Devil In My Arms

Samantha Kane

Loveswept, New York

This is an uncorrected excerpt file. Please do not quote for publication until you check your copy against the finished book.

The Devil In My Arms is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

A Loveswept eBook Original

Copyright © 2013 by Nancy Kattenfeld

All Rights Reserved.

Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of The Random House Publishing

Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

Loveswept and colophon are trademarks of Random House, Inc.

eBook ISBN 9780345549822

www.ReadLoveSwept.com

Chapter One

London, September, 1819

The sun was setting; dusk casting an ominous shadow over the quiet, residential square.

There had been nurses and children in the central park earlier, but they had wandered back to

various affluent houses some time ago, for supper she supposed. Eleanors stomach rumbled at

the thought. She’d run out of money yesterday, and so hadn’t eaten since a greasy meat pasty

purchased with her last coins from a disreputable inn along the coach line two days ago.

She kept to the shadows of the alley, tiptoeing along the wall, her side pressed to the

brick. The small satchel in her left hand had grown heavy hours ago, but as it contained all her

worldly possessions she didn’t dare put it down for fear of losing it if she had to run suddenly.

She’d walked around these particular two blocks of London for the better part of three hours.

She could see nothing suspicious, but that didn’t mean she was safe.

She bit her lip in indecision. She’d come so far. If she were to fail now now, it would kill

her. It really would this time. She couldn’t bear being locked in her room again for days upon

days, no food or water unless she did as Enderby demanded. She’d worked on this plan for

years while she’d endured her husband’s punishments. But no more. She had followed the plan

meticulously, waiting the three months she deemed necessary for Enderby to call off his search.

Three endless months of hoarding her money, trying to sleep in drafty waterfront inns whose

other occupants were as suspicious as she. But the rooms there were always too close, with

windows that often wouldn’t open. The night terrors had struck more than once as she woke

screaming, imagining being locked in her room back at Enderby’s again. Three months of eating

only meager fare, faint with hunger and fear and exhaustion every second.

After all that time surely he thought her dead. She hadn’t tried to contact Harry at all.

She’d learned the hard way that to do so would be a mistake. She didn’t make the same

mistakes twice. She was too clever for that. She was. He hadn’t broken her at all. She was still

the same. Still smarter than he was, and at last he’d know it.

Finally, her courage bolstered by the very fear and hunger that had nearly laid her low

so many times in the past few months, she ventured out of the alley. There was no hue and cry

at her appearance. No one emerged from the shadows to accost her just as she tasted freedom.

She kept to the sidewalk, sauntering along as if she hadn’t a care in the world, the boys clothes

she wore making her almost belligerent shuffle believable. She’d studied the stable boys and

grooms and dockworkers; this was their walk, the walk of a lad who owned the world, daring

friend and foe alike to knock the chip from their shoulder. She wanted to laugh aloud at what a

lie that walk was for her. Her cares were a burden weighing her down, the chip on her shoulder

a simmering hatred for the man who had forced her to take such dire measures.

When she reached the walk in front of Harry’s door she casually looked around, pausing

to dust the sleeves of her ratty coat. She was hardly dressed for a visit to one of the illustrious

mansions in Manchester Square, but she brazened it out. If she could get past the butler she’d

find Harry.

She’d just turned up the walk, her eyes glued to the door as if salvation waited beyond

it, when a voice spoke from behind her. “Mrs. Enderby, I presume?”

Eleanor spun around with a gasp, her satchel flying from her hand as she reached into

her coat and grabbed the cudgel she’d stolen from a drunken sailor on the docks in Lyme Regis.

She faced her attacker head on; hoping a scuffle here would be noticed. She didn’t care if she

drew attention now. They’d found her. Her only hope was that Harry could prevent the

miscreant from dragging her back to Enderby.

