The Devil's Own Read online

  Table of Contents

  Content Warning

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Discover more Amara titles… To Tempt a Scandalous Lord

  The Bachelor Bargain

  The Virgin and the Viscount

  The Spinster and the Rake

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2021 by Liana LeFey. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  10940 S Parker Rd

  Suite 327

  Parker, CO 80134

  [email protected]

  Amara is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Lydia Sharp and Erin Molta

  Cover design by LJ Anderson/Mayhem Cover Creations

  Cover photography by Period Images and mammuth/Getty Images

  ISBN 978-1-64937-000-6

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition June 2021

  Content Warning

  The Devil’s Own is a fun historical romance full of secrets and seduction. However, there are scenes depicting the consumption of alcohol and drunkenness, and scenes that include explicit sex, so readers who may be sensitive to these elements, please take note.

  For Sonia. I don’t know how I would have gotten through the last several years without you, chica. You’ve kept me sane. Mostly. ;-)

  Prologue

  Berkshire, England 1811

  It was perfectly acceptable to stare at the man she’d selected to become her husband. After all, wasn’t she supposed to pay attention when the vicar spoke? Close attention, according to her mother. But, though Reverend Wayward spoke with his usual calm authority on matters moral this morning, the words failed to register with Mary. She heard nothing of his praise of self-discipline or his admonishment to resist temptation.

  That was, perhaps, because temptation had already taken full possession of her.

  Her palms itched to touch the high cheekbones and shadowed planes of his strong jaw. Her fingers longed to trace the dimple at the corner of his mouth and the cleft in his chin, to learn the texture of his hair. Thick, wavy, and so dark as to appear coal black in all but the brightest sunlight—would it be as soft as it looked?

  The good reverend’s features were painted on the canvas of Mary’s mind in the most carefully detailed strokes, right down to the exact color of his eyes, which recalled the deep blue larkspur growing in her garden. But it was more than his fine form and countenance that drew her. In the five months since her family’s arrival in Harper’s Grove, she’d watched the reverend closely enough to deem him a man of both good breeding and excellent character.

  Unlike the last man I thought to marry. Her stomach knotted at the memory of how close she’d come to disaster, lured to the very brink of ruination by a handsome face and false promises. Never again.

  Unfortunately, she wasn’t the reverend’s only admirer. No female with a beating heart could think him anything but attractive, and every unwed woman in the village doubtless imagined herself as his wife. But, like her, they’d been unsuccessful in capturing his attention. The man was, to the frustration of all, charmingly oblivious to flirtation.

  Glancing at her friend, Augusta, whose head was bowed over her hymnal, she revised her assertion concerning females with beating hearts. Augie was in love with the unimpressive Mr. May, whose raucous laughter and vaguely suggestive jokes detracted—at least in Mary’s opinion—from his rough good looks. She much preferred Reverend Wayward’s gentle manners and soft speech.

  Her eyes fixed once more on the man behind the pulpit as someone’s baby cooed loudly, interrupting his recitation. A tender smile broke across his face, and longing tightened Mary’s chest. What a fine husband and father he’ll make! Once more, she closed her eyes, committing the sight to memory for later recall.

  An elbow dug into her shoulder, and Mary, opening her eyes, realized that everyone else was rising. Mortified, she did likewise and turned the page in her hymnal to match that of the one in Augie’s hand.

  Drawing a deep breath, she added her soprano to the chorus, deliberately singing in harmony with the vicar’s smooth baritone. But though years of vocal lessons and rigorous daily practice ensured her voice made the sweetest counterpart, he spared her not the smallest glance.

  There must be a way to make him see me!

  Chapter One

  London, England 1811

  “Bloody hell, that was too damned close.” Lord Devlin Wayward pinched the bridge of his nose and fought down panic as he leaned against the door of his office. For the first time in years, he prayed—that St. Peters would leave quickly and take his daughter, who’d just tried to pretend she was a barnacle and he the hull of a ship.

  Olivia St. Peters, the unwed daughter of his prospective new business partner, was a cunning little vixen, make no mistake. The bloodhound had waited until her father was well occupied before seeking out her quarry today. Had it not been for the timely intrusion of Hensley, Devlin knew he’d be in serious trouble right now. Hensley would be receiving a hefty raise for coming to his rescue before anything disastrous could happen and for keeping his mouth shut.

  Annoyance made him let out a long sigh as—once he was certain it was safe—he made his way down to his carriage. Trust the nouveau riche to know no better than to bring an unwed female to a gentlemen’s club.

  Even if it had been closed, it was still highly inappropriate. Had her mother been alive, she’d never have permitted it. If only he didn’t need this deal so bloody badly in order to keep up with the competition, he’d have said something to that effect.

