It was madness, of course. He could not change what she’d said. The lie she’d told, bigger than all of them. Doors had closed all around her earlier that evening, locking her out of every conceivable path. Shutting out her future. The future of her family. Arthur’s helplessness flashed. Her mother’s desperation. Their twin resignation. Unpickable locks.
And now, this man . . . brandishing a key.
“You can make it true.”
His hand turned, the heat of him against her cheek, along her jaw, and for a fleeting moment he was a fairy king. She was in his thrall. “The engagement is easy. But that isn’t all you wish, is it?”
How did he know?
His touch spread fire down the column of her throat, fingers kissing the swell of her shoulder. “Tell me the rest, Felicity Faircloth. What else does the princess in the tower desire? The world at her feet, and her family rich once more, and . . .”
The words trailed off, filling the room until her reply burst from her. “I want him to be the moth.” He lifted his hand from her skin, and the loss was keen. “I wish to be the flame.”
He nodded, his lips curling like sin, his colorless eyes dark in the shadows, and she wondered if she would feel less in his thrall if she could see their color. “You wish to tempt him to you.”
A memory flared, a husband, desperate for his wife. A man, desperate for his love. A passion that could not be denied, all for a woman who held every inch of power. “I do.”
“Be careful with temptation, my lady. It is a dangerous proposition.”
“You make it sound as though you’ve experienced it as such.”
“That’s because I have.”
“Your barberess?” Was the woman his wife? His mistress? His love? Why did Felicity care?
“Passion cuts both ways.”
“It needn’t,” she said, feeling suddenly, keenly, strangely comfortable with this man whom she did not know. “I hope to eventually love my husband, but I needn’t be consumed by him.”
“You wish to do the consuming.”
She wished to be wanted. Beyond reason. She wished to be ached for.
“You wish for him to fly into your flame.”
Impossible.
She answered him. “When you are ignored by the stars, you wonder if you might ever burn bright.” Immediately embarrassed by the words, Felicity turned away, breaking the spell. Cleared her throat. “It does not matter. You cannot change the past. You cannot erase my lie and make it truth. You cannot make him want me. Not even if you were the devil. It’s impossible.”
“Poor Felicity Faircloth, so concerned about what is impossible.”
“It was a lie,” she said. “I’ve never even met the duke.”
“And here is truth . . . the Duke of Marwick shan’t deny your claim.”
Impossible. And yet, there was a tiny part of her that hoped he was right. If that, she might be able to save them all. “How?”
He smirked. “Devil’s magic.”
She raised a brow. “If you can make it so, sir, you will have earned your silly name.”
“Most people find my name unsettling.”
“I am not most people.”
“That much, Felicity Faircloth, is true.”
She did not like the warmth that spread through her at the words, and so she ignored it. “And you would do it out of the goodness of your heart? Forgive me if I do not believe that, Devil.”
He inclined his head. “Of course not. There’s nothing good about my heart. When it is done, and you have won him, heart and mind, I shall come and collect my fee.”
“I suppose this is the part where you tell me the fee is my firstborn child?”
He laughed at that. Low and secret, like she’d said something more amusing than she’d realized. And then, “What would I do with a mewling babe?”
Her lips twitched at that. “I haven’t anything to give you.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “You undersell yourself, Felicity Faircloth.”
“My family hasn’t any money to give,” she said. “You said so yourself.”
“If they did, you would not be in this predicament, would you?”
She scowled at his matter-of-fact assessment. At the helplessness that flared with the words. “How do you know it?”
“That Earl Grout and the Marquess of Bumble have lost a fortune? Darling, all of London knows that. Even those of us who aren’t invited to Marwick’s balls.”
She scowled. “I didn’t know.”
“Not until they needed you to.”
“Not even then,” she grumbled. “Not until I could do nothing to help.”
He tapped his walking stick twice on the floor. “I am here, am I not?”
She narrowed her gaze on him. “For a price.”
“Everything has a price, darling.”
“And I assume you already know yours.”
“I do, as a matter of fact.”
“What is it?”
He smiled, the expression wicked. “Telling you that would remove the fun.”
A tingle spread through her, across her shoulders and down her spine, warm and exciting. And terrifying and hopeful. What price her family, comfortable in their security? What price her reputation as an oddity, yes, but never a liar?
And what price a husband with no knowledge of her past?
Why not deal with this devil?
An answer whispered through her, a promise of something dangerous. And still, temptation thundered through her. But first, assurance.
“If I accept . . .”
That smirk again, as though he were a cat with a canary.
“If I accept,” she repeated with a scowl. “He shan’t deny the engagement?”
The devil inclined his head. “No one will ever know of your fabrication, Felicity.”
“And he shall want me?”
“Like air,” he said, the words a lovely promise.
It wasn’t possible. The man was not the devil. And even if he were, not even God could erase the events of the evening and make the Duke of Marwick marry her.
But what if he could?
Bargains cut both ways, and this man did seem more exciting than most.
Perhaps in the loss of the impossible passion he promised her, she could win something else. She met his gaze. “And if you cannot do it? Do I collect a favor from you?”
He was silent, and then, “Are you certain you wish a favor from the Devil?”
“It seems that would be a far more useful favor than one from someone who is perfectly good all the time,” she pointed out.
The brow above his scar rose in amusement. “Fair enough. If I fail, you may claim a favor from me.”
She nodded and extended her hand for a proper handshake, one she regretted the moment his large hand slid into hers. It was warm and big, rough at the palm in a way that evoked work far beyond anything polite gentlemen performed.
It was delicious, and she released him immediately.
“You should not have agreed,” he added.
“Why not?”
“Because nothing good comes from deals made in the dark.” He reached into his pocket and brandished a calling card. “I shall see you two nights hence, unless you require me beforehand.” He dropped the card to the little table next to the chair Felicity thought she might think of as his for the rest of time now. “Lock this door behind me. You wouldn’t want a nefarious character coming in while you are asleep.”
“Locks didn’t keep the first nefarious character out of my room tonight.”
One side of his mouth kicked up. “You’re not the only lockpick in London, love.”
She blushed as he tipped his hat and exited through the balcony doors before she could deny her lockpicking, his silver cane flashing in the moonlight.