Devil Takes A Bride by Gaelen Foley

bottle back to his valet.
    With a look of amusement, Ben put it away, closing the traveling box and flipping the brass latches once more. Then he took out a neatly pressed square of white muslin and began the intricate process of folding it for Dev’s cravat.
    â€œObaldeston,” Dev ordered. The knot style was his aunt’s favorite.
    He bent slightly as Ben slipped the prepared cloth around his neck. Dev studied the white plaster ceiling as his valet worked his careful magic, then shook his head to himself, plagued by the memory of lucid gray eyes and soft charcoal lashes. What a maddening creature she was!
    Most women blushed and fluttered and flipped their hair around him, but this one took dead aim at him with her frank, cool gaze and hit him right between the eyes with a wallop of honesty that he was in no mood to hear. Who did she think she was to judge him, to manipulate him, to heap him in guilt—even if he deserved it?
    He quite believed he was still in shock.
Nobody
treated Devil Strathmore that way. “Where did she come from, that she must now plague me?” he wondered aloud as Ben finished tying the cravat and handed him his light-blue silk waistcoat. He slipped it on. “What the hell does she want?”
    â€œMerely to teach you a lesson, I think.”
    â€œA lesson, eh?” He sauntered away, buttoning his waistcoat and cuff links in front of the mirror. “Perhaps it’s time I taught her a thing or two.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Ben asked uneasily, holding up Dev’s black tailcoat for him.
    â€œNobody makes a fool out of me. And I’ll tell you another thing.” He slipped his arm into the impeccably cut garment. “This little schemer has just thrown down the gauntlet to a foe she should have known better than to challenge.” Pulling on the formal evening jacket, Dev inspected himself in the mirror.
    â€œYou intend to have her dismissed?” Ben eyed him warily.
    â€œNo.” Dev shook his head. “She serves her purpose here. Even I can see that. She takes good care of my aunt.” With this begrudging acknowledgment, he considered for a moment. “No, this is between Lizzie Carlisle and me.”
    â€œWhat do you mean to do to the girl?”
    Dev’s eyes gleamed in the reflection as he ran his hand over his still-damp hair, smoothing it. “She is rather a tasty little thing.”
    â€œSir!” Ben breathed. “You mustn’t!”
    Dev turned elegantly to him, feigning innocence. “Hm?”
    â€œOh, no. I know that look. You leave her alone!” Ben took a step toward him. “She’s just a young lady. She meant no harm!”
    â€œNeither do I.” Dev smiled cynically and turned back to the mirror, making a last adjustment of his cravat.
    â€œIt’s just a bit of sport, Ben. Teach the chit a lesson.” Giving his reflection a cool, final glance of approval, he ignored Ben’s protests and left his chamber. He headed down to the drawing room, where he had been instructed to meet the ladies before dinner. Hands in pockets, he was sauntering down the hallway toward the grand staircase, assuring his stung male pride that he would very soon even the score, when suddenly, he stopped in his tracks—and stared.
    Coming down the hallway from the opposite direction was Miss Carlisle. For a heartbeat, he almost did not recognize her.
    The floppy white house cap was gone, its owner quite transformed.
    He watched her dazedly. Her silky hair shone in the candlelight, a rich and lovely shade of warm, walnut brown; it was curled and pinned in an elegant topknot that showed off the clean line of her jaw and the graceful arc of her white neck. Her frumpy beige day-dress had been replaced by a charming, high-waisted dinner gown of rose-pink satin. The low candlelight from the wall sconces played over her pearlescent complexion and the rich fabric of her dress, giving the material a