Page 2 of The Devil’s Submission

“We are two steps from ruin. Brimley made some bad investments and sank a great deal of money into some speculative stocks that Lord Grayson warned him to stay well away from. So I borrowed a little money from the school coffers. Just a temporary loan, you understand, not theft, and back then the academy wouldn’t even notice it anyway. But thanks to you, the school is crumbling and the accounts are due to be checked next month!”

“Exactly how much money did you borrow?”

Lady Brimley’s gaze darted away. “As I said, just a little.”

“How. Much.”

“Ten thousand pounds.”

Eliza sank back on her chair. “Mother, you stole a blasted fortune!”

“Not to Lord Grayson,” said her mother defensively. “The man could settle the debt with pocket change. And your husband owes us. He gained a wife far higher in birth than he deserved.”

“What? Grayson is the son of a marquess!”

“The disinherited son. Listen to me, Eliza. If you were to go to London and attend the wedding, people might believe you had just been ill and needed complete rest in a very quiet place. Not a marriage failure at all. The academy would be saved on both fronts.”

“And if he refuses and sends me packing within a minute?”

“Then I’ll know you didn’t try. For heaven’s sake, girl. After everything your father and I have done for you, attending a society wedding and asking your husband for ten thousand pounds are tiny favors. You have always been the problem. For once, you can be the solution.”

Eliza closed her eyes.

Oh, how she would love to tell her mother to go bathe in the Thames, especially when the woman demanded the impossible. To just saunter in Fallen’s front door and announce “darling, I’m home, and by the by, might I have a bank draft?”

Grayson would happily toss her out. And yet he was the only person who could avert disaster. The thought of her sweetly absentminded papa locked in debtor’s prison was too awful to contemplate.

Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and nodded.

“Very well. I’ll go.”

…

London

“You cannot do this, Devil. You cannot.”

Lord Grayson Deveraux tilted his head and stared dispassionately at the red-faced peer leaning over his office desk. The only thing vaguely intimidating about the man’s stance was the threat of that too-tight, sweat-stained shirt splitting and revealing a sight from which his eyes would never recover. “On the contrary, Mandell. I can and I have.”

“For a maid? A wretched no-name whore? If she had any sort of intelligence, she would know what an honor it was that I even looked at her, let alone touched her!”

“Perhaps other establishments encourage and celebrate such a mindset,” Devil said coldly. “But at Fallen, everything, and I mean everything, is lady’s choice. If a member disregards the rule of consent, his or her membership is terminated instantly. No refund.”

Mandell thumped his fist on the oak desk. “Damned insolent pup! I am a marquess. I deserve a second chance, at least.”

Devil folded his arms, lest he lose his temper and stab the man with his pen. Only the thought of stains on the Aubusson rug and the extra work for the parlor maids held him back. “Your rank is of no consequence, my lord. And second chances are not a custom I indulge in. The contract you signed clearly outlined all the club’s non-negotiable rules; you break a rule, the privilege of membership is withdrawn. I assure you, Mandell, you and your documented underwhelming appendage from now on will be no more than an amusing tale here. So, you may either leave quietly or be thrown out. I’m sure our eminent Portman Square neighbors will enjoy the exhibition. Of course, I would then be forced to invoice you extra for the bother incurred.”

The marquess’s face went from purple to parchment. “My God. You would, wouldn’t you? I never truly believed the rumors. I mean look at you: disheveled, ink-spotted, spectacles…like an absentminded clerk. But you are the coldest of bastards. Reyburn is well rid of you. As is your runaway wife.”

Devil rose slowly to his feet. “Good day, Lord Mandell.”

“G-good day, Lord Grayson,” choked out the older man as he backed away and practically sprinted from the room.

Slumping against the edge of his desk, Devil took several deep breaths to calm his racing heart. Confrontations like those never got any easier, but damned if a fucking marquess of all people might get away with harassing one of the maids. Fallen was not only a pleasure club, but also a sanctuary for both staff and members, where no matter what happened outside the doors, inside was safety and freedom to explore.

Few people in the world knew it had always been a sanctuary for him as well.

He shuddered and ran a weary hand over his face, sighing at the sight of a blue smear on his fingertips. Hell and damnation. He really did need soap and water to remove the ink, and a change of clothing. When immersed in handling accounts, balancing the complex ledgers, settling bills, and counting out piles of coins for expenses and wages, such mundane tasks tended to fall by the wayside.