Page 86 of A Deal with the Devil

She might not know it yet, but she had just welcomed him into her life in a way that had nothing to do with stolen wagers or pretend betrothals or her sister. In a way he had not realized he needed until he had it. And now he would not give it back.

She had given ground to him, and he would not lose it.

“Get your things,” he said softly. “You’re not staying here.”

“I live here.”

“She’s not staying here.” Devil raised his voice, turning to spear the baron and his sister as they scurried down the hall.

“You can’t just take her,” Kitty’s aunt blustered. “It’s not done.”

“Why not?” Kitty asked quietly. “You tried to do it to Evie.”

“Don’t be so stupid. You—”

“I told you not to speak to her that way.” Devil interrupted coldly. He was through with warnings. “It would be a shame if Society’s doors all closed to you. Every one.”

Priscilla’s mouth worked like a fish. She nudged her brother, but everyone in London knew the baron was a weak man, never mind everyone in this particular house.

“Kitty will be staying with me from now on.”

“But the gossip…”

“I have a chaperone in Mrs. Dimitriou, as well as my brother in residence. I will invite as many guests as make Kitty comfortable. But she’s not staying here with you two for one more night. You’ll have to make your own supper.”

The baron gave a start, as if that was something so very difficult to figure out. “Kitty is a fine girl. She does her duty.”

“Yes, and it’s time you did yours.”

“She—”

“Should anyone ask, you will be enthusiastic in your support of our betrothal. Am I being understood?” Devil paused. “I know exactly what you owe, and to whom.”

The baron blinked, hovering between selfishness and fatherhood. “As to that, Birmingham, perhaps you could talk to that hell on the Strand for me? I only owe a—”

“Father, please.” Kitty closed her eyes with barely concealed mortification. Something else glinted in them when she lifted her lids: hurt, anger, sorrow.

Devil hated it.

“The money you stole from my shop today should be enough to buy food for the week.”

Devil thought he had felt all the variations of anger there were to be felt. If not in the last hour, then certainly in the last decade. Napoleon, the ineptitude of officers in the army who did not care for their own men. His brother dragging himself home with blood in his mouth.

Someone trying to shove Kitty into a carriage. The brittle way she had smiled earlier this evening; the way she held herself as though she were full of needles and knives. Because of her father.

“You stole from her?” Devil asked evenly. So evenly that everyone flinched.

“I…” the baron blustered. “She’s my daughter. She should—”

“You’re right.” Devil cut him off, because if the man said anything else, he might actually murder Kitty’s own father right in front of her. “She’s your daughter.”

“I have every right—”

“For God’s sake, Francis,” Priscilla snapped. “Shut your mouth.”

“Excellent advice,” Devil said. “I suggest you take it. Immediately.” He glanced at Kitty, her damp hair curling around her wide gray eyes. “Evie’s not here,” Devil murmured to her. “You don’t have to protect her from them. Not tonight.”

He saw the moment Kitty realized it, the real moment it dawned on her. Some battles were not worth fighting when you had too many other fronts to protect.