Free Devil Takes A Bride by Gaelen Foley Page A

cobbler’s bill bounced off his lean stomach and glided across the smooth surface of the nearby worktable. “Or Tattersall’s—fifteen hundred quid for a matched pair of Cleveland bays—never mind the dozen horses already languishing in your stable. Oh, but here is my favorite!” she exclaimed then quoted aloud from his scrawled note. “ ‘IOU—Strathmore agrees to pay Damage Randall twenty-five hundred quid for losses at three-card loo.’ Explain that, if you dare!”
    â€œYou read my aunt’s mail?” he asked, staggered.
    â€œA small transgression compared with yours! For shame, sir! You spend her money like there’s no tomorrow, but you can’t even be bothered to write her a letter now and then, let alone visit of your own free will! The measures I took were extreme, I admit, but a grown man should not need to be given such a jolt to remind him of his duty!”
    He stared at her, looking flabbergasted. For a second, he opened his mouth as if to speak, then apparently thought better of it and snapped his jaw shut. “I am leaving,” he clipped out, “because I am a gentleman.”
    â€œHa!” she replied as Devil Strathmore pivoted and stalked out, his greatcoat swirling around him.
    The door slammed, startling her. Lizzie blinked, suddenly realizing she had won their argument. Then she grinned. She twirled around on her heel, but the second she faced forward again, her heart racing, the first thing her gaze fixed upon was the trail of large, muddy footprints that Lord Strathmore had tracked across the floor.
    Her smile of victory promptly went flat.
    The big dark footprints seemed to mock her—the very symbol of the male race that went treading so carelessly over female hearts, not caring what kind of mess they left in their wake. But even more keenly, they vexed her because they brought into focus her own greatest flaw—her automatic impulse to bend down and start cleaning them up. She refused—aye, utterly, from the very depths of her soul.
    Never again would she serve as doormat for any beautiful, highborn man. Those days were over.
    Eyeing the doorway through which her mighty opponent had made his exit, she suddenly heard the dowager’s voice in the hallway. Rushing to gather up the bills she had flung at him, she quickly put them back in the drawer and sped away from the region of the desk mere seconds before Lady Strathmore rolled back into the parlor wearing a breezy smile.
    â€œDevlin’s gone to clean himself up for supper, dear. I just saw him in the hall. Tut, tut, the poor thing. We’ll dine at half past five. I’ve arranged with Mrs. Rowland to make a floating island for dessert!” she added in a girlish whisper. “It’s his favorite. Isn’t he as handsome as I said?”
    Lizzie’s eyes shot sparks, but she conceded the obvious in a mutter. “That he is, ma’am.”
    â€œIs everything all right, dear? I thought I heard arguing coming from this room a moment ago.”
    The question startled her, as did the shrewd look in the dowager’s blue eyes. Goodness, she had forgotten that Her Ladyship still had excellent hearing.
    â€œNo, ma’am. Everything is fine.” She forced a smile, but Lady Strathmore wasn’t fooled. She let out a knowing chuckle and clucked her tongue.
    â€œDear Lizzie, did Devil tease you about your gown?”
    â€œA little,” she agreed. It was as good an excuse as any.
    â€œWell, we shan’t give him cause to do so again, shall we?” Lady Strathmore’s managing smile broadened. “You have lots of pretty things from when you lived in London—you just never wear them. Tonight I expect you to dress for dinner, do you understand? And
no
house cap. That is an order.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” She kept her chafing gaze down, but maybe her employer was right.
    In her former, lifelong post as companion to