He was tall, his dark red hair poking out from beneath a beaver hat. He wasn’t as burly

as Enderby’s other lackeys. She’d never seen this one before, the better to take her by surprise,

damn him. He was well dressed, which seemed discordant somehow with the danger of the

situation. He didn’t look belligerent at all, merely mildly amused and relieved, but she was still

wary. There was an aura of power about him that made the hair on her nape stand up. He

smiled at her then and her mind spun in confusion.

“You shan’t need that, Mrs. Enderby,” he said quietly, pointing at the cudgel with his

oversized walking stick. “I am not who you believe me to be.”

“And that’s how you disarm someone who wants to knock your head off?” a voice

sneered from behind her. Eleanor backed quickly to the side so she could see them both. The

speaker was a young man observing them from several feet away. He had his arms crossed and

his feet planted wide, blocking her exit to the street. His negligent stance didn’t fool her for a

second. He looked like a scrapper and had the height and weight to take her down, cudgel be

damned.

“Wiley, be quiet,” the red head said, clearly annoyed. “Now you’ve startled her again.”

“Why don’t you ask her to dance?” the Wiley fellow said sarcastically. “Maybe she’ll put

down the stick and waltz.” He looked at Eleanor then. “He probably isn’t who you think he is,

but keep the cudgel just in case.”

The red head closed his eyes as if in pain. “She could just give it to you, and you could

knock my head off. Would that satisfy your need to protect the lady from my dastardly

charms?”

“Maybe,” Wiley said, looking thoughtful. “At least it would be a good time for me.” He

addressed Eleanor again. “We mean you no harm, he’s not lying about that.”

“Who are you then?” she demanded, refusing to drop her guard at their foolish banter.

Neither made a move toward her, standing there watching her carefully. The red head leaned

on his walking stick with both hands as if to reassure her. It was a wasted effort. She knew

better than to trust someone like him. He was a man with the power to break her and enjoy

doing it.

“My name is Sir Hilary St. John and this is Wiley. We have been looking for you.”

“Of course you have,” she sneered. “How much did Enderby promise you?”

He shook his head. “You misunderstand. We have been searching for you for your

sister.”

Her hands began to shake. “Harry?”

“We have been very worried about you, Mrs. Enderby,” he said kindly. He looked her up

and down. “You look as if you’ve had a rough time of it, my dear.”

At that the fatigue assailing her finally took its toll. She dropped her arm and staggered

back a step. “A rough time?” She started laughing and then she simply couldn’t stop. Before she

knew it she was crying, great gulping sobs. What a spectacle she was.

“Perhaps we should go in?” the red haired stranger said. He still didn’t move closer to

her, just gestured to the door.

She warily watched them, wiping her nose inelegantly on her sleeve, still unsure if she

could trust them. The door opened behind her and she quickly raised the cudgel again before

she finally turned to see a handsome, dark haired man standing there frowning at them. “Hil?”

he asked, looking curiously at Eleanor. “What’s going on?”

“Who is it, Roger?” A blonde, elegant, very pregnant woman came up behind him and

peered over his shoulder.

“Harry,” Eleanor whispered, awed by how beautiful her sister had become. She’d always

had the potential, of course. My God, how she’d missed her little Harry.

Harry gasped. “Ellie,” she cried, awkwardly shoving her way past the man in the

doorway and out onto the walk. Eleanor met her halfway and fell into her arms, hugging her

little sister for the first time in almost fifteen years.

Hil watched as Harriet Templeton ushered her exhausted sister into the drawing room

after their emotional reunion on the front walkway. He’d left Wiley out front, watching to make

sure no unwanted guests arrived looking for her. Now that she’d been found he didn’t plan to

lose her again. And, of course, after his behavior Wiley deserved to be left out there. In so many

ways Wiley was still the foolish boy he’d taken in off the streets of St. Giles several years ago,

despite an education and Hil’s tutoring on the finer points of being a gentleman.

Mrs. Enderby hadn’t been at all what he was expecting. He’d been told she was quiet

and shy. Nondescript and thin, with plain features and long, light brown hair she wore simply.

