Before she could think through her actions, her feet were moving.
Within three minutes, she was out of Acaster’s mansion and crossing St. James’s Square.
One hour.
She had one hour—well, fifty-seven minutes—to see for herself how the devil lived.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Like a king.
That was how Lord Devil lived.
The instant the footman had opened the door to Mr. Deverill’s suite, it was the aroma that hit Beatrix first.
Fresh pine…crisp sea…clean.
The man wasn’t even here, yet here he was, conjured.
How did he smell so good?
Money.
That was how.
Deverill smelled like money. Not of the ill-gotten variety, but the sort gained by skill, intelligence, and determination. Whatever else the man might’ve been, one couldn’t deny those qualities about him.
After it became apparent to the footman that Beatrix would not be slipping him a bit of coin, he shut the door with a mild sniff, leaving her alone in Lord Devil’s lair.
She snorted.
Lord Devil’s lair.
A bit dramatic, that.
But her first observation held. All rich, warm woods and refined hues of cream and rose invited one to sit andrelax. This suite of rooms with its delicious scent, stylish Rococo Chippendale furniture, original oil paintings—was that a Gainsborough?—eight-foot windows, and high coffered ceilings was fit for a king or a very wealthy duke.
She cast a longing eye over an overstuffed chaise longue situated beside a high window. That would be a perfect reading spot during the day. Filling out the drawing room were a sofa, two armchairs, a few console tables strewn about, and a painted silk screen done in the Chinoiserie style so popular this last century.
An object on the low table before the sofa caught her eye.
A small, flat box.
Unable to resist, curiosity had her crossing the room and picking it up. The box was light, which meant whatever was inside was likely very expensive.
Carefully, she slid the top off and gasped at the contents within.
Chocolates.
Three rows of three, each little sweet different from the one seated beside it—this one with a delicate leaf of gold on top, that one with a tiny purple violet, yet another with a single perfect coffee bean.
Beatrix’s mouth watered, and temptation beckoned. It would only be the one. Deverill wouldn’t miss it…
But he would notice.
For none had yet been eaten.
A shame, that.
