this!”

Devellyn gave a bitter laugh. “People like you are always planning, Sidonie,” he answered. “Always on the dodge, always looking for a scam. You think you can just part your thighs for me, drag me in deep, then dupe me again? What were you after this time? More money? Or just your own amusement?”

Sidonie pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. “I gave back your money, Aleric,” she whimpered. “I gave you everything. Damn you, I gave you my heart.”

Devellyn felt his own tears welling more urgently against the backs of his eyes. To quell them, he stabbed in his shirttails violently, and turned to find his waistcoat. “Filthy lies and crocodile tears,” he gritted. “Give up the theatrics, Sidonie. You betrayed me.”

“What do you mean? Where are you going?”

“Home,” he said. “Home to get drunk. And I mean to remain drunk for a good long while, so stay the hell away from me, or I won’t be responsible for what I do, do you hear me?”

Both hands had gone to her mouth, and she was crying softly. “Are you…are you going to the police?”

Devellyn bent down, snatched up his coat, and sneered in her face. “Over
you?”
he asked incredulously. “Why would I bother? You are dead to me, Sidonie. As dead as if I’d driven a stake through your faithless little heart.”

He left her and slammed the door behind. He could hear the sobs that wracked her body now, echoing through the house. He did not give a damn if every servant in the place heard. He strode through the darkened passageway and let himself out into Bedford Place, slamming that door so hard the windows rattled. The rain was still pouring. Christ Jesus! He felt suddenly sick, reeling from loss and disbelief.

He turned on the doorstep, the rain spattering off him, and stared at the window which had glowed with her candle just a few hours earlier. He felt frozen in time, uncertain what to do. Rage still coursed through him. He wanted to break something, burn something. Oh, God help him! He thought of how he’d waited in the rain, praying she would light that candle, and of the hope which had surged in his heart when the little flame sputtered to life. What a cruel emotion that was. Hope was not for him. He’d long known that. And now, Sidonie’s betrayal was as bitter as blood in his mouth. He had seen it. The Black Angel.

Worse, he had
known
it. Devellyn forced himself to remember. Had he not felt—yes, the very first!—that she reminded him of Ruby Black? Had he not wondered how he could burn for two women at the same time—two such seemingly dissimilar women—and feel himself going mad with thwarted lust for both? They had looked nothing alike, it was true. Yet in his heart, he had
known.
But what the heart had known, his logic had hurled aside as impossible.

Last night, he had behaved scandalously, singling Sidonie out for unwanted attention, then allowing them both to be caught out at something far worse. He had been heartsick afterward. Yet again, he believed, he had compromised a lady; this time, one he cared for deeply. This time, his life and his heart, and yes, even his hope, weak and nascent though it had been. But she was no lady. And he had no future. He should have remembered that. But somehow, he’d lost himself in Sidonie’s smoldering eyes and let himself be doubly deceived.

He reached out and set his palm against the window where the little flame had burned. Cold. Cold as death. The tears came again, and this time, he simply forced himself away from her door and let them fall. He stood in the middle of Bedford Place, and let the deluge rain down, until water soaked his hair, and his coat, and even his clothing beneath. He thought of Sidonie, and feared that this time, the aching sense of loss might kill him.

Alasdair turned up in Bedford Place shortly after midday. The previous evening, he and Devellyn had parted ways upon entering Walrafen’s town house, and that had been the last they’d seen of one another. Alasdair was shown into Devellyn’s study by Honeywell, who mercifully carried in a tray of coffee. Alasdair must have sensed something was wrong, but he paced the room quietly until Honeywell had gone out again.

He watched from the windows as Devellyn poured coffee with an unsteady hand. “Are you all right, old chap?” he asked. “You look to be coming off a three-day drunk.”

Devellyn opened his mouth, but no words came out. “I wish I were,” he finally admitted. “But I confess, I’ve been unable to stomach so much as a sip of sherry.”

His friend studied his face for a moment. “Dev, are you ill?”

Devellyn looked at him despondently. “Alasdair, something dreadful has happened,” he whispered. “Unless I’m going mad. I begin to wonder if I am.”

Alasdair set a heavy hand on his shoulder. “You look your usual sane self to me, old boy,” he said. “Except you’re pale as death. Lord, you lost less color when Porterfield pinked you in the shoulder for sleeping with his wife.”

Devellyn motioned toward a chair. “Sit, for God’s sake.”

Alasdair sat. “Done. Now talk.”

“Your silence, Alasdair,” Devellyn rasped. “On your honor—no, on your
life
—I must have your silence.”

Alasdair leaned forward intently. “If you ask it, you have it, Dev,” he said. “You know that.”

Devellyn stared into the depths of the room for a long, silent moment. “I have found my nemesis, Alasdair,” he said. “I have found my Ruby Black.”

“Have you?” said Alasdair, his brow furrowing. “That’s good news, isn’t it? But I did not think you were looking.”

“Nonetheless, I have found her, and quite by accident.” Devellyn’s voice was hollow. “Ruby Black, you see, is…she is…Jesus, Alasdair. She is
Sidonie.”