  St. Peters was so determined to emulate his betters, and yet so ignorant of the refinements that distinguished them as such. One could buy one’s way into the upper echelons of Society—money was always welcome—but no amount of gold could make a sow’s ear into a silk purse. Or the motherless daughter of a privateer into a lady.

  Devlin knew partnering with St. Peters to expand his empire was a risk, but risk was his specialty. For all St. Peters’s rough background, the man was highly successful at what he did. Devlin was confident it would pay off well in the end and that together they’d run out the competition and make London their oyster.

  Sudden weariness assaulted him as he boarded his carriage and settled back against the squabs to watch London’s filth pass by his window. I have to get away from here—at least for a little while. But where to go? Bath held no appeal. Frankly, there just wasn’t anywhere for a man like him but London.

  The sting of freezing rain greeted him when he finally disembarked. It really is a grim business here in winter. Inside was much better. Warm and dry once more, he sipped a brandy b
efore the fire and sorted through the day’s post. Letters from solicitors and clients were laid aside in favor of the expected missive bearing his twin brother’s familiar scrawl.

  A grin broke across his face as he scanned the cramped lines. Daniel was always full of what he considered “news” about Harper’s Grove, the quiet village in which he served as vicar. Skipping down, Devlin looked for items of greater interest.

  Ah. Here we are…

  David, who’d inherited the dukedom after their eldest brother Drake’s untimely death, was apparently unhappy with how their family had been torn apart by Devlin’s disownment, and wanted the family made whole again.

  Father had never forgiven him for rejecting an honest life as a clergyman in favor of becoming a rake, and Drake, who’d supported his removal from the family tree, had refused to rescind his banishment upon assuming the title. Now that both were gone, however, David was inviting everyone, including Devlin, to join him at Winterbourne to celebrate the Christmas season together.

  The thought of seeing his siblings outside of a funeral setting elicited a wave of longing.

  All the “Ds” gathered in one place again… A fond smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he privately blessed his sporting ancestor for honoring the ridiculous wager that had resulted in their Christian names all beginning with the letter. Not only had it pleased a king enough to bring their family into the highest circle of Society, but being required to observe the odd tradition had annoyed the hell out of Father.

  Winterbourne. Deep inside, Devlin felt the pull of his childhood home. The gentle green hills and quiet villages of Berkshire were a far cry from London’s ever-present soot and noise.

  His head snapped up. Of course! Letting out a bark of laughter, he rose and strode over to his writing desk. Enthusiasm rendered his writing somewhat less tidy than his usual elegant script as he penned acceptance, but no matter. Sanding the parchment, he laid it on the blotter to dry, satisfied. He’d send it off first thing in the morning, and by this time next week he’d be on his way.

  He’d stay a month. Just one short month during which he’d strategize and revitalize. It would be a welcome respite, by the end of which he’d doubtless be dying to get back to London. And if David couldn’t tolerate him that long, Saint Danny would certainly put him up at the rectory.

  St. Peters could manage the clubs while he was away. He’d call it a trial period. If he did well, they’d enter into a formal partnership upon Devlin’s return. And with any luck, he’d come back to find Miss St. Peters in pursuit of some other poor sod. A month apart would surely be long enough for her interest in him to wane.

  Out of sight, out of mind.

  Raising his glass of brandy, he offered himself a silent toast. Yes. He would leave behind his highly profitable gaming hells, along with London’s numerous other delights and diversions, and visit dull little Harper’s Grove. And he’d enjoy every bloody minute of peace and quiet.

  “Hell,” he chuckled to himself. “I may just stay at Winterbourne until Easter.”

  …

  Snow had just begun to fall as the coach rounded the final curve and Winterbourne was revealed. Devlin was surprised to find himself so eager for the sight of his boyhood home. Memories flooded back, mostly good, a few not. But he felt joy at the prospect of being once more in the embrace of his large and betimes boisterous family.

  He allowed himself a regretful sigh. For all that his eldest brother had been a prudish pain in the arse, he’d be missed. Drake must be rolling in his grave over me being welcomed back into the fold. In all truth, he’d probably just rolled back to his original position. The first roll had no doubt occurred when David had inherited the dukedom.

  The thought made him grin in spite of his melancholy. David, once the forgotten “spare,” had spent most of his young adult life as the sort of man Devlin was now, only worse: he’d been an artist. Even so, almost the moment he’d inherited, his brother had undergone a drastic transformation, shouldering the responsibilities of the dukedom with alarming ease. Part of this he attributed to David being married.

  Women—or wives, rather—seemed to have that sort of effect on men. A grimace pulled at his mouth. I won’t be so easy to tame.

  Unwilling to wait for the driver to come around when the coach stopped, he opened his own door. The smell of home assailed him, and he closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. Sounds of the driver pulling down luggage intruded, ending his reverie, and Devlin busied himself with gathering his things from the coach’s interior.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” drawled a sardonic voice behind him. “The prodigal has returned.”

