Page 2 of A Deal with the Devil

But as she did not wager, she did not expect to come away from a Devil’s Night in any way changed, beyond in possession of a heavier purse from selling her wares. Hopefully enough to pay off some of her father’s more violent creditors, enough for an order of tea and mutton. One day, enough to secure her sister’s future. A dowry. Options.

Options were rather scarce on the ground for women in London. Unlike vicars, congregating on her front step and flapping their wings like disgruntled pigeons.

She had not expected the chance to change everything to arrive so swiftly.

Nor in the hands of the dangerously handsome, entirely too-riveting Devil.

More fool her.

That was the point of the Devil, wasn’t it? Temptation? Everyone gathered here tonight was tempted.

But there was also an undercurrent of fear to their attention.

Which was not Kitty’s concern.

Until he sent a man careening over the balustrade.

Entirely too near to her book table and entirely too near to her person. Books were fragile and not be abused. She did not know the man or what he deserved.

A moment earlier, that man had alternated between shouting and begging, his face red enough to match the décor. When he landed, he broke a side table with curved legs, a ship made entirely of glass, and probably several of his bones. To add insult to injury, a portrait fell off the wall behind him and nearly decapitated him. He groaned, nose crooked and bloody.

Someone screamed. But mostly, the guests watched him with morbid fascination, glad not to be on the receiving end. Just as glad to have a story to tell to those back home.

Devil only leaned on the railing, returning the stares until they all turned away with laughs meant to cover their discomfort.

Except for Kitty.

She continued to watch him, safe in her corner, unnoticed. Curious. Drawn to him despite herself.

The clock behind her was circled in a wreath of gilded laurel leaves, elegant and persistent as it ticked closer and closer to midnight. She felt a bit like Cinderella. Or would have, were she not more like a wicked stepsister in this particular tale.

But she would do anything to save her sister.

Even betray her friend.

Maybe.

Probably.

The clock continued to tick at her mockingly.

The time for betrayal came and went and she did not move. She could not. She had done too much harm already and could not stomach going any further. It had been a stupid, desperate plan anyway.

Not like her current plan.

Which, to be clear, was equally stupid and desperate, but far likelier to bring results.

She was still watching Devil when he slipped a folded piece of paper inside his pocket. She had not managed to figure out where the signed vowels were kept—too many of his men came and went. And then he vanished into the shadows.

Kitty was moving before she realized what she was doing, before she could stop herself.

She stepped over a splatter of blood, barely glanced at the groaning man who was being ignored by his friends and decidedly not ignored by Devil’s men. She slipped between gaming tables, around throngs of inebriated lords too bored to care that she was a spinster and too drunk to remember her by the time she had passed out of view. The music played by the orchestra continued to pour through the room, adding an edge to every roll of dice, every clack of a ball hitting another ball on the felt billiards table. It motivated her to keep going even though she should most definitely turn back.

Should make better choices.

Which would leave her sister to her fate.

Bollocks to that.