Devil's Cub Read online

  Her lips formed a soundless ‘oh’ of astonishment. He kissed them, and partly from nervousness (for he had shaken her) and partly from coquetry, she giggled. He had no further doubts, but laughed back at her. She had an odd fancy, unusual in one so matter-of-fact, that little devils danced in his eyes. ‘I see we understand each other,’ he said. ‘Listen to me now. I take it you’ve heard of last night’s affair? I may have to leave the country for a spell in consequence.’

  She broke in with a little cry of dismay. ‘Leave the country? Oh, no, my lord!’

  ‘I won’t leave you, my pretty, I promise. I’ve a mind to take you to Paris with me. Will you come?’

  The colour flooded her cheeks. ‘Paris!’ she gasped. ‘Oh, Vidal! Oh, my lord! Paris!’ To hear it spelled gaiety, fine dresses, trinkets, all that she craved of life. He had no difficulty in reading her thoughts. ‘I’m rich; you shall have all the pretty things your own prettiness deserves. I’ll hire an hôtel for you; as its mistress you will play the hostess to my friends; in France these arrangements are understood. I know of a dozen such establishments. Do you choose to come with me, or not?’

  Her native hardheadedness made her play for time, but her imagination was already running riot. The picture he drew lured her; she thought recklessly that she cared very little for the marriage-ties if she could live in Paris, where such arrangements, Vidal said, were understood. ‘How can I answer you, my lord? You – I protest you take me by surprise. I must have time!’

  ‘There is no time. If Quarles dies, it’s farewell to England for me. Give me your answer now, or kiss me and say good-bye.’

  She had only one steadfast thought, and that was that she would not let him slip through her fingers. ‘No, no, you cannot be so cruel!’ she said with a tiny sob.

  He was quite unmoved, but his hot gaze seemed to devour her. ‘I must. Come! Are you afraid of me that you hesitate?’

  She drew away from him, a hand at her breast. ‘Yes, I am afraid,’ she said breathlessly. ‘You force me – you are cruel…’

  ‘You need not be afraid: I adore you. Will you come?’

  ‘If – if I say no?’

  ‘Then let us kiss and part,’ he said.

  ‘No, no, I cannot leave you like that! I – oh, if you say I must, I will come with you!’

  Rather to her surprise he showed neither rapture nor relief. He said only: ‘It will be soon. I will send you word to your lodgings.’

  ‘Soon?’ she faltered.

  ‘To-morrow, Friday – I can’t say. You need bring nothing but the clothes you stand in.’

  She gave an excited laugh. ‘An elopement! Oh, but how shall I contrive to slip off with you?’

  ‘I’ll spirit you away safe enough,’ he said, smiling.

  ‘How? Where must I meet you?’

  ‘I will let you know. But, remember, no word of this to a soul, and when you hear from me do exactly what I shall tell you.’

  ‘I will,’ she promised, larger and more mercenary issues for the moment forgotten.

  When she returned to the box, alone, the curtain had already gone up on the fifth act. She was still flushed by excitement, and met her sister’s look with a defiant toss of her head. Let Mary frown if she would: Mary had no brilliant future before her; Mary might consider herself fortunate if she caught Cousin Joshua for a husband. Sophia gave herself to ecstatic imaginings.

  The Marquis, meanwhile, betook himself to Timothy’s and created a sensation.

  ‘Good God, it’s Vidal!’ ejaculated Lord Cholmondley.

  Mr Fox, who was playing piquet with him, tranquilly dealt a fresh hand. ‘Why not?’ he inquired.

  ‘Cold-blooded devil!’ marvelled Cholmondley.

  Mr Fox looked bored, and waved a languid hand at the Marquis.

  Vidal was standing just inside the card-room, apparently surveying the company. There was just a moment when all play was suspended, and heads turned in his direction. The sudden silence was broken by an inebriated gentleman seated by the window, who called out: ‘Hey, Vidal, what time did you make? Laid a monkey you’d not do it under the four hours.’

  ‘You have lost your stake, my lord,’ said the Marquis. He perceived Mr Fox, and began to make his leisurely way across the room to his table.

  A hum of talk broke out. Many disapproving glances were cast at Vidal’s tall figure, but he seemed unaware of them and passed to Mr Fox’s side, a picture of cool unconcern.

  Cholmondley had laid down his cards. ‘Is that true?’ he demanded. ‘You made it in the four hours?’

  The Marquis smiled. ‘I made it in three hours and forty-four minutes, my dear.’

  ‘Man, you were drunk!’ Cholmondley cried. ‘I’d say it was impossible!’

  ‘Ask the judges,’ shrugged the Marquis. ‘I warned you that I drive best when I am drunk.’ He was watching the next table as he spoke. Loo was being played, but someone was leaving, and the party was broken up. The Marquis raised his voice slightly, addressing one of the players. ‘A hand of piquet, Mr Comyn?’

  Mr Comyn turned his head quickly. A flicker of surprise showed in his face. He bowed. ‘I shall count myself honoured, my lord.’

  Vidal strolled over to his table and waited while a waiter put fresh cards and placed chairs.

  ‘Cut, Mr Comyn,’ said the Marquis.

  Mr Comyn obeyed, and won the deal.

  ‘The usual stakes?’ drawled the Marquis.

  Mr Comyn met his eye firmly. ‘Whatever you will, my lord.’

  Vidal laughed suddenly, and abandoned his drawl. ‘We’ll play for love, Mr Comyn.’

  Mr Comyn paused in the middle of his deal. ‘I can scarcely suppose, my lord, that that would amuse you.’

  ‘Not in the least,’ grinned the Marquis.

  ‘Or me, my lord.’

  ‘I never gamble in the family,’ explained Vidal.

  Mr Comyn jumped. ‘Sir?’

  ‘Well, sir?’

  Mr Comyn carefully laid down the pack. ‘Do I understand you to mean that you favour my suit, my lord?’

  ‘Devilish precise, ain’t you?’ commented Vidal. ‘I suppose if Juliana wants you she’ll have you. Get it out of your head that I have anything to do with it. It don’t concern me.’

  Mr Comyn leaned back in his chair. ‘I apprehend, my lord, that to play piquet with me was not your object in singling me out to-night.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll play,’ said his lordship. ‘But I don’t fleece my relatives, and I don’t care to be fleeced by ’em. Call it ten shillings a hundred.’

  ‘Certainly – if that satisfies you,’ said Mr Comyn.

  The Marquis’s eye twinkled. ‘Oh, I’m quite sober to-night.’

  Mr Comyn completed the deal and said slowly: ‘Without wishing to be guilty of impoliteness, my lord, your temper is such that I should not wish to play with you were you not sober.’

  ‘Much wiser not,’ agreed Vidal, putting down his discard. ‘Four only. You think I might blow a hole through you?’

  Mr Comyn picked up the remaining four cards. ‘Oh, surely not – in the family, my lord?’

  Vidal laughed. ‘Egad, I think you’d better make all speed to Paris and abduct Juliana. You will do very well in our family. If you want my advice, let me recommend you to better your acquaintance with my father. I’ve a strong notion he might approve your suit. A point of six, a quinte, and three aces. Six played.’

  Mr Comyn drew six cards from his hand with some deliberation. ‘Taking into consideration, sir, the unfortunate circumstances under which I made his grace’s acquaintance – if such I can call it – I cannot suppose that a further meeting with me could be anything but repugnant to him.’

  ‘It is evident,’ retorted his lordship, ‘that you don’t know much of my father.’ He played the rest