At least, that was the description they’d been given by her husband’s men when they’d come

looking for her. They’d gone so far as to hint she’d recently gone a little off in the head, thus her

mysterious disappearance. The woman who had confronted he and Wiley on the front walk

with a cudgel was none of those things. Well, he couldn’t determine her looks just yet because

of the enormous hat she wore, but shy and retiring were not the first descriptors that came to

mind. She was younger looking than he’d expected as well. She was at least thirty-two

according to Mrs. Templeton, though she didn’t look a day over sixteen in her current clothing.

He attributed her wan, thin appearance to a life lived on the run for the last three months.

Harry Templeton had been suspicious from the start. Both she and Roger, one of Hil’s

dearest friends, declared that the Eleanor Stanley they’d known prior to her marriage was none

of those things. True, Harry hadn’t seen or corresponded with her sister in almost fifteen years,

and for Roger it had been longer, but Eleanor had been uncommonly bright when they were

children according to Roger, vivacious and outspoken. She’d been a quiet beauty, the kind of

woman who was passably pretty until that inner fire lit her up like a firework. Harry had

revealed that Eleanor had been unhappy about her marriage to Enderby, and was nervous

about her future the last time she’d seen her, when Enderby had taken her back to Derbyshire

after their wedding. She had never returned to her parents’ house, nor had she attended their

funerals when they both succumbed to a fever several years later.

A man had arrived at the Templeton’s three months ago looking for her, claiming to

work for her husband. Roger hadn’t cared for the fellow at all, saying he was crass and

untrustworthy. The man had declared that if she was there they had best hand her over so she

could be brought back to Mr. Enderby. Roger had told Hil the entire affair was suspicious. They

had indignantly refused to allow the rude stranger to search the premises and they’d shown

him the door. A week later a letter arrived from Mr. Enderby corroborating the fellow’s story.

Eleanor Enderby was missing and her husband very much wanted her returned. Roger and his

wife had formulated a polite response which, if one read between the lines, had more or less

told Enderby to sod off and they’d called Hil for help. A logical choice, of course. He was well-

known for his knack for solving mysteries and locating missing persons. There was very little he

loved more than a good mystery, be it academic or of a more immediate nature.

“Oh, Ellie,” Mrs. Templeton said with concern, “you look awful.”

Mrs. Enderby was wiping her tears with Roger’s handkerchief and sniffing loudly. Hil

liked that she didn’t seem embarrassed by her tears and wasn’t trying to pretend her nose

wasn’t running. Honesty always received high marks from him. She gave a tremulous laugh at

the comment. “Don’t sugarcoat it, dear,” she said wryly, folding the handkerchief over into a

little square and dabbing her eyes some more. “But truly, you haven’t seen the worst of it.” She

sighed and pulled the oversized hat from her head, revealing light brown, curly hair that had

been cut ruthlessly short, and badly, too. It looked like a blind man had taken scissors to her

head.

Mrs. Templeton gasped. “Your hair,” she cried out. “Your beautiful hair.”

“Its just hair. It will grow back.” Mrs. Enderby shrugged with supreme nonchalance.

“Of course it will,” Roger said staunchly. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I suppose

you’d like something to eat.”

Mrs. Enderby smiled at him and Hil was taken aback. Her mouth was a bit overlarge, and

when she smiled her entire face was transformed. It was actually quite charming and altered

her looks tremendously. Despite her fatigue and general state of dishevelment she was

uncommonly pretty at that moment.

“I am starving,” she declared. “I haven’t eaten in two days, and it’s been even longer

since I’ve slept.”

“I’m so sorry, Ellie.” Mrs. Templeton was obviously horrified. “I wasn’t thinking.” She

motioned at Roger. “Go. Go and tell cook to prepare a meal, and then tell Mandrake to have

Mrs. Dempsey prepare a room for Eleanor.”

Roger smiled at both ladies. “I’m going,” he said, pretending to be put out about taking

orders from his wife. Hil knew, of course, that his friend would do anything his wife asked him

to do, and he’d do it gladly. Now that she was expecting, Roger was even more the besotted

fool and Hil didn’t blame him one bit. Mrs. Templeton was quite possibly the most beautiful

woman he’d ever seen, and a delightful person as well. Sometimes he envied Roger and his

marital bliss.