  Turning, Devlin grinned and clasped arms with his older sibling, Lord Dean Wayward. “It’s been too long,” he laughed, concealing his shock at the sight of the silver strands peeking out from his brother’s dark hair.

  “It did not have to be,” grumbled Dean, giving him a meaningful look.

  Devlin felt his eyes begin to burn. He truly hadn’t expected such a warm greeting. Slapping Dean’s shoulder, he turned to look up at the house. “But where is my hoyden of a half sister? I’m surprised she did not come running out to meet the carriage.”

  “Diana did not know you were coming.”

  A frown pulled at his mouth. “I wrote ahead.”

  “Daniel wanted to tell her, but her mother made us promise to keep it a secret in—”

  “In case I decided not to show,” Devlin finished flatly.

  Dean’s face remained impassive. “We did not wish to raise her expectations.”

  It stung, but Devlin knew he’d been right to keep it from her. “In your place, I suppose I’d have done the same.”

  “She’s missed you terribly,” his brother went on. “Daniel tries to make up for your absence, but you were always closer to her than any of us. It’s been hard on her. She has few friends out here where Society is so limited.”

  Guilt assaulted him. According to Daniel, their sister had been devastated when he’d left. His letters to her had been sparse, though in all fairness, what could someone like him discuss with a gently raised young lady of delicate sensibilities? He’d been lucky to have enough benign material to fill half a page once every few months. “She’ll make plenty of friends when she goes to London to find a husband,” he murmured.

  Dean made a noise of disgust and glared pointedly. “She’d be better off marrying someone from around here, but the Dowager insists on what she calls a ‘proper’ Season.”

  “Now, now.” Devlin laughed. “They’re not all devils like me in the big city.”

  His brother’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “No one is like you. Not even David at his worst.”

  “Where is David, by the bye?” It boded ill that the new head of their family hadn’t even come to greet him upon his arrival.

  “Settling a farmers’ dispute. He should return soon.” He waved, and Devlin turned to see a groom leading a horse toward them. “In the meantime, I’ve been sent on an errand to see if the pond has frozen—Diana wants to go skating.” He clapped Devlin on the shoulder. “Go on in. We’ll catch up later.”

  Devlin turned toward the house to see Daniel coming down the stairs, face alight with a bright, guileless smile as he rushed to close the gap between them. Despite having his rib cage nearly cracked by his twin’s surprisingly strong embrace, he managed to laugh. “Damn, but it’s good to see you!” he wheezed, thumping Daniel’s back.

  His brother pulled away and looked him square in the face with all sobriety. “Goodness, what a handsome devil you are.”

  It was an old joke, but one Devlin never tired of. “As are you—even in these widow’s weeds,” he teased, referring to the long, black cassock his brother wore.

  Daniel didn’t even try to hide his joyful tears as he laughed. “Come, Diana will murder us where we stand if she finds out you’re here and I�
��ve kept you from her.”

  Devlin’s head felt strangely light as he followed his twin. It was surreal, walking these halls again after being forbidden entry for so long. Soft, feminine voices reached him as they approached the salon. How many times had he and Daniel slipped down this very hall on cats’ feet to eavesdrop or play naughty pranks on their elders?

  He wasn’t the only one remembering those times, it seemed—as they neared the doorway, Daniel hung back and waved him ahead.

  Grinning, Devlin strode in, picked up a book, and sat down without comment. The ladies glanced at him, but their conversation suffered no pause. Her Grace the Duchess of Winterbourne—Evangeline—was nattering on about raising funds for some charity while young Lady Diana poured tea for her mama, the Dowager Duchess of Winterbourne. He pretended to read, surreptitiously filling his eyes with the sight of them.

  “You changed clothes,” remarked his half sister at last. “Are you planning to go riding later?”

  Looking at her over the top of the book, he uttered a noncommittal grunt.

  She frowned. “Don’t make pig noises at me.” When he failed to acknowledge her, she squinted at him suspiciously. “You were in high spirits not an hour ago. What happened to alter your mood?”

  Before he could answer, Daniel said from out in the hall, “The long, cold ride from London, I expect.”

  Eyebrows flew skyward as Daniel poked his head in, and then complete chaos followed as both women rose and assaulted Devlin with a barrage of happy exclamations and insincere admonishments.

  Diana shook a finger at him, but her scolding was tempered by a broad smile. “You’re as rotten as ever!” She turned to purse her lips at Daniel. “I would have thought you more mature, at least.”

  Devlin submitted to her embrace and to having his cheek kissed first by her and then by his sister-in-law and stepmother. Part of him squirmed with discomfort over all this feminine fuss, but another part of him took great comfort in the fact that he was being welcomed rather than rejected. Mingled with this was a sharp pang of regret that he hadn’t come back sooner.