There were consequences when one crossed such a man.
And a devil to pay.
CHAPTER TEN
Dev crossed an ankle over a thigh and let the facts of the woman before him assemble themselves.
He’d walked into her townhouse today armed with firm certainties.
Lady Beatrix St. Vincent was the pampered daughter of a marquess, accustomed to getting her way. A lady who lived in the same luxury as other peers of the realm. A lady of the old guard, who was too good for new things. A lady who didn’t invite the riffraff in for tea.
But he saw now he hadn’t been armed with facts at all.
He’d been carrying assumptions.
Now, they were crumbling beneath the weight of the realities.
Her out-of-date gown at the ball… The day dress she wore now, in fact… The flaking paint on the front door… The worn-down, cracked, creaky, threadbare, molderingeverythingof the interior… The way she’d eyed his chocolate last night and ate not one, but two scones just now—like a wolf.
These were the facts regarding Lady Beatrix St. Vincent.
When she hadn’t invited him in the other day, it wasn’t snobbery.
It was…
Shame.
And that shame, once it joined with the facts, left one with but a single, unexpected conclusion.
He shoved forward, set his teacup down, planted his forearms on his knees, and clasped his hands before him. Instinctively, she shifted backward, as if he were invading her space.
Good.
As he had last night, he scented opportunity.
“You’re…poor.”
The statement left no room for equivocation.
She visibly bristled, the gray of her eyes gone to steel. “I’m the daughter of a marquess.”
He didn’t relent. “Poor as Job, in fact.”
“I’m a lady.”
He nodded. “And you’re living in near penury.” He wasn’t letting her off the hook, but he needed a different angle. “I’ve looked into your writinglark.”
She tried for an indifferent shrug. “An occasional pastime.”
Dev narrowed in… “Five or so published articles a week is more than occasional.”
She allowed the clench and release of her jaw to provide her answer.
“This writinglarkof yours puts food on your table.”
Her eyes shone with mutiny.
“And the society gossip you pepper into your articles?—”
