The Demon's Mistress Read Free Page B

now?
    â€œYes?”
    The door creaked open, and his valet, Noons, peered around it. His ex-valet.
    Disappointment swept through him like a chill. “What the devil are you doing here?”
    Wizened Noons smiled tentatively. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but I went as you ordered. But I got to thinking about how you’d manage alone. You know you’re no hand with your clothes, my lord. I’d be more than happy to stay with you until things come right again. And then stay on,” he added hastily. “Begging your lordship’s pardon . . .”
    Van closed his eyes. If his pistol had worked, poor Noons would have returned to find the body, and after he’d dismissed him specifically to avoid that.
    Or no. Mrs. Celestin would have. Bad planning, Van. Very bad. You should at least have locked the door.
    He opened his eyes to see that the weatherbeaten creases on Noon’s face were crumpling even further. The man thought Van would dismiss him again.
    Making an impulsive decision, he surged to his feet. “I was just going to set the Runners to find you, Noons! Our fortunes are reversed. I have hopes of a rich widow, but I can hardly go a-courting without you to turn me out well, can I?”
    He’d go to Perry’s Bank. If the money was there, he’d have a start. If it wasn’t, he’d complete what Mrs. Celestin had interrupted. Somehow without hurting Noons more than he had to.
    Misery switched to blinding joy in the valet’s face. “My lord! My lord! Oh, this is such good news! I was so afraid . . . I won’t tell you what I was afraid of—”
    His eyes, glancing around, had found the pistol.
    Van thought of lying about it, then shrugged. “It misfired. Faulty flint.” Then he saw the look on the valet’s face.
    Noons retreated. “I’m sorry, my lord. No, I’m not sorry! I couldn’t bear what you might do when I was out of sight. And see, I was right, wasn’t I?”
    For a moment, Van wanted to throttle him, but then he forced a smile. “Yes, by gad, you were right. For six weeks, at least.”
    â€œSix weeks, my lord?” Noons gingerly picked up the pistol and put it out of sight in a drawer.
    â€œNever mind. First order of business is to tidy me up so I can visit my bank.”
    â€œBank, my lord?” Noons glanced at the empty decanter in concern.
    â€œA small loan to enable me to go fortune hunting. So, work your magic.”
    Three hours later, rested, shaved, and turned out to Noons’s satisfaction, Van looked in a mirror. He wished the signs of dissipation could be polished away like the scuffs on his boots.
    If the Golden Lily had been real, however, he’d polish up. Though he often felt like Methuselah, he was only twenty-five. His body must still have some repairing powers.
    He rubbed a finger down the scar on his right cheek. That wouldn’t go away, but that, at least, was honorable.
    He put on his hat and went out to test whether his visitor had been an apparition or real. A strange mission, almost like a trial. If he returned with no money and no hope, he would have to execute himself.
    With that in mind, he paused by a gunsmith’s shop and counted his few coins. Yesterday, he’d paid Noons and his bills, then taken the rest of his money to Brooks’. He’d come home and bought that one bottle of good wine. Now he had just over a shilling.
    He left the gunsmith with a flint, a sixpence, one penny, and a farthing. All he possessed in the world.
    Oh, he could tease things out by selling bits and pieces, but after last night’s disaster, that would be stealing. Despite his words to the real or imaginary Mrs. Celestin, his estates would not completely cover his debt. Everything he owned, even to the clothes on his back, belonged to the men holding his IOUs.
    The only hope lay at the bank. With the careless acceptance of fate that had carried him