In Bed With the Devil by Lorraine Heath Page A

intense.
    â€œBut the Crown has already declared Lucian Langdon as the rightful earl,” Catherine felt a need to point out. She knew Mr. Langdon—he was quite social—and she liked him well enough. He was no doubt the rightful earl. Lucian Langdon had not denied the truth of that matter, to her at least. But still she had a difficult time imagining Marcus Langdon as earl. Or perhaps it was simply that she couldn’t see Lucian Langdon as not being earl.
    â€œMr. Langdon’s contention is that King William was deceived, and being quite up in years—he was seventy at the time, after all—he was taken advantage of. Queen Victoria can set the matter to rights. If Mr. Marcus Langdon can simply get the courts to recognize that the property is truly his, then he will have the weight of the courts behind him when he petitions Her Majesty.”
    â€œI daresay, he’s a very brave man, your Mr. Marcus Langdon,” Winnie murmured. Then all eyes came to bear on Winnie, and she seemed to wither beneath the scutiny.
    Catherine hated that Avendale had transformed a once-vibrant woman into such a mouse. She reached across the table and squeezed Winnie’s hand. “No doubt you’re quite right about Mr. Langdon. After all, Claybourne is not called the Devil Earl for nothing. I don’t expect he’ll go quietly into the night.”
    No indeed. He would fight this latest attempt to usurp his position. He was a man who wore power like a comfortable old cloak. He’d not give it up easily.
    â€œI’m always amazed by how eloquent Claybourne is,” Lady Chesney said.
    Catherine felt her heart lurch. “You’ve spoken with him?”
    Lady Chesney pressed her hand to her ample bosom, and judging by the shock on her face, Catherine might as well have asked if she’d lain in bed with him. “Of course not. Just the thought of conversing with the man sends my heart into palpitations. I daresay, if he ever addressed me, I would expire on the spot. No, no, no. I’m referring to the letters he’s had published in the Times .”
    Catherine’s stomach dropped to her toes. “What letters?”
    â€œHe maintains that it’s unfair for children older than seven to be judged according to the law of the land.”
    â€œWell, of course, he’d think it unfair,” Lady Charlotte said. “After all, he spent time in prison—even before he murdered dear Mr. Langdon’s father. Can you imagine growing into adulthood knowing that your father was murdered—and that your grandfather not only welcomed the murderer into his home, but treated him as a son? Or a grandson as it were. It’s absolutely shameful. Can anyone blame Mr. Marcus Langdon for striving to acquire what he knows in his heart is his?”
    â€œOf course no one can blame him,” Lady Chesney said. “I think it’s frightfully disgraceful that among the aristocracy we have a lord who bears a prison brand upon his hand.”
    â€œHave you seen it?” Lady Charlotte asked, clearly horrified by the thought.
    â€œI should say not! My dear Chesney has seen it, though, at the club when Claybourne is not wearing gloves. It fairly turns his stomach, and my Chesney is not one whose stomach turns easily.”
    â€œI think if I bore the mark of sin, I’d always hide it,” Lady Charlotte said.
    Catherine thought of the scar she’d seen on Claybourne’s hand the night she’d gone to visit him, the burn scar on Jack Dodger’s thumb. Why did Claybourne’s look so different, so awful? She couldn’t imagine someone intentionally pressing hot iron against a child’s small hand. “Do you know how old he was when he was in prison?”
    â€œNot offhand, no. It was years ago, I believe, when he was a child. From what I understand, he was caught stealing.”
    â€œHe should have gone to prison for killing Mr. Langdon’s