The Beast's Bargain (The Bluestocking War) Read online

  The Beast’s

  Bargain

  The Bluestocking War

  Book 10

  by

  Eva Devon

  As Máire Claremont

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the work of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.

  The Beast’s Bargain

  Copyright © 2022 by Máire Creegan

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. No redistribution is authorized.

  All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

  Even in the darkest night, the light will find a way. For my sons who always light up my heart.

  Special thanks to:

  Louisa, Patty, and Christy! And as always you. If I trust, it always works out.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Other Books by Eva Devon

  Chapter 1

  Miss Olivia Bliss’s heart pounded against her ribcage as the small sailing boat she had taken came into its moorings.

  Doused in the frothy waves of the sea, she questioned her own judgement for the thousandth time that day. And yet, she was resolved. There was no going back.

  The North Atlantic waters churned about them, tossing up wild waves that the sailboat had navigated with aplomb.

  Olivia was quite pleased that she was a born sailor. After some difficulty, she’d gripped one of the ropes, stood with feet spread, and kept her gaze locked on the large island not far from the mainland, praying that they would arrive before the sky opened up its increasingly violent clouds and emptied their contents upon them.

  She lifted her gaze to the castle on the hillside and her jaw dropped, much to her own chagrin. How could it not?

  For the castle was a marvel, perched on a sheer cliff face.

  It was unlike anything she had seen in her entire life. The castle towered up above the rugged island like a jewel shining in the murky weather. Even in the grim, gray light, somehow the windows sparkled, no doubt washed and polished to within an inch of their lives.

  Though it was gray, she found herself immensely grateful that, for once, it was not raining in Scotland.

  She had quite enjoyed her time in the northern land since coming to visit her cousin, who had happily married the Earl of Argyle, but there had been few days in which the sky had been blue and the sun a gleaming ball. The weather in Scotland was not for the faint of heart.

  Luckily, she’d discovered she was made of stern stuff, something her cousin’s own quest for adventure had taught her.

  She drew in a fortifying breath and let her hard grip on the rope ease. She was grateful for her leather gloves which had protected her skin from the rough, wet surface.

  This was a journey three years in the making. She’d never allowed herself to envision Scotland. Well, perhaps she had in dreams. But she’d never told anyone her secrets. Not even her dear cousin.

  For her secrets were most risky, and she could not have born it if the one thing that had made her life livable had been taken from her.

  Now? Now, she was here.

  Mist spilled in from the sea, wrapping her up, but the castle was still completely visible on its promontory.

  The small, weathered man who had managed to get her over from the mainland peered at her with wrinkled skin, his eyes perpetually narrowed against the horizon.

  “Right then, lass,” he said. “This is it. Do you need me to walk you up to the castle?”

  She turned back to him, gulped, and forced herself to look more prepared than she was.

  “Absolutely not. Thank you though.” Olivia reached into her damp reticule and paid him the required fee.

  He gave her a nod, pulled at his cap, and then all but tossed her bags onto the small dock. She climbed out of the sailing boat with his assistance, stood on the slick dock alone, and squared her shoulders.

  This was it. This was her moment.

  She could clamber back into the boat and return to the life she had always known, or she could go boldly forward, just as her cousin had done.

  As if the sky had heard her, the wind whipped up and sleet began to slash down on her. She glanced back and realized that the sailor had already run. He was bobbing back to the mainland in a mad dash to escape the storm rolling in off the North Atlantic.

  Right. She nodded to herself. She’d longed for this. And if her cousin, Rosalind, could be so bold and find so much happiness, she was going to do it too. It didn’t matter that she had a mother and father in London who were writing her letters every day.

  Letters that all but shouted about her duty to return to the Season. They were furious at her for having departed, though there were several notes in said letters that made the point that there was every opportunity for her to marry someone as important as her cousin’s husband, the Earl of Argyle.

  After all, if Rosalind, who did not have Olivia’s looks or her skills with company, could find such a match, her parents reasoned, surely Olivia could find herself a duke, at least.

  The idea made her laugh. Though society valued a pretty face and dull conversation, the fact was that she had no fortune. She only had her person and her ability to converse as the ton preferred to recommend her. And she was tired of it.

  She was extremely fortunate because Rosalind, who adored her—as she adored her cousin in turn—had given her a small though sizable allowance to live upon, and she no longer had to throw herself at the mercy of any husband who would take her based upon her face and her ability to suppress her intellect.

  No, she was able to be bold instead, and bold she was.

  Very, very bold.

  In fact, she had not even told Rosalind how bold, or the Earl of Argyle.

  She lifted her face to the freezing water, gripped her skirts, and marched over the hard, frozen earth.

