Today, he needed the filly to fulfill her promise andwin.
“Today is her day,” said Dev, all abundant confidence.
Arrogance, thetoncalled it.
Lord Devil was a man who didn’t know his place.
But Dev knew in his heart what it truly was.
Ruthlessness.
Hedidn’tknow his place.
But he did know this: He wasn’t here to court their acceptance and join their rarified ranks.
He was here to vanquish them.
For the lords and ladies surrounding him and enjoying his hospitality, life had started on a ladder near its top rung, but with a single condition—they would occupy that single rung all their lives. Dev, on the other hand, had started approximately in the middle. Yet though the wrong blood flowed in his veins, life had gifted him an option that few others in this room comprehended—he could climb.
And climb, he had.
And climb he would continue to do.
He didn’t crave the respect or love of this room.
He had a single desire.
And when she arrived, it would be on the arm of another man.
So, he would continue climbing, steadily, rung by rung—until she was onhisarm.
Then, only when it was too late, they would know themselves for the conquered.
“Deverill,” came a gruff voice at his back.
His mouth curved into his first genuine smile of the day as he turned and shook the hand of the solidly built man who stood several inches shorter. “Shaw,” he said, undeniable relief pulsing through him.
From the cock of Shaw’s eyebrow and the slight frown turning down the corners of his mouth, however, Dev understood his business partner wasn’t best pleased to be mingling amongstfancy folk. A serious man to his core, Shaw didn’t hold with the frivolity on display. He accepted the champagne coupe offered by a server and held the glass with anair of delicate uncertainty, as if it might shatter in his working man’s hands at any moment.
Dev was unable to resist asking, “Enjoying the festivities?”
Shaw snorted. “The shipment of steam jackets arrived from Birmingham at dawn. Engine assembly can resume.”
It took little for Dev to shift focus when it came to business. “Starting tomorrow?”
“Aye.”
The steam jackets for their newly designed engines had arrived cracked a month ago, so they’d needed to be recast. In the lifetime of an engine’s operation, the steam jacket handled an enormous amount of pressure. The tiniest flaw could result in the loss of life. Such an issue couldn’t be tolerated or ignored.
Dev nodded with satisfaction. “Good.”
Ten years ago, it was Shaw who had given Dev his start.
Dev had grown up modestly, the only son of a baron’s estate manager and housekeeper. As a child, Dev’s mind had been as quick and nimble as his fingers, and it was known for miles around that he could repair any broken-down old thing, even fashion mechanical improvements and inventions, too. Lord Whitsby saw a future gem in the younger Deverill and paid to have him schooled. Not a first-rate institution like Eton, but a school where he could become educated enough to take over the running of the estate someday.
That was the plan, at least.
The school, it turned out, suited Dev’s interests perfectly, and he excelled. The mechanical arts came as naturally to him as breathing. Of particular interest was the steam engine. Greater and greater efficiency in its mechanics was required, which would lead to smaller, more portable engines and the use of less coal. Not a year later, Dev had fashioned a design he knew would accomplish those goals, but he’d lacked the funds and resources to put his designs into practice.
