Devall's Angel by Allison Lane Read Free Book Online Page B

words to express herself. How was she to gain a man’s respect if revealing intelligence would ruin her?
    She sighed. Perhaps she was not as smart as she thought. Otherwise, she surely could sound out her escort’s mind without revealing her own. But the words wouldn’t come.
    * * * *
    Devall ignored the cuts as he strode down Bond Street, his face twisted into a formidable frown. One look at him prompted most to give him a wide berth. Two weeks had passed since his return to London. Two weeks. Yet he had made no progress.
    Gabriel’s only regular activities were morning calls and attendance at marriage mart events. He didn’t spar, shoot, or fence. He didn’t patronize Tattersall’s. He visited his clubs sporadically, favoring none.
    For the first time in years, Devall cursed his reputation. The only place he could be sure to catch the fellow was in a ballroom, but society had long barred its doors against him. Somehow he must garner some invitations.
    Devil take it!
    He hated the insipid conformity of the polite world. But abandoning this quest was impossible. Heaving a resigned sigh, he mulled the list of London hostesses. How far must he humble himself to gain a hearing? And who might give him a chance? Pride had kept him quiet for six years, allowing the popular misconceptions to stand. Pride and the freedom that ostracism provided. But perhaps it was time to press for his rights.
    Few names passed his scrutiny. The sticklers were out, of course. They all wished him to Hades and would never reconsider. Since he felt the same way about them, he would continue to ignore them. The intellectuals? Lady Chartley might do. As would Mrs. Barnthorpe. But Gabriel disdained intellectuals, ignoring any event that attracted them. Joining the intelligentsia would get Devall no closer to his goal – unless the exposure garnered invitations to other affairs. But such a roundabout course would take time, and more patience than he possessed.
    He hated delays, especially when they postponed achieving his goals or kept him away from Wyndhaven. So who else might help?
    Approaching other social outcasts would only generate new tales to blot his reputation. He routinely received invitations from people on the fringes of society, but accepting them would diminish his consequence even further. The few gentlemen who might champion him lacked the clout to wangle him invitations from respected hostesses.
    So he must start with the intellectuals. Lady Chartley did not care a whit for him, but she did enjoy shocking society.
    Devall was crossing Piccadilly when he spotted Gabriel emerging from Hatchard’s, barely fifteen feet away. Perfect. And when he had least expected it, too. Perhaps he could avoid groveling to Lady Chartley.
    Carefully maintaining his ground-devouring stride, he lowered his head as though deep in thought, then stumbled, lurching sideways to knock Atwater into one of the bow windows that flanked the entrance.
    “Clumsy oaf!” Devall glared at the impeccably dressed earl. “Disguised already, Gabriel? Why don’t you watch where you are reeling?”
    Fury erupted on Atwater’s face. “We both know who was at fault,” he said, dusting his shoulder. His fingers froze, and he frowned. “You tore my coat.”
    “Just as well. It doesn’t suit you.”
    “I ought to call you out for that.” Atwater smoothed Weston’s exquisite creation. “Name—” His gaze sharpened, his eyes boring into Devall’s face. In less than a second, his expression slid into a sneer, only the slightest catch in his voice revealing that he had read what was reflected there. “But one can expect manners only from a gentleman.”
    Turning away, he rapidly disappeared into Bond Street.
    Damnation!
    Devall watched until Atwater was out of sight. Still swearing over losing control of his face, he entered Hatchard’s.
    If only he had been prepared for this meeting! But it was too late for regrets. He had tipped his hand, losing the game even at