Kat Martin - Devils Prize

v1.5

July 28, 2008

To my editor, Jennifer Weis, for her hard work and support, and to Sally Richardson, for taking a chance on meand making me feel like a star.

A special thanks to Roger Cooper, whose energy and enthusiasm make him so much fun to work for; to Jen Richards and all of the St. Martin's staff. You guys are terrific! The sky is the limit!

A thing of beauty is a joy forever:

Its loveliness increases; it will never

Pass into nothingness; but still will keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet

breathing

John Keats

London, England, 1809

C at and mouse, Damien scoffed. More like seasoned panther and wary young doe. He watched her through the french doors leading into the main salon of Lord Dorring's town house. Gowned in emerald silk the same shade as her eyes, laughing softly with one of her beaux, she led the young man onto the dance floor.

It was crowded in the sumptuous high-ceilinged room, a crush of London's finest. Men in tailcoats and brocade waistcoats, ladies in silks and satins, some of them more richly gowned than she, but none of them nearly as lovely. She crossed the inlaid marble floor, all elegance and grace, a slender white-gloved hand resting lightly on her suitor's arm. For an instant her glance veered toward the terrace.

She knew he was out there.

Just as he had been watching her, she had been watching him.

Damien Falon, sixth earl of Falon, propped one wide shoulder against a rough brick wall of the town house. He had made it a point to discover the balls and soirees, house parties and musicales the young woman would be attending. The Season had begun, and the fashionable elite had arrived in LondonAlexa Garrick among them.

He assessed her now, dancing a roundel, her pretty face flushed with exertion, fiery auburn hair shimmering softly beside her cheeks, then she and her partner left the dance floor. He was a thin man, the young Duke of Roxbury, but there was a presence about him, and he was obviously enchanted by the lady at his side. He pressed her for another dance, but Alexa shook her head. The duke bowed somewhat stiffly and left her near the door.

Damien raised the snifter he cradled in a dark, long-fingered hand and took a sip of his brandy. She was walking toward the terrace, tall and regal, looking neither right nor left, making her way through the French doors. Careful to avoid the place where he stood in the shadows, she crossed the terrace and paused at the opposite end, her gaze going out to the garden. The faint glow of torches lit the manicured oyster-shell paths, and moonlight glistened on bubbling fountains of water.

Smiling faintly, Damien set his brandy glass down on a small ornate pedestal and made his way across the brickwork to the woman at the opposite end.

She turned at his approach and something flickered in her eyes. He couldn't decide if it was interestor anger. It didn't really matter. Already he had achieved his first objective.

"Good evening Alexa."

Surprise flared in her clear, green eyes, which ran over his black tailcoat and white cravat, taking in the fashionable cut, the impeccable fit, seeming to approve, though the use of her name had caught her a little off guard.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I don't believe we have been introduced."

"We haven't. But I know who you are and I think you know who I am."

Her head came up a fraction. She wasn't accustomed to a man who challenged her. It was the key, he had discovered, the way to intrigue the lady, to capture her attention and lure her into his web.

"You're Falon." Her tone said she had heard the stories about him, most of which were true. Still, it was obvious she had no idea who he really was.

"Damien," he corrected, moving closer. Another woman might have walked away. He was betting Alexa would not.

"You've been watching me. I noticed you last week and the week before that. What is it that you want?"

"Nothing every other man here doesn't want. You're a beautiful woman, Alexa." He stood close enough to smell her perfume, the soft scent of lilac, to catch the hint of uncertainty in the depths of her pretty green eyes. "The truth is, you intrigue me. That hasn't happened to me in a very long time."

She said nothing for a moment. "I'm sorry, Lord Falon, I don't know what it is you expect of me, but I assure you it isn't worth all of this trouble."

A corner of his mouth curved up. "No? Perhaps it will be if you let it."

She stared at him, wary, yet her interest had been piqued. She glanced out into the shadows and nervously moistened her lips. "I-It's late," she said with a slight hesitation. "They'll be looking for me soon. I had better be going back in."

He could ruffle her a little. Good. From what he had observed, it wasn't that easy to do. "Why would you want to go in when it's far more pleasant out here?"

She stiffened a bit, throwing the lines of her face into shadow. "And far more dangerous, I should think. I know who you are, Lord Falon. I know you're a rogue with a despicable reputation. I know you're a rake of the very worst sort."

He smiled. "So you've been asking about me. I suppose that's a start." A delicate indentation marked her chin, he saw, as she thrust it forward.

"You flatter yourself, my lord."

"What else have you heard?"

"Not much. You're hardly a favorite topic of dinner conversation."

"But the consensus is that I'm off limits to innocent young girls."

"You're very well aware that it is."

"You don't think a man like me could change?"

Her eyes surveyed his face. There was nothing timid in that look, nothing shy or demure. He hadn't expected there would be.

"I didn't say that. How could I? My brother was an even worse rogue than youif that's possible. Now he's a happily married man."

"So you see, there's hope for me yet."

Again she said nothing, sizing him up, studying him from beneath her thick, dark lashes. "I really have to go." She turned and started walking.

"Will you be at the soiree at Lady Bingham's on Saturday?"

She paused but did not turn. Beneath the torches her burnished red hair blazed brighter than the flickering flames. "I'll be there," she said, and then she was gone.

Damien smiled into the darkness, but his hands balled into fists. How easily she could make a man's blood heat up, his loins grow thick and heavy. Half the young bucks in London had begged for her hand, but she had refused them. Instead she merely toyed with their affections, leading them on, flirting outrageously, moving from one poor besotted fool to the next.

A dozen had offered her marriage.

She should have accepted when she had the chance.

"Alexa! We've been looking all over. Where on earth have you been?" Lady Jane Thornhill, a small, round-faced girl of two and twenty walked toward her. Gowned in a tunic dress of aqua silk ornately embroidered in gold, Jane was the daughter of the Duke of Dandridge. She was also Alexa's best friend.