Devil Takes A Bride by Gaelen Foley Page A

Ladyship’s desk.
    Lizzie knew she knew she had no business peeking at her employer’s correspondence, but once she had begun to suspect how Darling Dev was taking advantage of his aunt’s blind love, she had made it her business to keep an eye on those despicable endless bills. Each one had made her a little more resentful than the last, but his gambling debt that had come last week had been the last straw, pushing her past the point of fury into brazen action. For reasons she did not care to examine, Lizzie had been so outraged by his insolent assumption that his rich aunt would pay his gambling debts, no questions asked, that she had dashed out her letter with shaking hands and had sent it to London by the express messenger, bent on teaching the cad a lesson.
    If he came every now and then—if he cared—it would be different, but the blackguard could not even be bothered to write his aunt the occasional letter, never mind the old woman thought the sun shone for him and paid all his bills, placing no restraints on him whatsoever. Lady Strathmore might never complain, but as Her Ladyship’s caretaker, Lizzie was fed up with it. She could not bear another day of watching the lonely old woman staring out the window for endless hours with her heart slowly breaking, thinking she had been forgotten by her only living kin.
    Coldly satisfied with her dispatch, she had thought herself fully prepared for Lord Strathmore’s reaction when he arrived. She had imagined a pampered rogue sulking and huffing and stomping about in his overpriced boots, fretting over the fact that he would miss a few nights’ revels all for naught, but his ire would not ruffle her calm nature, and her ruse had at least a chance, she had hoped, of teaching him to appreciate his aunt’s love.
    It had seemed a perfect plan. From the moment she had penned her angry letter, there had been no doubt in her mind that she had done the right thing.
    But now the thought of that hard-eyed giant’s wrath made her heart pump with trepidation, while guilt begin poking at her overactive conscience. Why was he bleeding?
    It was unlike her to lie under any circumstances: she had certainly not intended for the man to suffer physical injury because of her deception. Had he taken a spill on the road? Well, it was no wonder, given the weather last night, she mused, then shook her head to herself uneasily. Riding all night through blizzardlike conditions was hardly the sign of a man who did not care.
    Normally rock-sure of her judgment, she felt thrown off balance and glanced toward the parlor door, wondering how to proceed. A disturbing suspicion was forming at the back of her mind that she had somehow confused Devil Strathmore with someone else. Some other London rake. Someone whose name had been struck from the book of her mind with a great, black
X
and who, henceforth, would only be referred to as A Certain Person.
    And then another thought struck her, one so dire that the color drained from her face. Lady Strathmore was going to be furious.
    Good God, it was bad enough that she had dared to deceive a man so far above her station, even if her intentions had been the very best. But if Darling Dev had been injured because of her meddling, why, that could be grounds for dismissal! This might well cost her her job.
    A wave of faint nausea washed over her as she remembered anew of the bitter reality of her station. Would she never learn? She was not part of the family. The dowager’s villa had begun to feel like home, but it was not really her home, and if she displeased, she could be sent packing, like any other employee. Truly scared now, her mouth going dry, Lizzie bunched her fists at her sides, gathered her courage, and forced herself out of the parlor to meet her fate.
    Instead of going directly to the entrance hall, however, she glided down the hallway to the closet tucked beneath the stairs, reached in, and took out a nice, clean,