Free Devall's Angel by Allison Lane

Season … you will be the envy of all society … don’t waste any chances…
    Her discomfort might be no more than rebellion against her mother’s manipulation. And it was manipulation. Lady Forley was being downright rude to Sir Alan and quite stilted toward Garwood. Yet she fawned over Atwater to the point of embarrassment.
    But changing her mother’s behavior was hopeless. The only way to halt her antics was to accept an offer – which meant sounding out Garwood’s intentions so she knew whether she had a choice.
    She stifled a sigh. Almack’s was no place for serious discussions – or even for planning serious discussions. The patronesses watched everyone like hawks, frowning at any indiscretion.
    When the dance concluded, Angela found Lady Forley engulfed in righteous indignation. “Are you implying that Lord Cloverdale did not die of natural causes? Lady Sefton swore he succumbed to a chill.”
    “What rubbish,” said Lady Debenham with an audible snort. “Though it has never been general knowledge, I refuse to hide the truth now that that man is creeping back into society. He actually accepted what must have been an erroneous invitation to Lady Chartley’s soiree last evening. The gall of the scoundrel!”
    “Not Blackthorn!”
    “Who else? He showed up, larger than life and even more devilish than usual. And Lady Chartley had the nerve to allow him inside. I was never so shocked in my life!” She furiously fluttered her fan. “But he is wrong if he thinks he can worm his way back into my good graces. I refused to speak in the past out of consideration for the families, but the truth must out. Blackthorn murdered Cloverdale.”
    Angela grimaced. Another body in the man’s wake. And not one that could be passed off as fate or the suicide of a weakling. Surely this would banish that odd glow she experienced whenever he caught her eye.
    “Murdered?” demanded Mrs. Bassington, another inveterate gossip, who had been shamelessly eavesdropping.
    “He might consider it an affair of honor, but I cannot.” Lady Debenham pulled herself straighter. “There were no seconds. No doctor. No witnesses. And Cloverdale was execrable with both sword and pistol. It was naught but cold-blooded murder, but without witnesses, none can lay charges.”
    “Without witnesses, how do you know what happened?” asked Lady Forley, surprising both Angela and Lady Debenham.
    “What else could it be?” the gossip demanded. “Cloverdale told Lord Kingsley that he was meeting Blackthorn in the morning. Kingsley assumed it was to receive the crim-con settlement. Not until the body turned up did he deduce that the meeting had been a duel. But even that is not the sum of Blackthorn’s crimes. Lord Coldstream’s death must have occurred in the same way. The two had been at odds the day before. I tell you, Blackthorn is devoid of all honor.”
    “What is she going on about now?” murmured Sylvia, appearing at Angela’s side. She had accompanied them to Almack’s so Hart could keep a weary Cassie at home.
    “Lady Debenham thinks Blackthorn killed both Cloverdale and Coldstream,” she whispered.
    “I remember the talk about Coldstream,” said Sylvia. “He died while I was in town shopping with Cassie. He and Blackthorn had had an altercation at one of the clubs – Boodle’s, I think – the night before, though it was never clear what caused it. One rumor claimed they argued over a girl; another swore it grew out of a card game. But they supposedly patched up the quarrel without a challenge.”
    “How do you know?” She moved closer to Sylvia so they wouldn’t be heard. All ears were tuned to Lady Debenham’s increasingly strident denunciations. “That is hardly drawing room talk.”
    “I overheard Hart and Cassie discussing it. He shares everything with her. But there was no hint of murder. I wonder if it’s true.”
    Angela bit her tongue until Sylvia’s next partner whisked her away. Why did she have such a