“You may rest assured, My Lady, nothing you speak of shall leave this room,” The Devil Lord said, gazing at her intently behind his mask.
Those eyes were like dark pools of onyx, black and shining and altogether captivating. No matter how she tried, Emmaline could not look away. Certain her cheeks were flushed, she unfolded her black lace fan and batted at her face.
“It is rather warm in here,” she admitted. “Forgive me, My Lord. I need a moment.”
“I do not have all night,” the lord barked, and Emmaline jumped. Just as quickly, she regained her wits and produced the loan notices she had found in her father's study.
They had been a tight squeeze folded and folded and folded into small rectangles to slip into her small drawstring reticle. It was the only way she was able to slip them past the servants if she were caught. With her father so ill, she could not bear to be caught sniffing through his things.
As she unfolded them, The Devil Lord's forehead wrinkled as if he were lifting a brow. He said nothing. He did not even move. He was like stone.
“My Lord, I came to talk with you about this on behalf of my father,” Emmaline said, holding out the papers. She hated how her trembling hand betrayed her.
It seemed like an eternity before the lord took the papers from her. His gaze was disinterested as he flicked through them.
“What of them? Have you my money?” The lord demanded, throwing them back at her as if he could not afford the time it would take for her to take them back.
Emmaline scrambled to pick up the papers where they fluttered at her feet. “No, My Lord, I'm afraid I do not. And I regret to inform you that my father is desperately ill.”
Menacingly slowly, the lord leaned right over the arm of his throne and ground out through gritted teeth, “Then why are you here?”
Emmaline's face grew so cold she was certain all the blood had drained from her face.
“My Lord, I come to plead for an extension.”
She dipped her head as she spoke, feeling as if she could not and should not meet his gaze.
“There shall be no extension! I shall have what I am owed, or your father shall pay the consequences!”
His booming, thunderous voice rattled the sconces in the walls and the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling.
Instinctively, Emmaline met his gaze, certain that she looked like a doe caught in lantern light.
Holding his gaze, she said, “Surely, My Lord, there must be some arrangement we might come to? My father may, this very moment, lie upon his death bed. If he is unable to pay you, my entire family—my brothers, my sisters, my stepmother and I—shall all be thrown upon the streets or worse… sent to the debtor's prison.”
The man scoffed and turned his gaze away. Clearly something more interesting had caught his attention across the room. He flicked his hand to the man who had escorted Emmaline into the club and the man hurried off to break up some kind of brawl that had begun.
When his gaze turned back on her, The Devil Lord’s tone was low and menacing, “Your family woes are no concern of mine.”
The heartlessness of his response made Emmaline sick. And yet, there was something in his eyes that gave her a spark of hope.
She couldn't give up now. Her father wouldn't. He would continue until they came to some kind of arrangement, something that would benefit them both. It was the most likely way of gaining business.
“Surely, My Lord, there must be something I can offer you? I shall do anything. All I ask is an extension upon the loan, a chance for my father to get back on his feet in order to collect the money that he owes you from his investments.”
Emmaline bit the inside of her cheek. How could she tell him that their latest investment had sunk deep into the Indian ocean?
But it appeared she would not have to. He was clearly intrigued for he picked up a glass of wine from the table between them and drank from it, looking at her all the while over the rim of the glass.
“Anything, you say?” The corner of his lip twitched while the other remained stuck in a grim line.
Emmaline swallowed hard. “Yes, anything.”
She breathed out the words and this time it was she who was unable to blink.
“Anything…” the lord repeated contemplatively. His free hand rose to his face, and he rubbed the dark shadow of facial hair upon his chin. “Anything, you say?”
“I do say, My Lord, anything.”
