Loretta Chase - The Devils Delilah

The Devil's Delilah

By

Loretta Chase

Chapter 1

Rain drummed furiously against the sturdy timbers of the Black Cat Inn. Within, its public dining parlour, tap-room, and coffee rooms overflowed with orphans of the storm. From time to time a flash of lightning set the rooms ablaze with glaring light, and the more timid of the company shrank in terror at the deafening cannonade of thunder which instantly followed.

"Filthy night, sir," said Mrs. Tabithy, approaching one of her guests. "There'll be a sight more of them" she nodded toward the group crowding the main passageway "unless I miss my guess. If you'd come but a quarter hour later I couldn't have given you a private parlour, not if my life depended on it."

"Very kind of you, I'm sure," said the guest, gazing absently about the room.

His hostess eyed the thick volume in his hands and smiled. His mien was that of a gentleman. The quality and cut of his attire, despite its untidiness, bespoke wealth. He was a good-looking young man not yet thirty, she would guess and, judging by both the book and the rather dazed expression of his grey eyes, one of those harmless scholar types. This fellow would offer no trouble at all.

"Just down that passage," she said aloud. "Third door on the left. I'll send Sairey along to you as soon as ever I can but she has her hands full, as you can see."

The young man only gave a vague nod and wandered off in the direction she indicated.

His hostess had guessed aright. Mr. Jack Lang-don was a quiet, bookish sort, too preoccupied with his own musings to take any note of the service accorded him. At present he was more preoccupied or muddled, rather than usual. This was because Mr. Langdon was recently disappointed in love.

Retiring by nature, he was now sorely tempted to betake himself to a monastery. Unfortunately, he had responsibilities. Therefore he was taking himself to the next best refuge, his Uncle Albert's peaceful estate in Yorkshire. His uncle, Viscount Rossing, was a recluse, even more book-minded than the nephew. Jack could spend the entire summer at Rossing Hall without once having to attempt a conversation. Better still, except for servants, he need never see a single female.

Sadly contemplating the particular female who had cast a blighting frost upon his budding hopes, Mr. Langdon lost count of doors and opened the fifth.

The room was exceedingly dim, which was annoying. He could not read comfortably by lightning bolts, frequent as they were. He'd scarcely formulated the thought when the lightning crackled again to reveal, lit like a scene upon the stage, a young woman pressing a pistol against the Earl of Streetham's breast.

Without pausing to reflect further, Mr. Langdon hurled himself at the young woman, knocking her to the floor and the earl against the wall. Lord Streetham's head cracked against the window frame and his lordship slid, unconscious, to the floor.

The young woman remained fully conscious though, and in full possession of the pistol. As Jack grabbed for it, she jammed an elbow into his chest and tried to shove him away. He thrust the elbow away, and went again for the weapon. Her free hand tore into his scalp. He tried to pull away, but she caught hold of his ear and yanked so hard that the pain made his eyes water. While he struggled to pry her fingers loose, she brought up the hand wielding the weapon behind his neck. Just as the pistol's butt was about to slam down on his skull, Jack seized her wrist. He squeezed hard and the weapon dropped to the floor a few inches from her head. He lunged for the pistol, but her nails ripped into his scalp once more, jerking him back.

Mr. Langdon was growing distraught. To have assaulted a woman in the first place was contrary to his nature. Now he seemed to have no choice but to render her unconscious. He knew he could, having been well-trained at Gentleman Jack's, yet the idea of driving his fist into a feminine jaw was appalling.

While he struggled with his sense of propriety, she struggled to better purpose, punctuating her blows with a stream of choked oaths that would have shocked Mr. Langdon to the core had he been able to pay full attention. He, however, had all he could do to keep her down. He prayed she'd tire soon and spare him the shame of having to beat her senseless. But she only writhed, elbowed, scratched, and pummelled with unabated ferocity.

Mr. Langdon's prodigious patience began to fail him. In desperation, he grabbed both her wrists and pinned them to the floor. She cursed vehemently now, but her heaving bosom showed she was finally weakening, though she continued twisting franti-cally beneath him. That is when his concentration began to fail.

The form beneath his was strong and lithe, and he became acutely aware of supple muscles and lush curves. As her writhings abated, a warmth more beckoning than the heat of combat began to steal over him. In a moment it had stolen into his brain, along with a host of other inappropriate sensations, all of which loudly demanded attention.

Mr. Langdon attended and alarmed at what he found hastily lifted his weight off her. His adversary promptly thrust her knee against a portion of his anatomy.

Jack gasped and rolled onto the floor, and the young woman scrambled to her feet, grabbed her pistol, and dashed out of the room.

Moments later, as Jack was struggling to rise, he heard a low groan and saw the earl painfully raising his head from the floor. Jack crawled towards him. Blood trickled past Lord Streetham's ear along his jaw line.

"My Lord, you're hurt," said Jack. He fumbled in his coat for his handkerchief.

Lord Streetham pulled himself up to a sitting position, clutching his head. "Damned madwoman," he muttered. "How was I to know she wasn't what are you doing?" he cried.

"Your head, My Lord-"

"Never mind that. Go find the she-devil. I'll teach her to well, what are you waiting for?"

From his earliest childhood Jack Langdon had run tame in the earl's house, dealt with on the same terms as his lordship's son, Tony. Jack had played with Tony, studied with Tony and periodically-been flogged with Tony. When, therefore, Tony's father told Jack to do a thing, Jack did it.

He stumbled to his feet and out of the room.

"Well, Delilah, and now what have you been up to?" said Mr. Desmond as he coolly studied his daughter's disheveled appearance.

Delilah glanced at the pudgy little man who stood, perspiring profusely, beside her papa. "Oh, nothing," she said, airily indifferent to the scene of carnage she'd recently left. "A misunderstanding with one of our fellow guests. Two, actually," she added, half to herself.

"Good heavens, Miss Desmond, it appears to have been a great deal more than that. I hope one of the gentlemen has not behaved uncivilly. A terrible thing, these public inns," said the damp fellow. "You really should not have come unattended. Your maid-"

"My maid has a sick headache, Mr. Atkins, though I have told her repeatedly that only women of the upper classes are permitted the luxury of megrims. I fear she has aspirations above her station." Miss Desmond impatiently thrust her tangled black curls back from her face.

"Mr. Atkins is right, my love. You should not have come."

"Of course I should, Papa. The matter nearly concerns me as I hope you've explained to Mr. Atkins." She turned to the small man. "I believe Papa has already informed you of his change of plans. Therefore I cannot think why you have travelled all this way on a fruitless errand."

"Oh, Miss Desmond, not fruitless, surely. As I was just explaining to your father " Mr. Atkins stopped short because at that moment the door flew open.