  Christmas was in but a few days’ time, and she had chosen to come here. Away from everyone she knew. Some might call her mad.

  But surely… Surely, it would be the greatest Christmas miracle for her if she could find escape from her life which was one unending lie.

  Hoping beyond hope that she could change the course of her life, she had written a note saying that she was going to visit friends.

  And she’d departed rather quietly. She was making a habit of slipping away.

  Friends.

  The truth was she did not know the man who lived in this castle except for the letters that they had exchanged for the last three years.

  Yes, three.

  She clambered along the manicured path, choosing speed because the sleet was turning to snow.

  It was a steep climb.

  She found herself quite glad that she took a daily constitutional with her cousin in the Highlands. If she had not, she would not have been prepared for the sudden and dramatic upturn in the pathway as it led to the castle that perched on the rocks.

  And she certainly wouldn’t have been prepared for the vigorous weather and blustering wind.

  When she came at last to the slick, stone stairs that led up to the courtyard, she realized that there were several servants who had spotted her. They were staring, of course.

  One of them—red cheeked and with a mobcap flapping in the wind—approached slowly. “Are you completely lost, miss?”

  “No, not completely,” she replied with a forced grin. “Unless this is not the Duke of Ayrshire’s home.”

  The young maid, eyes wide, gave a quick nod. “This is indeed the duke’s establishment, but he’s not expecting a young lady to visit him. Are you here for a position or—”

  She cleared her throat. Here was where things were going to become complicated. For she was here to correct a lie…but first, she actually had to see the duke. “I have an appointment with His Grace.”

  The young lady gaped at her. Clearly no one had been informed that she would be arriving, and in a house such as this, such occurrences were probably odd. Especially on an island.

  “Och, well, then we must get this sorted,” the young lady said. “Come along.”

  The maid pivoted swiftly on her booted heel, her dark wool skirts swishing.

  Olivia followed the lady with the mobcap with a surprising dose of relief. She wasn’t being turned away immediately.

  Aside from having to march straight up to the door, bang upon it, and hope that the butler of the establishment let her in, despite the fact that they were not expecting her, she had not known exactly how these first moments might go.
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  The maid seemed capable, and Olivia was grateful.

  Even as they charged across the courtyard, she could not resist drinking in the atmosphere.

  The castle was not at all dreary or remote.

  It bustled with life. She was surprised at this. After all, in her mind, she had begun to think of the island as cloaked in mystery.

  Yes, the place would be moody, and no doubt the duke inside would be a grumpy fellow. His letters were not grumpy, but society seemed to think that he had become a complete and total recluse who cared only about history since his younger brother had met his end in a tragic accident.

  She didn’t mind him being a recluse who loved history at all. She rather preferred it. She’d known enough dandies who loved to race about town with little thought in their head other than stick pins, cravats, and which curricle was the finest.

  What she truly cared about was the collection inside his castle and the duke’s rather interesting information about Roman history. Something that she herself was devoted to.

  The young lady with the mobcap led her up to the towering double doors that were studded with black iron. She grabbed the latch, turned it, pushed it open, and quickly stepped inside. And like a capable but firm nanny called over her shoulder, “Come along, come along, Miss…”

  “Miss Bliss,” she offered.

  The young gave a nod, then gestured one of her reddened hands toward the foyer. “Do come inside and wait. I shall fetch someone to deal with you.”

  Deal with her. It was slightly less friendly than she’d hoped for but better than being tossed back into the sea like an unwanted parcel.

  Olivia stood in the large foyer waiting as the maid went off to find someone. She pushed her wet hair back under her limp bonnet with a damp gloved hand.

  It was a massive foyer, even larger than the Earl of Argyle’s, and that had been no small castle.

  This one positively sprawled, bringing to mind a sleeping giant on the hill.

  Swords, lances, spears, and shields decorated every wall, and she wondered at that, the history of military exploits.

  She quickly realized that it was not just Scottish clans’ weaponry that decorated the walls, but all sorts of armory throughout history, and it appeared from different lands. There were items from faraway places that she had never dared visit but only seen in books and museums when she’d been allowed to have an opportunity to leave the house with her cousin.

  And much to her delight, the scent of greenery filled the air for the room was filled with holly and ivy on every surface, the green leaves glowing, and the bright red and white berries shining like jewels in the firelight from the elaborate chandelier overhead.

  She drank in the scent of Christmas and found herself smiling. The hall was beautiful, and the crackle from the fire that had clearly been laced with winter herbs like rosemary and cinnamon filled the air.

  It was…merry, despite the gloom, and that was a boon given her damp state.