Hil stepped away from the wall where he’d been observing the reunion. The sisters

looked over at him, identical expressions of surprise on their faces, as if they’d forgotten he was

there. “I shall take my leave, ladies,” he said with a bow. “Welcome, Mrs. Enderby, and may I

say that I am relieved to meet you at last.”

She fidgeted and crushed her hat brim in her hands. “I have a favor to ask of you, Sir

Hilary,” she said hesitatingly.

Interesting, Hil thought. “Of course. Whatever I can do to be of assistance.” Roger had

stopped at the door and turned back to listen.

“I would ask that you keep my arrival in confidence,” she asked, her gaze flitting from Hil

to Harry to Roger. “I am not ready yet to have it known that I am here.”

Meaning she didn’t want her husband to know, Hil surmised. It was as he’d suspected. “I

shall keep the knowledge to myself,” he assured her. “As a matter of fact, I may be out of

London for a time, and so I shall take the secret with me.”

“What?” Roger exclaimed. “Why?”

“Another favor I am doing for a friend,” Hil answered obliquely. “I expect to be gone for

several months at the very least. I can call before I leave if you wish me to do so.” He could tell

from Mrs. Enderby’s expression she understood exactly what he was saying. He’d take her with

him if she needed to run even further. He had no qualms about helping an innocent lady escape

an undesirable marriage. Based on his investigation into Enderby’s background when he was

looking for her and the gossip surrounding their marriage, he had no doubt that was exactly

what she was.

She regarded him seriously for a long, drawn out minute before answering. “No, thank

you, Sir Hilary. I do not wish to delay your departure. I bid you farewell and a pleasant journey.

Thank you for your help.”

“Madam,” he said respectfully with a bow. “Please feel free to send a note to my

secretary should you need me. He will have my direction. Shall I see you upon my return?”

“If all goes well, I hope we may renew our acquaintance in the future,” she responded,

her answer almost as oblique as Hil’s had been. His respect for her grew. With another bow he

departed the room, quite sure he would never see the mysterious Mrs. Enderby again.

Eleanor watched Sir Hilary leave with Harry’s husband, Roger. “Who is he?” she

demanded as soon as the door closed. “Why was he looking for me?”

“That’s Sir Hilary St. John,” Harry told her. “Finding people and things is what he does.

He’s quite mysterious, and one of Roger’s dearest friends in the world. As soon as those

horrible men showed up looking for you I sent for Sir Hilary. When even he couldn’t find you—”

She stopped abruptly and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Ellie, I was sure you were dead.”

Eleanor tried to assess all that Harry had said. “What horrible men?” she asked quietly,

dealing with most pressing issue first. “When were they here?”

Harry pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve and blew her nose. “They first came about

three months ago, looking for you. Enderby sent them. They said you’d gone mad and run away

from home or some such nonsense. I knew they were lying, and so I asked Sir Hilary to find

you.”

“First came?” Eleanor asked sharply. “You mean they’ve been back? How recently?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, a couple of times. They became belligerent, sure we were lying

when we said we didn’t know where you were. Sir Hilary said they were watching the house for

some time. He had men watching them. Oh, it was all so confusing. But they left a few weeks

ago. I suppose because they assumed the same thing we did, that you were dead.”

“Good,” Eleanor said with satisfaction. “That’s exactly what I thought would happen.

That’s why I stayed hidden so long. Although I’d hoped the misleading clues I left as to where I

was going would keep them away from you.”

“Eleanor,” Harry said with an exasperated huff. “Are you going to tell me what’s going

on?”

“Of course, dear,” she said, reaching for Harry’s hand. “I’ve run away, just as they said,

but I am not mad. I am free at last.” She bit her lip. “Your new husband, he won’t make me go

back, will he?” She hoped not. The Roger she’d known when they were all so much younger

hadn’t been that sort. He’d been a good boy, a friend and often confidante. Truthfully, she’d

always rather hoped he’d grow up and marry Harry.

