Free Devil Takes A Bride by Gaelen Foley Page B

the sparkling young Lady Jacinda Knight, Lizzie had attended enough Society ballrooms to know how to play the game; she had always simply chosen not to play it. But since she was even more certain of losing her job now that she had trounced Darling Dev—the male ego, after all, could not withstand such defeat without retaliation—why not go down in a blaze of glory?
    Meanwhile, Lady Strathmore glanced sardonically at the big, dark footprints. “Dear me—ring for Margaret, Lizzie. I see my nephew has tracked mud through the house.” She looked up brightly. “Ah, well, boys will be boys. Mud or no, it’s still so nice to have a man around the house, don’t you think?”
    Lizzie just looked at her.
    Â 
    â€œMy
own
fault?” Dev bellowed as he dressed for dinner a while later in his usual quarters, a handsome bedchamber done in maroon, dark blue, and gilt. “What’s the matter with you, Ben? I can’t believe you’re taking her side! My curricle’s in splinters, I nearly cracked my head open, and it was all just a—a dirty trick!”
    â€œWell, you really shouldn’t have had four horses hitched to a vehicle meant only for two,” Ben chided.
    â€œEspecially with snow and ice on the roads. It was rather reckless.”
    â€œSpeed!” Dev said in exasperation as he wrenched on a pair of black trousers and angrily buttoned the falls. Elizabeth Carlisle might be in the right, but he sure as hell didn’t have to like it. Nor did he like recalling his hasty retreat from the parlor and the chagrin of knowing that a mere slip of a girl had kicked his arse. It was even worse than recalling the debacle of the accident.
    At some point in the middle of the night, he had taken a curve too fast and hit a patch of ice. His light curricle had rolled. If he had not jumped clear of the crash at that precise moment, he probably would have been killed. After ascertaining that he was still alive with no broken bones, only a few cuts and scrapes from an ill-tempered bramble bush, he had had to work alone in the blackness of a winter night, pushing his battered curricle back up onto its broken wheels. Then he’d had to recapture the horses, who had fled in terror, dragging the broken whiffletree behind them. He had walked the team to the nearest livery stable, where he had been forced to answer a great many questions about the mishap and to pay a large sum for the supposed damage to the horses.
    After dispatching a few hirelings to see to his broken-down curricle, he’d had to buy a mount to ride the rest of the way to his aunt’s house because the livery owner refused to rent him another horse—he was obviously too “careless” to be trusted.
    Just another flaw to add to the roster of his faults that Lizzie Carlisle had so kindly endeavored to list for him.
    â€œSmug, self-righteous little conniver—”
    â€œIf you’re so angry at the girl, why didn’t you speak out when you had the chance to inform your aunt of her deceit?” Ben asked, collecting the shaving accouterments from the side of the nickel-plated bathing-tub which Dev had just left and placed them back in the square, leather
necessaire
. He took Dev’s cologne out of the traveling box and handed it to him. “Could it be because, deep down, you know the girl is right?”
    â€œAunt Augusta has never complained of my treatment of her,” Dev huffed, but his cheeks flushed, for in truth, his anger at himself for neglecting his aunt equaled if not exceeded his indignation at having been so ill-used. He pulled the stopper out of the small, silver-braced bottle and slapped on some of the cleanly pungent clove-and-rosemary water.
    â€œTrue, Her Ladyship has always let you slide by on minimal effort,” Ben said mildly. “Apparently, Miss Carlisle is not so prepared to indulge you.”
    â€œJudas,” Dev muttered, scowling as he gave the