“The longer we put off speaking to each other, the longer my aunt will draw out this house party,” he started. “She intends to have her foolish court this evening and I for one do not want to be called to the carpet.”
“Nor I,” Darton said.
“We need to ride close enough to the person we wronged, but not so close to the other couple that a conversation can be heard. We will have our conversation so that we can claim that an effort was made.” He looked at each of them and hoped they agreed. “I would not be surprised if my aunt and the Tilson sisters locked us in a room with a chaperone until conversations were had, apologies made and forgiveness given even if we have to pretend, which we cannot do if we do not talk to one another.”
“You are correct,” Cait finally said. “There is no reason why we cannot ride and have pleasant conversations. It is but a few hours and I am certain we will all survive.”
He wasn’t asking her to risk her neck, but she seemed to act as if she were taking on a dangerous task.
Julian turned his horse to ride away from Evelyn and Darton. Cait joined him and soon they were riding side by side. He did not look back at his friends. It was up to them to repair their own relationships.
“Who is protecting England if you all are here?” Cait asked.
“That, I do not know. Nor will I likely ever learn.”
Cait frowned. “Why is that?”
“We have been sacked. All six of us.” He chuckled.
“That is what your aunt meant when she said that the Devils of Dalston have come to an end.”
He explained how each of the Devils had been a second or third son and unlikely to inherit. But by some strange circumstance, each was an heir or had already gained their father’s title as Julian had. “Therefore, our superiors believe that we are to look to our estates and family and step away from our positions with the Home Office. We were each sacked.”
“How can she keep you here if you no longer work for the Home Office?”
To that question, he explained the pension that had been set aside for each of them for when they grew too old to be of service so that they could support themselves.
“You will go along, be friendly, for thirty thousand pounds.”
She made him sound mercenary. “I would go along for a pound. It is not about the money. At least not for me.”
Cait needed to know that he remained at his aunt’s home for her and no other reason.
“What are you going to do if you cannot work for the Home Office?”
“I suppose I will be an Earl and run an estate and raise my daughter.”
“You could become a gentleman of Society,” she suggested. “You could attend the Season when you are in London for Parliament. Thetonmay quite enjoy having the Devils of Dalston gracing their ballrooms, no longer rogues but possibly reformed.”
He chuckled. “You know all of that was a ruse, do you not?”
She chuckled. “Yes. I have learned that it was Clark and Darton who penned the most scintillating gossip detailing the exploits and debauchery of the Devils of Dalston. Most of which came from their imagination.”
He looked into her eyes. “Who is to say that I will be returning to London?” Why would she want him to?
Except, maybe it was because she did not want him for herself.
“Parliament, which I have mentioned. But you are expected to wed again.”
He intended to marry her. Now that his father was gone, he was free to do so, though she would probably ride off if he told her that right now. “I am?” he asked instead.
“Your title requires an heir. All of society will be eagerly awaiting your appearance and misses will be lining up with bated breath hoping that you take notice.”
At those words, his blood ran cold. Those women knew him by name, reputation, and now title. They knew nothing about him. They knew no more than Imogene had when she set her sights on him. It would be dangerous in London being an Earl in need of a wife and heir.
“I apologize if I spoke out of turn,” Cait said. “I can see that the subject distresses you.”
Did he tell her the truth about Imogene? They had barely just started speaking and that was only because they were required to because of this bloody court of love.