Harry looked utterly astonished. “Roger? Of course not! He hasn’t changed a bit, Ellie,

from when we were children. He’d never do such a thing. He wouldn’t dream of it, not if you

don’t want to go back. Why don’t you want to go back?”

“It’s a very long story,” she said. “So I shall condense it for you. Enderby is a pig. I loathe

him, and he feels the same way about me. The difference is, he can do something about it and I

can’t. I have been a virtual prisoner at his house in Derbyshire for a decade. Which felt even

longer than it sounds.” She sniffed, refusing to cry anymore over that loathsome fiend and what

he’d done. “I can’t have children, you know,” she said calmly. “The fever, when I was five or six.

The doctor said it did something to make me barren.”

“I didn’t know,” Harry said, her cheeks burning as she covered her obvious pregnancy

with her hands, as if embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said, and she meant it. “Bringing a child into that house would

have been a disservice. He doesn’t deserve to be a father.” She smiled. “And I’ve accepted it. I

heard that you had a baby with Lord Mercer. Is he here?”

“Oh, yes,” Harry said, glowing with maternal pride. “Mercy is upstairs, asleep. You shall

meet him tomorrow.”

Eleanor looked away, and she was confronted with her own image reflected back in the

window, the night pitch black outside now. She wished she could open one of the windows. It

suddenly seemed so terribly hot and airless in the room. “I tried to meet him when he was

born,” she said. “I heard that you’d had him, and I escaped and ran to Merveille House, to you

and Mercer, hoping to find sanctuary.”

Harry grasped her hand in both of hers. “And you never made it?” she said sadly.

“Oh, I made it all right,” Eleanor said indignantly, turning back to look at Harry. “Mercer

promptly locked me up and sent for Enderby. The next day I was dragged home.”

“What?” Harry asked incredulously. “But Mercer never told me. If I had known, Eleanor,

I swear I wouldn’t have let them take you.”

Eleanor shook her head. “There was nothing you could do,” she said pragmatically. “It

didn’t take but a minute in Mercer’s company to realize you were in the same situation I was.

We were both sold, right and proper, to despicable men.”

Harry hugged her tightly. “We were.” She held Eleanor’s shoulders, facing her. “But I am

free by the grace of God, and you are not. What are we going to do, Eleanor?”

She patted Harry’s hand. “Tonight? Nothing. I’m so dreadfully tired, Harry, dear, and my

mind is in a bit of a muddle.”

Harry hugged her again and this time Eleanor found herself holding her little sister

tightly in return, overwhelmed that she had made it. She was here. With Harry. “Of course,

darling,” Harry said sympathetically. “Come on. I’ll show you upstairs.”

Eleanor awoke in a cold sweat, her throat aching and her scream echoing off the walls

around her. It took a moment to realize she was at Harry’s, not back in her locked room at

Enderby’s. The wick still burned low in the lamp, and she could see the pale green, oriental

wallpaper and delicate furnishings of the room she’d been given. It was much finer than

anything at Enderby’s house. Rising from the bed on shaky legs she stumbled to the window,

opening it wide. She took a deep breath of the rather fetid London air. It smelled like heaven.

Like freedom at last. Closing her eyes she took inventory of her self and her surroundings. Her

belly was full, her clothes clean and sweet smelling and the window was wide open. No

thundering voice yelling invectives as Enderby charged from his room at the interruption of his

sleep. She smiled, and she knew it wasn’t pretty. It was an angry, determined smile. Just then

there was a knock at the door.

“Eleanor,” Harry called out sounding rather frantic. “Are you all right?” She knocked

again. “Eleanor?”

“Eleanor, open the door.” It was Roger.

She hadn’t realized the door was closed. Of course. That’s what woke her up. She’d

opened it before she’d gone to sleep. The maid must have closed it. God, she hated closed

doors. “Come in,” she called out, dragging her borrowed wrapper from the chair by the bed

with shaking hands and pulling it on.

