the earache when Emma hears of it,” Chessie said frankly. “And Freddie will make sure she does hear. He is a frightful gossip and malicious with it.” She looked at him. “Freddie will do all he can to spoil matters for you, you know. And he will do it for fun, no better reason.”
“I’ll talk Emma round,” Dev said.
“Your life’s work,” his sister said coolly. “That is your future, Devlin—charming Emma into good humor for the next forty years, all for the sake of her money.” She sailed across to where Fitz, Susanna and Freddie were gathered around the tomb of Sir Joshua Reynolds and slipped her hand through Fitz’s arm.
“I fear all this culture is giving me the headache, my lord,” she said. “It may well do for intellectuals like Lady Carew—” she shot Susanna a limpid smile “—but you know that I am not bookish. What do you say that we go to Gunters for refreshment instead?”
Dev grinned. There was something to be said for the direct approach and Chessie was, after all, only following his advice in being the opposite of Susanna. It had worked, too. Fitz was looking relieved at the prospect of escape and just for a second Susanna looked absolutely furious before she smoothed her irritation away and smiled in agreement with the plan. Chessie, having captured Fitz’s attention at last was hanging on like a limpet and when it looked as though Fitz were about to offer his other arm to Susanna, Dev stepped forward and placed himself between them.
“I see you have the guidebook, Lady Carew,” he said. “Can you tell me if Lord Nelson is buried here?”
Susanna was obliged to pause and Fitz and Chessie moved past them, walking together toward the door. They were already deep in conversation, Chessie smiling up at Fitz with sparkling eyes, all her vivacity apparently restored now that she had his attention.
In contrast, Susanna’s green eyes were bright with anger rather than pleasure as they contemplated Dev’s innocent expression.
“Lord Nelson is not only buried here,” she said politely, “but he is spinning in his grave at the thought that a former Naval captain might not know it.” She looked up at him, her body taut with annoyance, her tone fizzing with frustration. “You already knew the answer to that question, did you not, Sir James?”
“It was the best I could think of on the spur of the moment,” Dev admitted, without a trace of apology. “I wanted to speak to you—”
“Again?” Susanna snapped. “I hardly flatter myself that you have an inclination for my company.”
“Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that I wanted to delay you,” Dev conceded.
His blunt honesty was rewarded with another glare.
“I am aware of that,” Susanna said. “I understand your strategy perfectly.”
She ignored the arm that he offered her and started to follow Fitz and Chessie toward the door. One of the guides was already running to call them a hackney. The fine weather had broken abruptly and the sky outside was now a dull, pale gray and rain dripped from the guttering to pool on the pavement outside the cathedral.
“I am afraid that you will have to share a carriage with me, Lady Carew,” Dev said, very politely, as Fitz helped Chessie up into the first vehicle. “Unless you would prefer to ride with Mr. Walters, of course?”
“Hobson’s choice,” Susanna said. The quick tap of the guidebook on the palm of her gloved hand betrayed her annoyance.
“Think of me as the lesser of two evils,” Dev said, smiling at her. “Unless,” he added, “you would prefer to walk to Berkeley Square in the rain? I regret I do not have an umbrella to offer you for protection.”
Susanna shot him an exasperated look.
“Try not to keep the horses standing,” Dev added as she hesitated.
Susanna gave an irritable sigh. “Oh, very well!” She accepted the hand Dev proffered to help her climb in, touching him with as much reluctance as though he had some contagious disease. Once inside the dark, poky interior, she released him abruptly and moved to the corner, as far away from him as possible. Dev sat opposite, stretching out his legs and crossing them at the ankle. His boots brushed the hem of her gown; Susanna moved her skirts aside with great deliberation as though he might contaminate her.
Dev smiled lazily at her through the darkness. “Fitz is easily distracted,” he said. “You are going to have to exert a greater hold on him if you wish to have his sole attention.”
Susanna turned her gaze on him. “Fitz is like a small child in a confectionery shop,” she said. She made no effort to hide her exasperation and Dev found he almost liked her for it. There was no artifice in her—no pretence that she had any regard for Fitz other than for his title, and Dev had a reluctant admiration for that honesty. If she had pretended to any affection for the Marquis he would have despised her hypocrisy.
“An apt metaphor,” he said. “Sweet and pretty confections do catch Fitz’s eye.” He allowed his gaze to travel over her appraisingly. “No doubt he sees you as a particularly nicely wrapped treat.”
“Well, he won’t be helping himself to this treat anytime soon,” Susanna snapped.
“I imagine not,” Dev said. “If you withhold your favors for a while you are likely to gain far more from him.”
That won him another flash of those vivid green eyes. “Thank you for the advice,” Susanna said. “I assure you I prize myself far too highly to become Fitz’s mistress too easily.” She turned her face away from him, gazing instead out of the grimy window at the rain-streaked streets. Her profile was exquisite beneath her saucy little feathered hat, eyelashes thick and black, the line of her cheek pure and sweet, her lips tilted always as though on the edge of a smile. A cluster of ebony curls nestled against her throat, so silky and black that Dev felt a physical urge to run his fingers through them to see if they were really as soft as they looked. It was extraordinary, he thought cynically, how someone as venal as Susanna Burney could look so alluring, extraordinary that her ruthlessness did not spill out in some way, spoiling the pretty picture of the captivating widow. Yet that, he supposed, was part of her skill. She did not attempt to compete with the innocence of debutantes. Her appeal lay in her sophistication and charm. In truth she was little different from a courtesan, a very high class, very talented, very beautiful courtesan, but available to the highest bidder all the same, as long as it was marriage he was offering.
“Do you intend to seduce Fitz into marriage?” he asked.
Her gaze came back to his face, mocking him. “What a very vulgar question, Sir James. I have no intention of answering.”
“As you have said yourself, a widow may use certain experience to her advantage.”
A smile touched Susanna’s lips beneath the shadow of the bonnet. “Very true,” she said. “Just as a rake may use his knowledge and skill to trap a debutante heiress.”
There was silence between them, thick and taut, in the dark, enclosed world of the hackney coach. The rain drummed hard on the roof. The wheels splashed through the puddles on the road outside.
“You’re staring,” Susanna said coolly. “Try the window instead.”
“I see London every day,” Dev said. “I was admiring you.”
Susanna
