Tap tap. Tap tap. “Even that is possible, old, plain, opinionated, tossed-over Felicity Faircloth. This is the bit in the storybook where the princess receives everything she’s ever wished for.”
Except it wasn’t a storybook. And this man couldn’t give her what she wished for. “That bit typically begins with a fairy of some sort. And you do not seem at all spritely.”
A low rumble of a laugh. “There, you are right. But there are creatures other than fairies who dabble in similar trade.”
Her heart resumed its pounding, and she hated the wild hope there, that this strange man in the darkness could deliver on his impossible promise.
It was madness, but she advanced upon him, bringing him into the light once more, moving closer and closer, until she stood at the end of his impossibly long legs, at the end of his impossibly long walking stick, and lifted her candle to reveal his impossibly handsome face once more.
This time, however, she could see the whole of it, and the perfect left side did not match the right, where a harsh, wicked scar marked him from temple to jaw, puckered and white.
When she inhaled sharply, he turned his head from the light. “A pity. I was looking forward to the set-down you appeared ready to deliver. I didn’t think you would be so easily put off.”
“Oh, I am not put off at all. Indeed, I’m grateful that you are no longer the most perfect man I’ve ever seen.”
He turned back, dark gaze finding hers. “Grateful?”
“Indeed. I’ve never quite understood what one does with exceedingly perfect men.”
A brow rose. “What one does with them.”
“Besides the obvious.”
He tilted his head. “The obvious.”
“Looking at them.”
“Ah,” he said.
“At any rate, I now feel far more comfortable.”
“Because I’m no longer perfect?”
“You’re still terribly close to it, but you’re no longer the handsomest man I’ve ever seen,” she lied.
“I feel as though I should be insulted, but I shall get past that. Out of curiosity, who has usurped my throne?”
No one. If anything, the scar makes you more handsome.
But this was not the kind of man one said that to. “Technically, he had the throne before you. He’s simply reclaimed it.”
“I’ll thank you for a name, Lady Felicity.”
“What did you call him before? My moth?”
He went utterly still for a moment—not long enough for an ordinary person to notice.
Felicity noticed. “I thought you would have expected it,” she said, her tone scoffing. “What with your offer to win him for me.”
“The offer still stands, though I don’t find the duke handsome. At all.”
“We needn’t debate the point. The man is empirically attractive.”
“Mmm,” he said, seemingly unconvinced. “Tell me why you lied.”
“Tell me why you’re so willing to help me fix it.”
He held her gaze for a long moment. “Would you believe I am a Good Samaritan?”
“No. Why were you outside Marwick’s ball? What is he to you?”
He lifted one shoulder. Let it drop. “Tell me why you don’t think he’d be thrilled to find himself affianced to you.”
She smirked. “First, he hasn’t any idea who I am.”
One side of his mouth twitched, and she wondered what it would be like to receive the full force of his smile.
Putting the wild thought to the side, she added, “And, as I said, exceedingly handsome men have no use for me.”
“That’s not what you said,” the man answered. “You said you weren’t sure of the use for exceedingly handsome men.”
She thought for a moment. “Both statements are true.”
“Why would you think Marwick would have no use for you?”
She frowned. “I should think that would be obvious.”
“It’s not.”
She resisted the question, crossing her arms as if to protect herself. “It’s rude of you to ask.”
“It’s rude of me to climb your trellis and invade your quarters, too.”
“So it is.” And then, for a reason she would never fully understand, she answered his question. Letting frustration and worry and a very real sense of impending doom pour over her. “Because I’m the epitome of ordinary. Because I’m not beautiful, or diverting, or a stellar conversationalist. And though I once thought it impossible to believe I’d land myself an aging spinster, here we are, and no one has ever really wanted me. And I don’t expect that to start now, with a handsome duke.”
He was silent for a long moment, her embarrassment raging.
“Please leave,” she added.
“You seem to be fairly stellar at conversation with me.”
She ignored the fact that he hadn’t disagreed with her other assessments. “You’re a stranger in the darkness. Everything is easier in the dark.”
“Nothing is easier in the dark,” he said. “But that’s irrelevant. You’re wrong, and that’s why I’m here.”
“To convince me that I’m good at conversation?”
Teeth flashed and he stood, filling the room with his height. Felicity’s nerves thrummed as she considered the shape of him, beautifully long, with a hint of broad shoulders and lean hips.
“I came to give you what you want, Felicity Faircloth.”
The promise in his whisper coursed through her. Was it fear she felt? Or something else? She shook her head. “You can’t, though. No one can.”
“You want the flame,” he said softly.
She shook her head. “I don’t.”
“Of course you do. But it’s not all you want, is it?” He took a step closer to her, and she could smell him, warm and smoky, as though he’d come from somewhere forbidden. “You want all of it. The world, the man, the money, the power. And something else, as well.” He came closer still, towering over her, his warmth flooding her, heady and tempting. “Something more.” His words became a whisper. “Something secret.”
She hesitated, hating that he seemed to know her, this stranger.
Hating that she wanted to reply. Hating that she did. “More than I can have.”
“And who told you that, my lady? Who told you you could not have it all?”
Her gaze fell to his hand, where the silver handle of his walking stick tucked between his large, strong fingers, the silver ring on his index finger glinting up at her. She studied the pattern of the metal, trying to discern the shape on the cane. After what seemed like an age, she looked to him. “Have you a name?”
“Devil.”
Her heart raced at the word, which seemed somehow completely ridiculous and utterly perfect. “That’s not your real name.”
“It’s strange, how we put such value on names, don’t you think, Felicity Faircloth? Call me whatever you like, but I am a man who can give you all of it. Everything you wish.”
She didn’t believe him. Obviously. Not at all. “Why me?”
He reached for her then, and she knew she should have stepped back. She knew she shouldn’t have let him touch her, not when his fingers ran down her left cheek, leaving fire in their wake, as though he were leaving his scar upon her, a mark of his presence.
But the burn of his touch was nothing like pain. Especially not when he replied, “Why not you?”
Why not her? Why shouldn’t she have what she wanted? Why shouldn’t she make a deal with this devil, who had appeared from nowhere and would soon be gone?
“I want not to have lied,” she said.
“I cannot change the past. Only the future. But I can make good on your promise.”
“Spin straw into gold?”
“Ah, so we are in a storybook, after all.”
He made it all sound so easy—so possible, as though he might work a miracle in the night without any effort at all.