Page 3 of Enticing the Devil

A chill swept down her spine. And for a sharp, breathless moment, Anne was lost.

Her mind went utterly blank. Her nerves sparked. And her belly twisted in the oddest manner.

As he waited for her response, he cast a glance over her shoulder to the stone wall stretching behind her, then to the spot of grass that had been flattened where she’d sat for so long. His dark brows lowered even further.

Heat flooded her body. He knew she’d overheard every bit of his rendezvous with Lady Mayhew.

His focus returned to her. If possible, his eyes appeared even blacker. His glare, heavier. “Do you intend to take it or not?”

Anne blinked. Then glanced down to the paintbrush still held in his fingers.

“Oh. Yes.” Quickly swiping the brush from his hand, she stuffed it into the deep pocket of her skirt. “Thank you,” she added in an embarrassingly breathless murmur, but Mr. Thomas was already walking away with a long, purposeful stride.

Disoriented and disturbed by the encounter, Anne could only stare at his broad back until he turned and disappeared around a row of tall hedges.

Chapter Two

Beynon glanced over the drawing room occupants with a swift tightening of the muscles banding his chest. The Earl and Countess of Harte’s guests, numbering more than two dozen, gathered in little groups to chat and gossip and flirt. The gentlemen had just rejoined the ladies following their after-dinner port and a few introductions were taking place, but for the most part, it appeared as though everyone was already acquainted.

As the August heat had begun to make London unbearable, residents of town had escaped en masse to the open spaces and fresh air of country estates for extended visits. Going along had sounded like a welcome reprieve. But it was only the first full day of the summer house party and Beynon was already regretting his decision to attend.

He should have just gone back to Wales for the summer.

No. He’d committed to a lengthy visit with his newly discovered siblings. He wouldn’t go back on his word. His little sister, Caillie, would give him hell if he dared even suggest it.

But he’d come to England to become better acquainted with his brothers and sister, not to engage in pointless socializing. Caillie, though in attendance at the party, was unfortunately too young at only thirteen to participate in the evening activities. A shame because, between her and his older brothers, she was by far his favorite.

He turned a dark glance to the corner of the room where the current Earl of Wright, his oldest brother, Colin, sat with his wife. Ainsworth had been Caillie’s guardian up until two years ago when Colin had brought them both from their home in the Scottish Lowlands to stay with him in London. It was difficult to understand how two people as different as Colin and Ainsworth could get on so well together, but they’d apparently found ground common enough to marry and appeared happy for it.

His other brother, Roderick Bentley, stood not far away talking with their host, Lord Harte. Their wives, who were sisters, sat on a nearby sofa chatting with a large group of ladies. Beynon’s scowling gaze slid over the gathering of pastel frocks, fancy coiffures, and bright, smiling faces. The obvious wealth and frivolity pricked at his nerves. He couldn’t imagine any of the young women present—or the gentlemen, for that matter—lasting a moment in the world he was from. And yet, his brothers seemed to think he should use the party to seek out a bride.

Beynon’s snort of derision was curbed only by the fact that, at that moment, his focus happened to fall upon the pale-haired woman from the garden. He instantly stiffened. He hadn’t noticed her at dinner—no doubt she’d been seated some distance from him at the enormous table—but as he looked at her now, he couldn’t help but feel a swift return of his vexation from that morning.

It had been bad enough that his morning walk had concluded in a frustrating encounter with a female who refused to acknowledge his rejection. But that some insipid young debutante had overheard the whole thing chafed at the bit of dignity he’d managed to retain since joining London’s social scene.

He’d initially been grateful for the eavesdropping blonde’s clumsiness since it succeeded in freeing him from Lady Mayhew’s grasp. But when he’d helped the young woman to her feet, her wide eyes had darted over his person like those of a frightened rabbit. Fascination and fear had swirled in her blue eyes and he’d felt her discomfort like a gut punch.

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