  Did the duke like to make merry at Christmas? He was not married. And had no children of his own. But she knew how much he adored his niece and nephew who had come into his care the same month they had taken up their correspondence.

  At last, a man with a rather glowering face, silvery eyebrows, and bushy but tamed hair stopped in front of her. To her amazement, he was not dressed as a typical butler but wore a tweed jacket and a kilt.

  “May I help you, lass?” he asked patiently, but there was no note of invitation in his tone.

  She turned her lips in one of the winning smiles she’d perfected. “I am looking for the Duke of Ayrshire.”

  “The duke,” the man said, his thick Scottish burr rumbling over her, “does not allow just any visitor to disturb his studies.”

  His studies! She could swoon at the very idea of a duke in pursuit of study rather than ballrooms!

  “I am not just any visitor,” she said, her heart beginning to beat apace as the moment of reckoning arrived. Would she be able to convince the butler to let her in? “The duke specifically invited my uncle, Mr. Bliss.”

  The butler arched a brow. “You are not Mr. Bliss though, are you, Miss Bliss?”

  She laughed, though it sounded strained to her own ears. “No, indeed I am not. . .”

  She swallowed. She wanted to tell the butler the truth, but she was afraid he would send her away, ending her mission before it could even begin. She only needed to maintain her deception for but a few more minutes. “My uncle could not travel, and he wished me to come and view the collections and take notes.”

  The butler blinked at her as if she had lost her wits. “This is most unusual. We were indeed expecting Mr. Bliss today for a stay over the twelve days of Christmas, and this is not at all what we have been prepared for. You are a young lady without a chaperone, miss, and clearly from a good family. It is not done, generally speaking, for young ladies to even travel on their own. How did you get here?”

  “I took a sailboat,” she said firmly.

  “A boat? Alone?” he said, swinging his gaze to the windows which revealed large flurries of snow splattering against their surface. And just at that moment, a gust of wind howled like a mournful ghost around the castle.

  Olivia cleared her throat. “Well, someone sailed it. Certainly not I. But it seemed the most practical thing. I do not have the capability of swimming that far, and I also have my things,” she pointed out. “And of course, there’s the snow.”

  The butler’s lips quirked in unwanted appreciation. “Well, you do have a head upon your shoulders then. I suppose there’s nothing to do but take you to the duke and see what he has to say.”

  “Thank you,” she said, not quite daring to relax.

  The truth was, not many people did get to see the duke’s collection, and that was one reason why she was here. Unlike so many of the people in England who were adventurers and explorers, who came back toting their wonders from afar, exhibiting them to anyone who might look at them or touch them or praise them, the Duke of Ayrshire had brought his collection to his island.

  He did not allow just anyone to come and see it, not while he and invited scholars studied it.

  He took great pains to make sure that relics were preserved. His letters had been full of his plans for a full exhibition in Edinburgh and London, where all people could come and see the wonders of Pompeii and the Herculaneum. But first, everything had to be organized and codified.

  He had not been to Europe in three years. In fact, the first three letters he had sent her had come from outside of Naples.

  But after his brother’s death? He had not gone back. He had been consumed with the raising of his wards and the organization of the collection that he and his brother had loved so well.

  She rather thought the reason their exchange had been so rich was because he had been isolated in Scotland.

  They’d become. . .friends.

  Except she had been a coward and unable to tell him the truth of her identity. Fearing another chastising rejection, as she’d had before from several Oxford scholars.

  The duke did not know she was a woman, and she wasn’t entirely certain how she was going to explain it to him, or if she could ever truly explain it to him.

  The truth was, she had been certain that he would not take up serious conversation with a young lady. No gentleman would after all, not about such matters. Experience had taught her that this was true and not a fancy on her part.

  The butler led her quickly up the wide stairs leading up into the castle, and he then hurried into a smaller stairwell, which turned and twisted around and around until she felt herself growing a touch dizzy.

  Once again, she was grateful she’d accustomed herself to her cousin’s husband’s castle. Such old buildings were most awe inspiring. She found herself pausing for a moment to peer out at the sea.

  The air was filled with white flakes descending into the wild, slate-gray water.

  It was vast and beautiful.

  “It is such an interesting place,” she whispered.

  “Do you think so, my lady?” the butler asked, surprise lifting his lilting voice. “Most people find it rather intimidating and uninhabitable.”

  “Most people are very silly,” she said, tearing her gaze away from the view.

  The butler let out a small laugh, which surprised her. Butlers did not generally laugh. She liked this man immediately, that he was given to such true emotion. When he at last stopped in front of a tall door, he peered down at her and said, “Are you absolutely certain? The duke is a rather serious fellow, and he may not take well to a young lady bothering him.”