Chapter 1

July 1736
Wively Hall
Norfolk, England

It was long claimed that the St. Clair family had made a deal with the Devil in exchange for the finest faces and forms in England. The culprit was a matter of continued speculation even as the primary suspect had lived four hundred and twenty-two years past: Sir Robert St. Clair. An intimate favorite of Edward II. Who had been struck down with a disfiguring case of smallpox much to the glee of would-be favorites waiting in the royal court’s wings. Who by contemporary accounts and to the chagrin of those would-be favorites, emerged from the sickroom shockingly fairer of face than before to regain his place at the king’s side, and the Tindall earldom.

Of course, there was also the Devil to pay. And so, the tale went that for every St. Clair progeny thereafter, gifted with extraordinary good looks, the Devil took something in return.

Diana Philips was sensible. She had never swooned, simpered, or longed to be seduced. She understood love was a madness, wished for a marriage based on her ability to tolerate her future husband, and knew, without a doubt, that the tale of the St. Clair’s Faustian bargain was downright preposterous.
But she believed it.

Why else would she be skulking behind shrubbery, her heart hammering against her breastbone at the sight of William St. Clair, the most irresistibly handsome and unsuitable man?

“See there,” her eldest sister Jane whispered as they gazed through a window cut from the privet hedge to the downs undulating to the Norfolk shore. Her sister’s delicate profile and hazel eyes were as pretty as if she had made a devilish bargain. “I told you they were here.”

They were James St. Clair, Jane’s husband of five years and the 12th Earl of Tindall, his younger brother William, the ducal heir Lord Tenwhestle, and other bachelor chums arrived yesterday to enjoy a country respite. Scandalously undressed to their shirtsleeves, they milled about what was deemed a golf course.

For three very long years, Jane had championed William as Diana’s perfect match, though Diana was certain it had more to do with the novelty of them being sisters twice-over if she married William, rather than William’s character. And so, it had come to this. Dragging Diana to the Tindall’s Norfolk estate, Wively Hall, under the guise of a house party and spying on sweaty, disheveled bachelors.

As a grown woman, Diana had never seen a man’s bare forearms before, and William’s, roped with muscle and dusted with dark hairs, were the stuff of wholly impractical fascination. In deep concentration, he measured his club to a ball reposing on the turf, swung it backward, and with a solid whack, sent it dashing along the downs. By the manly applause, his effort had been impressive. But not nearly as much, to Diana’s reeling mind, as his damp linen shirt stuck to his broad shoulders.

When he speared his club to the turf, smiled, and raked his fingers through his dark hair, Diana dipped her brow to the prickly shrub and groaned.

She wished Jane had been wrong in her scheming. “We should return to the house.”

“But why? Is my husband James not the handsomest of men?” Jane asked. “And so, his brother?”

Charlotte, their younger sister of seven and ten, squeezed in to have a look. “Bosh. They appear the same as always. On the verge of a row.”

Diana shushed her, not because she didn’t agree with Charlotte, but because it was expected she defend her brother-in-law. Though Jane knew quite well her husband’s faults, just as Diana knew William’s. And a row was imminent, though being a good fifty paces away, the nature of their squabble was carried off by the summer breeze.

James, with his surly good looks, had his arms crossed and his gaze pinned on William. William lazily twirled his club, his brow creased by the sun’s glare, and stared right back.

“I have it on good authority,” Jane mused, “that an offer of marriage is forthcoming from William to a certain girl. One who is my sister?”

Dear Heavens, I hope not. “I have done nothing to merit an offer. Shall we make ourselves known? I fear Charlotte is right. They do appear at odds.” Again.

“’Tis naught but a brotherly disagreement.”

Charlotte snorted. “If by brotherly you mean murderous.”

Jane turned, ignoring Charlotte’s impudence and the burgeoning row, and drew a lock of hair over Diana’s shoulder, coaxing it into a becoming curl. “When a girl possesses your beauty, Di, she needs no further merits. Though you do sing and play well.”

She was passably pretty at best with flaming red hair that overshadowed everything but her height. A head taller than both her sisters, she was as painfully tall as she was practical. “My repertoire on pianoforte consists of Bach’s Prelude in C Major and I sing just well enough not to set the hounds to baying.”

“So modest you are! Our drawing master proclaimed your watercolors rendered with the utmost sentiment.”

“That was not a compliment.”

“Was it not?”

“No, he said it looked as if I had sobbed all over them.”

“Oh.” Jane pulled back her chin, frowning. “You sit a horse perfectly.”

“Perhaps I do,” Diana conceded. She glanced out the hedge window. The rest of the bachelor party conferred to the side of the brothers as if taking wagers. Then they shuffled around the two like how Diana imagined a crowd formed at a prizefight. “I think I should—”

“Allow William to pay his addresses, yes! He is in love with you, Di.” Jane caught her hand and patted her mittened fist. “James said William would far prefer to be at his business, for he is a second son and cannot depend on his family nor afford a life of leisure.” She winced. “That is, he is like to have a fortune soon and will have all the time in the world for you and your children.”

“Children?” Diana flushed the color of her hair and jerked her hand away. “I would not procreate with that hothead—”

“The earl swung first!” Charlotte announced.

That brought them back to the privet. They stared aghast as William planted a facer in his brother’s nose. Blood splattered far and wide. As the earl stumbled backwards, William tore off his shirt.

“Oh, dear Lord,” Diana whispered. The sight of naked male flesh, all of its mounds and ripples and chiseled lines burned into her brain for eternity.

Throwing his shirt aside, William lunged forward and landed a fist under the earl’s jaw. And then one at his abdomen.

“Say it again!” he roared while his opponent doubled over.

In answer, the earl roared back and flung himself at his brother’s middle, hurling them both to the ground. Fists flew and hands grappled for holds. Groaning and cursing and biting, they rolled in the grass, their audience courteously stepping wide to give them room. Through the bloody melee, William came up on top, pummeling his brother once, twice, and then settling for clutching his head and banging it into a sand dune. Not enough, he grabbed a fistful of sand and stuffed it in his brother’s mouth.

“I think the earl is done for,” Charlotte said.

Who cared who won or who had hit whom first? Or that the fight ended as quickly as it had begun with William springing to his feet and lending his brother a hand? Which the earl didn’t take. He was too busy rubbing sand from his eyes and spitting it from his mouth.

Diana pushed from the hedge. She would never, never shake this image from her mind. And she shouldn’t wish to. This was just one reason why William St. Clair had been, and would continue to be, avoided like the Black Plague. He might be a perfect representation of masculinity like those of ancient statues, but when the Devil had given him that face and form he had stripped him, and all the St. Clairs, of patience and reason. In its place, he had bequeathed the St. Clair Temper.

Oh, how the Devil loved a good fight. And the St. Clairs never failed to provide.

“I’ve seen enough,” she said, shaking with anger. Of course, she didn’t haul off and clout someone for it, even when her sister said…

“Please, Di, do try to be understanding and not allow this to change your opinion. You know how they are.”

She breathed deeply. “My opinion has not changed but is further proven by this spectacle. If you wish to avoid your brother-in-law’s humiliation when I refuse to even consider his proposal of marriage and the likelihood of him fighting me for my hand, I suggest you advise him that his suit is most wholly unwelcome. No, it is repulsive. Good morning.” She grabbed Charlotte’s sleeve. “Come with me.”

~End of Excerpt~