The door flew open and Roger charged in, Harry right behind him. Both were barefoot

and obviously wearing hastily donned wraps. Suddenly Eleanor heard the cries of her young

nephew from the floor above. “I’ve woken Mercy,” she said apologetically. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” Roger said disbelievingly. “My heart is still palpitating from your scream.

What happened?”

“Just a silly nightmare, I suppose,” she said, avoiding the truth. She wrapped her arms

around her middle so they wouldn’t see her shaking. She didn’t want them to know how foolish

she was about it all. This was Harry’s, not Enderby’s. They weren’t going to lock her in. She

could leave whenever she wanted.

“Ellie, you must tell us,” Harry pleaded. “How can we help?”

That caught Eleanor’s attention. She brushed aside the last remnants of the dream and

focused on Harry and Roger. She’d need their help if she was to escape Enderby for good. No

time like the present to discuss that. She certainly wasn’t going back to sleep right away. “I have

a plan,” she declared. “One that will disgrace Enderby and gain me my freedom. But I have to

remain lost for some time more. I need Enderby to be so convinced I’m dead that he

remarries.”

Harry looked stupefied. “But that could take years!”

“That’s what woke you up, screaming?” Roger asked, clearly bewildered. He still looked

half asleep.

“No, Roger,” Eleanor said patiently. “But Harry asked how you could help. And the

greatest thing you can do for me is to help me gain my freedom from Enderby, once and for all.

“Is everything all right, sir?” A tall, older man stood at the door. The butler, if Eleanor

remembered correctly.

“Yes, Mandrake. Mrs. Enderby simply had a nightmare.”

The butler never even glanced in her direction. “Very good, sir,” he said. He turned and

shooed the gathered servants away before he closed her door.

“All right,” Roger said, rubbing his hands over his face. “And how are we to do that? As

Harry said, it can take years to have someone declared dead.”

“It won’t take him years,” Eleanor drawled, as she walked over and sat down in the chair

by the open window. “Quite frankly, I’m surprised he didn’t kill me long ago so he could

remarry. He’s sired several illegitimate children in the last few years, and his desire for a

legitimate heir has grown. It has been the main cause of his discontent for some time. As soon

as he can have me legally declared dead, he will do so and he will remarry with haste. Mark my

words. In a few months, I shall be the late, first Mrs. Enderby, and the second one shall have

taken my place.”

“And then?” Harry asked.

“And then I will miraculously return from the dead,” she said. “Enderby will be forced to

choose: admit I’m still alive and take me back, which would mean casting aside his blushing,

most likely pregnant bride, or leave me alone and keep her and his heir. I think I know him well

enough to know which he will choose. And I will make it even more difficult for him to find me.

Because I will not be Eleanor Enderby anymore. I’ll assume another identity. Surely he will leave

me alone then. If he does find me, Enderby will not only have to renounce his claim that I am

dead, but prove that I am not who I say I am.”

“It won’t work,” Roger said flatly. “I know the law, Eleanor. I’m a barrister. It will be very

difficult to have you declared dead, and even more difficult to create a believable identity for

you.”

Eleanor’s heart rose into her throat at his words. “It will work. He has most of the

county in his pocket. They’ll do as he tells them, including declaring me dead.”

Harry looked unconvinced. “You’ve left out option three,” she said. “Make sure your

fake death becomes a very real one.”

Yes, Eleanor had thought of that. “He won’t,” she said with false bravado. “He won’t

want to be bothered after he has a new wife and a new life. I shall be free at last.”

Roger looked skeptical. “Perhaps we should just start with a good night’s sleep and

tomorrow we’ll find some place to hide you until we can figure this all out.” He turned to usher

Harry out of the room.

Harry turned back with a worried expression. “Are you sure there’s nothing we can do

tonight?”

Eleanor tried unsuccessfully to quell the uncertainty assailing her. She bit her lip for a

moment and then gave in, blurting out, “Could you leave the door open when you leave,

please?”

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