To Dance with a Devil by Emma V. Leech

Author:Emma V. Leech
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2019-12-11T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

My dear Kitty,

I hardly know where to begin. I only went out for an hour, yet in that brief interval everyone seems to have run quite mad.

― Excerpt of a letter from Miss Matilda Hunt to Mrs Kitty Baxter.

29th October 1814. South Audley Street, London.

Ruth was vaguely aware of the door opening as she made her perfectly outrageous request. Somewhere in the dim recesses of her mind, she also registered Matilda’s sharp gasp of shock. None of it mattered, though. Her entire being was riveted on the man in front of her.

His eyes had gone wide with astonishment and he was staring at her as if she’d just sprouted horns and a tail.

“Did ye nae hear what she said, lass?” he asked, talking slowly as though she’d taken leave of her senses. It was a fair point. “I have nae money, and I live in the wilds of the Highlands. Ye’ll never change that, so don’t go thinking ye can reform me. I dinnae like society, and though that one’s a saucy wee hellcat,” he added, jerking his head at Bonnie. “I cannae pretend she’s said a word that’s nae true.”

Ruth swallowed and tried to find her voice. “I understand,” she said, wishing the words didn’t sound so faint and unlike her.

Mr Anderson let out a breath. “Aye, well, nae harm done. I’ll not speak of it—”

“No, Mr Anderson, you misunderstand me,” she said, rushing towards him in a panic as he made to leave the room. In her anxiety she reached out and took hold of his arm, and then gasped at the feel of the heavy muscle beneath her fingertips. She let him go at once as though he’d burned her, and then stared up at him to see a look of utter shock in his catlike eyes. “I meant that I perfectly understand that you have no money, that you dislike society, and that you will have no intention of changing in that regard and spending time in town. I accept all of this.”

“Ruth!” Matilda and Bonnie exclaimed unison, but Ruth’s attention never wavered. She wanted him. It was perhaps a form of temporary insanity, but she was in its grip and helpless to deny it. Her whole life she’d done her best to please her father, to be a good daughter, to catch him the kind of husband he wanted, i.e., one with a title attached. She’d never once stopped to complain or explain what she wanted; she had a duty to perform, to drag the family into society by marrying a title. Yet she didn’t really like society, and had never wanted to be a part of the ton. The only thing she’d ever hoped was that the title came with a country estate and that she could bury herself there once her duty was done. This, though… this was perfect. An heir to an earldom! She’d never dreamed of aiming so high. A baron or a viscount was the most she’d dared hope for and she’d never even gotten close.

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