The Devil's Rebuttal

Author’s note: Long, long ago (contest #238), in a land far, far away a lady was debauched by the Devil. Today Mr. Devil asks, nay demands, equal time. Who am I, a mere author, to deny him.

To all my female readers, please remember he is taken. To my male readers, I am willing to share his techniques, at a price, of course.

Though it pains me to be beholden to a female, even though she conceived of me, I do appreciate to have been given the chance to clear my name. I assume you have read Lady Gwendolyn’s side of our story. She’s not known to be shy, reticent or at a loss for words. Since you’ve had weeks to form an opinion, you may already have vilified and condemned me. In all likelihood you may turn a deaf ear to these words.

Yes, I made sure to send for her at midnight. I never specified that she had the full forty-eight hours to contemplate my offer. And yes, I did not give her time to dress properly. I am a man.

Have you ever met Lady Gwendolyn? Of course you haven’t. Let me tell you, her magnificence was legendary. Her curves knew no bounds. Though slightly underfed, since she and her sisters had denied themselves in favor of their tenants and serfs. Even so, her bosom fairly spilled over the top of her threadbare gown when I first met her. Her hour-glass figure widened into welcoming hips, promising many hours of delight and healthy sons.

Her temper was delightful, though she managed to keep it, just barely, under control, I sensed and admittedly longed to unleash the passion that simmered just below the surface. Even after all this time, I happily toil to uncover every inch of her, feast my eyes on every valley and curve while I tease her into a frenzy.

But I get ahead of myself.

Just weeks before I first laid eyes on the lady, a sleazy-looking barrister visited me. He told me that after a lengthy search, it had been discovered that I, Lucien DeFeu, was the nearest male heir to the Fitzhugh estate. Mr. Slime was delighted to inform me that Lord Hugh’s petition to install his oldest daughter, Lady Gwendolyn, as Countess in her own rights and heir to her father’s estate, had been conveniently misplaced. Too many of the lords were hesitant to set the precedent. Lord forbid that women would have a say in how to run the land.

Curious to see my new possession and the land, I invited some friends to accompany me and set off for my new home. My merry band of twelve and I were welcomed cautiously though with grace. Lady Gwen and her sisters, the misses Pru and Prissy were delightful, though inexperienced, hostesses. It was obvious to me and my companions that neither of the lovely ladies had ever been to court, nor had a Season. Their artless and innocent invitation to house a baker’s dozen of near noble men and their minions within the walls of their sanctuary was, shall I say endearing? In truth it was naïve and ill-advised.

It was child’s play to have the two lesser sisters taken to the north tower. I have never been accused of having sentiments, or a heart, but …

No, I won’t admit to weakness.

Lady Gwen, the delectable Lady Gwen, was near to speechless when I informed her that, through some barely accountable twist in fate, I was the designated heir and not herself. The law, the House of Lords had designated me as the lord of the manor. Lady Gwen had no voice in the matter.

And here my blood stirred for I do like a good fight. Lady Gwen was not about to accept the verdict docilly. I could see that she was determined to fight and oppose me at every turn. But I had gathered my intelligence. I knew that for decades, Lady Gwen and her father before her had prided themselves on caring for the land and all who profited from it. The family had always put the tenants, the stock, the villagers, and the health of the land before themselves.

Using this obvious weakness, I gave her the bargain. Marry me and continue as chatelaine of the house and land or be expelled. Making sure she understood that her sisters would also be forced to make their living serving others. I smiled sardonically while trying not to melt into her astonished, blue eyes.

“When you accept my bargain.” I couldn’t help myself and had to caress the milky skin of her cheek, “I will make sure your sisters will make suitable alliances.” I purred.

My thumb lingered on the rosy swell of her lower lip. I watched, with growing excitement when her tongue flitted between her lips and hesitantly, fleetingly tasted my thumb.

I sighed in anticipation as I watched her pupils dilate and relished seeing her breasts swell. But I controlled myself. I told my man Gearth to take her to the south tower and assigned Cedrik, her own vassal as her jailor.

I spent nearly an entire day plowing through the estate books and made head nor hide of them. I was meant to cheat at cards, bed lusty wenches, recklessly race horses and bet on a sure thing. I was not meant to care about grains or sheep, to worry about flood or drought, to fret over some woman’s latest confinement or what any of that could mean to crop production. I knew I was over my head, needed the minx and the alliance of her serfs to feed my desires.

Purposefully sprawling in one of the very comfortable chairs near the hearth, I awaited her arrival. Oh, the sight, the sumptuous, mouthwatering sight of Miss, forgive me, Lady Gwendolyn, barefoot, wearing nothing more than a well-worn linen night rail was a delight to behold. The dusky stains of her taut nipples straining against the yellowed linen, the softness of her curves, the strategic shadows, giving hints of her secrets, stirred my lust as she strode into the library. I admired the anger and passion in her eyes when she stopped and faced me. All this is burned onto my heart. Yes, I admit to having one. At that moment, when she burst, all sails to the wind, into the room she had so obviously claimed as her own, she made me her slave.

But it would never do for me to let on that she had won the war before our first scuffle. I had to maintain my façade, make her believe I was impervious to her charms. I was saved when I watched her greedily admire my physique. Though she didn’t deign to acknowledge her interest, I took note of her desire and hoped it to be equal to mine.

I fought the lessons my nanny had painstakingly taught me. To stand when a lady entered and sit up straight in her presence, to keep conversation to the weather and such unimportant drivel. In the end, I am glad, for I delighted in our repartee, her quick wit and sharp tongue.

Although I believe myself not to be an ogre and doubt I would have sent gentle-born ladies into the cold, to fend for themselves, I could not let her see any weakness. The sweetest words I had ever heard were her reluctant sigh and acceptance of my proposal. It was against my nature, but I let her go that night, knowing it would be mere hours before I’d make her mine.

I know it was not sporting of me, but oh, so satisfying to see the consternation on sweet Gwendolyn’s face when I ordered the padre to perform the rite as soon as we had broken our fast.

Of course, she balked, having hoped for more time to prepare herself, to tell her sisters, to warn her tenants. But I caught her by surprise, announcing our alliance and immediately sealing the deal in front of everyone, making it impossible for her to demur. All the villagers, tenants, vassals and retainers rejoiced at the extra ration of mead. Her sisters were shocked and stunned.

I did not give her a chance to explain but impatiently dragged her off to my bed. Allow me to assure you that by the time I let my wife out of bed, several days hence, to tend to our estate, her smile was genuine and permanent.