Page 1 of To Dare the Devil

Chapter 1

Nic,

Knight has taken his family and left London. I have just received a note from Evie. She knows not where they go or why or for how long. I fear he has discovered my interest in her and seeks to take her from my reach. They will cut her off from me, Nic, I know it. They’ll not see another letter reach me, nor allow us to be within ten miles of each other. I will lose her.

Please, I know I have begged you to keep my feelings to yourself, and this does not change, but I pray you will ask Eliza to discover where they have gone. Surely, she would know where her aunt had disappeared to in such a ramshackle manner?

I do not know how I will endure months without her, brother, when I do not know where she is or if she thinks of me at all.

―Excerpt of a letter from Louis César de Montluc, Comte de Villen, to his brother, Monsieur Nicolas-Alexandre Demarteau.

15th February 1842, Church Street, Isleworth, London.

Kathy took a deep breath and closed her eyes. Light filtered through her eyelids, flickering in gaudy shades of pink and red. The scent in the glasshouse was a pleasing mix of damp earth, vegetation, and the subtle perfumes of vanilla and cinnamon. Humidity lent the air weight enough to touch her skin like a caress, cocooning and cosy on a bright, wet day. Outside, the weather was chilly, rain falling on the glass with a soft patter, but inside it was warm and peaceful, making her languid and a little melancholy. She liked it here, liked the serenity of it, even if the large, uncompromising figure who dominated the space was not the most relaxing person to spend time with.

Hartley de Beauvoir was her brother, though they shared no blood. Inigo and Minerva de Beauvoir had adopted both him and Kathleen, Hart when he was six years old, and Kathy within hours of her birth some years later. An act of charity by two of the most loving parents they could possibly have wished for. They were a happy if unconventional family, and they both knew their lives could have been horribly different. Hart strove to repay them for their unconditional love and support by working all hours to make a success of himself, by making their parents proud. His gratitude and love for them made him push himself to succeed, no matter that Mama and Papa would have loved him no matter what and wanted nothing but his happiness.

It was easier for a man to find a role in life, however. At least, it seemed that way to Kathy. She wished she had Hart’s passion for his work, for his purpose… or that she had a purpose at all. Her parents had encouraged her to take an interest in science, but it had never sparked in her mind as it did for Papa and for Hart, though Hart’s interest had shifted to the science of plant propagation and gardening. It was an incongruous sight, to watch her big brother, built like a warrior of old, delicately nurturing his orchids with the tender care of a fretful nursemaid.

“Stop sighing. It’s like living with a defective windmill,” Hart grumbled, not looking up from his work repotting a peculiar tangle of roots. “Orchids don’t like draughts.”

Kathy rolled her eyes.

“And don’t roll your eyes at me. If you’re bored, find something to do.”

“I didn’t roll my eyes,” she lied, folding her arms and shifting on the stool.

“Yes, you did.”

“You weren’t even looking, Hart,” she retorted, reaching for a small wooden dibber and turning it in her hands.

Hart looked up, snatched the dibber from her and set it back where it had been on the workbench. “I don’t need to look. You sigh, you roll your eyes, throw your hands in the air, tut and toss your pretty curls. Haven’t you a dress fitting to go to?”

“This afternoon,” Kathy grumbled. “And a fat lot of good it will do me.”

“Tell Mother you don’t want to go,” Hart said, a weary note to his words that suggested he might plant her in the compost headfirst if she didn’t change the subject. She had worn it rather thin.

“And disappoint her after everything she’s done to prepare me for the season? I’m not so spoilt as that.”

Hart snorted, so Kathy kicked him in the shin, muttering a curse as her thin slippers offered no protection to her toes. Hart didn’t even blink.

“You’re supposed to get married and produce babies too, I might remind you. Two and thirty next birthday,” she added in a singsong voice.

Hart glowered at her. “I’m not marrying, which is why you need to find a bloody husband. We can’t both disappoint her. She’ll be heartbroken if she doesn’t get grandchildren, and you love babies, so you can do it.”

Kathy frowned. Hart was an independent man with a home of his own and a successful business propagating and selling exotic plant specimens. The orchid house he’d commissioned built at his new premises was not yet ready for use, which was why he was often back home, tending the overspill which he’d left here with his parents. She couldn’t argue with his logic, for she could not imagine him married. He held himself too separate, had never gained the knack of sharing his thoughts and feelings. It would leave any wife out in the cold, unlike the blasted orchids. And she did love children and babies, but, surely… there was something more than that?

Mama had found more. Though no scientist herself, she was a brilliant organiser and the motivating force behind many of their father’s and other leading scientists’ publications, also in securing sponsors and funding for many budding scientists and inventors. Kathy had tried to find an interest in that too, she really had, but though she also had a knack for organising, the subject did not inspire her. Reading was a delight, and she devoured anything that landed in her lap, finding a particular delight in ghoulish medical texts, but nothing stuck. She needed something else.

“If you don’t stop fidgeting, I shall throw you out,” Hart muttered, his dark eyes glinting with irritation.

Kathy sighed and slid off the stool, admitting defeat. “Don’t bother. I shall throw myself out. I’m going to make a nuisance of myself in the kitchen.”

“If you’re baking something, make some gingerbread,” he demanded as she headed for the door.

She snorted, shaking her head. “What, so you can eat the lot? I think not.”

“You’re mean,” he grumbled, turning back to his orchids.