Page 57 of A Deal with the Devil

Why? Because he was the Devil? She had not let that intimidate her one bit yet.

She straightened, still on fire, only this time she was a flaming arrow pulled back in the bowstring. “We had a…moment in your carriage,” she said plainly. “No need to get hysterical.”

Hysterical? Hysterical?

Devil was known for his unruffled calm when assaulted with panic and pleading and outright violence to his person. Even the odd assassination attempt did not faze him overtly.

And here she was accusing him of being overwrought. Like an elderly aunt being sent to the seaside for her nerves.

Someone snorted nearby. Devil did not look away from Kitty. He knew exactly who was hovering like a fretful nursemaid. “Go away, MacLeod.” MacLeod was the one who ought to go to the seaside for his nerves.

MacLeod did not, in fact, go away. Even though he was one of the few men in Mayfair not in debt to Devil, he insisted on acting as though he were, determined to protect him. Even though Devil paid men for that very purpose. MacLeod refused to take payment and refused to accept anyone else would do as good a job as he did.

And the bastard was right.

What was more, if Kitty kept looking at Devil as though he were fretful, he really would pull her into that alley and kiss her senseless. He might anyway.

“I am not hysterical,” he said instead.

“It’s perfectly normal,” she offered. “And I’m sure it’s very gentlemanly of you. But I’m hardly worried about my reputation.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw, even as he fought a smile and the very inappropriate urge to slide his fingers under her thin dress until she moaned. “According to all of Mayfair, we are betrothed,” he reminded her. “And a betrothal means a betrothal ring. I don’t make the rules.”

“You’re not exactly known for following them either,” Kitty pointed out drily.

She was not wrong. Earls did not run gaming hells or bacchanals twice yearly. They did not enforce debts. They did not run away to join the army after a fight with their father at the age of twenty-three because war on the battlefield was preferable to war everywhere else all of the time. They didn’t leave their thirteen-year-old brother behind.

“That’s all this is?” she pressed.

“Of course.” Like hell.

“Oh.”

Was that a hint of disappointment? He decided it was, because he wanted it to be.

“Portsmouth is dangerous,” he reminded her. “This way you will be under my protection. You wanted my help, remember? Demanded it, in fact.”

“I don’t need—” Kitty snapped her mouth shut. She might not want his protection, but she needed it. For her sister. She was too clever to deny that.

And he would not have her traipsing about London, kicking over Portsmouth hornet’s nests without him.

Not happening. Ever.

“I supposed it’s just a ring,” she said softly. “But I might have one left at home I can use.”

Something recoiled in him at the thought. That she had sold too many of her belongings to pay her father’s debts. The baron had a lot to answer for.

“No.”

“No?”

“No.” He opened the door and nudged her inside. If she was going to wear a betrothal ring, it was going to be his. And that, as far as he was concerned, was that.

The shop was impeccably presented, with glass cases waiting for perusal, catalogues stacked just so, sketches framed on the wall. Most of their work was made to the buyer’s custom specifications, but there were always pieces available. Some were returned because the colors were wrong, the setting not to taste. The buyer suddenly in debt and unable to pay. Devil had been offered so much jewelry he could have opened his own shop. In every city in England. But he wanted something particular for Kitty, something just for her.

Diamonds and pearls were the fashion, available in all shapes and sizes. There were lockets, rings, necklaces, ear bobs. Buckles for shoes. Brooches. All described and detailed in catalogue books, the rest pinned to rich, dark velvet. Even on a bright day, candles burned, glinting and glimmering off a multitude of gems.

“Lord Birmingham.” The clerk bowed. A crystal pin shaped like a sword gleamed from the intricate folds of his cravat. His buttons were inlaid with opals.