Page 1 of The Devil’s Submission

Chapter One

North Lincolnshire, England, June 1814

“You must return to London, Eliza. It will be the ton wedding of the year!”

Lady Eliza Deveraux glanced again at the crisp gold-embossed invitation her mother, Countess Brimley, kept shoving under her nose. That Sin and his bride-to-be Grace had included her on the guest list warmed her heart no end. But under no circumstances would she be going. Not when attendance would put her in the vicinity of her estranged husband, Lord Grayson Deveraux, Sin’s closest friend and second co-owner of the shockingly infamous pleasure club Fallen.

“No, Mother. I’ll send them a gift and my deepest regrets; however, London and I do not get along.”

“But the Prince Regent is a guest! And the Duke and Duchess of Waverly…oh, anyone who is anyone received an invitation. And if you go, Brimley and I can go with you.”

“I said no. And that is the end of the discussion.”

Lady Brimley glared at her. “You selfish, selfish, girl. Denying your father and me an opportunity like this because of your own gross failures. When I saw the betrothal announcement in the newspaper, I knew they would invite you. I waited and waited for you to share the news. But you chose to break my heart instead. What did I do to deserve the worst daughter in England?”

Gritting her teeth so hard they would soon grind to powder, Eliza fought to remain calm. To keep her tears unshed. To sip her tea rather than dump it on her mother’s perfectly coiffed head. The dozens of scathing letters about her broken marriage had been sufficiently infuriating, but clearly her replies hadn’t been detailed or apologetic enough to keep her mother safely far away at Brimley Park. This morning the damned crested carriage had pulled up in a clatter of gravel and dust; the gray-faced fatigue of the Brimley servants suggesting the usual leisurely two-day journey had been completed much faster. Not to mention her mother hadn’t even waited until she’d stepped inside to discuss the wedding invitation, as if all were well between them. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but Grayson and I have been living apart for six months, and it is far better like this. Civil, even.”

“Oh, you headstrong fool,” spat Lady Brimley. “Do you have any idea of the further damage you did me when you ran away from your own husband?”

“I didn’t run away—”

“Close enough for the gossips. As if it wasn’t bad enough you set your heart on a scoundrel and married him because you thought you were in love. Sweet-talked your papa into countenancing a small, intimate wedding away from the ton. I might have borne that in time. Lord Grayson’s enormous wealth, and his social connections do somewhat fade the stain of his filthy trade and scandalous reputation. But!”

Eliza stared longingly out the window. The balcony wasn’t so high; surely the shrubbery would break her fall. At least then she wouldn’t have to listen to a lecture heard a thousand times already. “But he decided I should not reside under the same roof as him.”

“Yes! Yes, he did! And now I am destroyed. Finished. Ended. An object of pity and scorn!”

“Oh dear.” She sighed, wishing she could select the delectable-looking glazed jam tart from the tea tray. But provoking her mother’s second favorite lecture—Eliza’s Troublesome Weight—would not be a smart decision.

“You wretched girl! Have you no sorrow for my humiliation? The reputation of the Brimley Finishing Academy is ruined. We were renowned for our successes. As the sign stated, ‘well-bred young ladies taught to be Delightful, Decorous, and Demure in preparation for excellent marriages.’ But what ton mother will send her offspring to a school when the patroness’s own daughter was such a terrible wife her husband couldn’t stomach her so soon after the wedding?”

Eliza winced as a familiar pain clawed her heart.

Even now it was impossible to pinpoint what she’d done to make Grayson hate her so. From the moment she’d met the most handsome spectacle-wearing and ledger-loving lord in England, she’d been smitten. Twenty-eight years old, six feet tall, with a lean, muscled build, strong jaw, short-cropped ebony hair, and emerald green eyes to drown in. Oh, there had been the odd warning: that his nickname Devil was not only a play on his surname, but also an accurate description of an ice-cold bastard with the blackest of hearts. That he’d been disowned by his parents, the Marquess and Marchioness of Reyburn, for something so awful it was spoken of by no one.

But in the weeks of charmingly clumsy waltzes, long walks, rare flowers, and sizzling kisses, all that had seemed ridiculous, and she fell helplessly in love. For heaven’s sake, Grayson had even tolerated her terrible tendency to issue instructions and discuss unladylike topics. Some of the shockingly risqué conversations they’d had…but those had paled in comparison to an unforgettable evening in the Brimley Park maze. She forgot herself completely, ordered him to touch her properly, and by heaven he’d obeyed. After Grayson had lowered her bodice and suckled her tender nipples, he’d lifted her gown and stroked the damp heat between her legs until she experienced her first shuddering climax. Unfortunately she came loudly enough for them to be discovered shortly afterward, but Grayson hadn’t even waited for a ton trial. He’d immediately proposed, and they’d wed by special license three days later.

Cracks soon appeared. Her mother began visiting every second day to offer reminders and advice on how to be a worthy wife. Although Eliza tried her hardest to quell her stubborn, independent streak and be feted as a good and obedient Brimley Finishing Academy graduate, it seemed she could never reach the expected standard of decorum or submissiveness. The more she bowed to Grayson’s will, the more he pulled away, spending increasing amounts of time in his office at Fallen with his guinea piles and ledgers, even taking a chamber there rather than returning to their townhouse. The nights he did come home, he reached for her less and less. And then came the awful day when she suggested a holiday and he counter-offered with a choice of property and a generous allowance if she left at once. She’d chosen the estate farthest away from London, a two-day carriage ride to just north of Gainsborough. And she’d fled.

The clattering of a teaspoon on fine bone china startled her out of her reverie, and she mumbled quickly, “Surely, Mother, the academy could not be doing as badly as all that.”

“It is,” Lady Brimley snapped. “Withdrawals are coming in by the day now, especially with summer upon us. All because you couldn’t do your duty in any way. Twenty-four years old and still childless. The shame!”

“That wasn’t my fault!” Eliza said hotly. “To conceive, your husband must actually share your bed. And after a while he…he didn’t want to. He didn’t want me.”

“Because you are a twit. A brassy, outspoken hoyden who chose the wrong husband and then drove him away. I bet his mistress soothed him with quiet sweetness. Mrs. Lewis, wasn’t that her name?”

Misery lodged in Eliza’s stomach. It seemed everyone but her had known about Grayson’s longtime paramour, Charlotte Lewis, who even had her own chamber at Fallen. How many nights when she’d lain alone had she tortured herself with images of him kissing the beautiful, slender brunette. Sucking her nipples. Kneeling between her spread thighs and licking her core. Penetrating her deeply with that long, thick erection of his, taking her hard, whispering words of love in her ear as they climaxed together.

“Perhaps,” she choked out.

“Well then. This wedding is the perfect occasion to march back to London and prove you are more worthy than that trollop. If you would just style your unruly hair and commit to losing weight…Lord Grayson clearly prefers willowy to, er, rounded.”

“I’m not returning to the capital, Mother.”

“Yes. You. Are,” Lady Brimley hissed. “Unless you want to see your own mother and father in the poorhouse?”

Eliza froze. “What on earth are you talking about?”