She was a lady—the daughter of a marquess, in fact. No doors in society were closed to her.
So, how could he benefit from that?
Really, it came down to his end goal.
Imogen.
And could Lady Beatrix be useful in, at last, having her?
CHAPTER NINE
NEXT DAY
Her booted heels a swiftclick-clackdown the corridor, Beatrix caught a quick glimpse of the pendulum clock on her way to the kitchen.
Nine fifty-five.
Five minutes until Lord Devil arrived.
Lord Devil…
Indeed.
Lord Devil,here, in her house.
After a sleepless night of tossing and turning and mostly staring at the crack in the ceiling that bisected the entire width of her bedroom, she’d risen with the dawn and looked at the house with fresh eyes. Truly, the place had fallen into a state of ruin.
She’d immediately set to work and hadn’t stopped since. Floors swept… Surfaces dusted and tidied… That sort of thing.
The plan her mind had worked out was a simple one. When Deverill arrived, she would usher him from the front door to the nearest drawing room. Strictly speaking, that was the widest swath of the house he needed to experience.
He shouldn’t step through any floorboards, if he kept to that path.
Beatrix kept to paths, too.
Except she didn’t always keep to paths, did she?
Last night, she’d strayed off the path in rather spectacular fashion.
And today, she was to pay for it.
Blimey.
Still, one thing had gone right for her today.
Lydon never made it home last night.
Which was no great surprise. He might spend three of thirty nights in the house.
She offered up a silent, but fervent prayer that he would not shamble in during her tea with Deverill. It would be too much.
Too much.
Ironically, two words that were coming to define her life—a life characterized by its inability to have enough.
It would’ve been funny—if only it were.
She entered the kitchen and noted Cumberbatch’s napping presence in a corner. Too late, she’d realized she should’ve scoured London for a maid willing to work for a morning.
