BOOK EXCERPT:DEVIL’S PRIZE by JANE JACKSON
“I will not hear of you staying at home, Tamara. The very idea!
Tonight is an important occasion. Not just for the ordinary people. All the best families will be attending. Of course, the Trevanion girls must miss it this year as they are in mourning. But even the Casvellans have been known to put in an appearance. I daresay Mr Casvellan supplied the ox for the roast. He is the most generous of men. I know for a fact he has donated blankets and coal to the Poor House. Besides, I have it on good authority that Dr Avers’ nephews are visiting. They will look for the prettiest girls as dancing partners. And for all your odd ways, Tamara, you have vivacity as well as one of the neatest figures in the village. So let us have no more nonsense. You will accompany your father and me, and you will behave just as you ought.”
So, unable to escape, she had gone. Once there, pride as well as good manners had demanded she pretend to enjoy herself. She did what in the past had been effortless and pleasurable: she laughed, teased, flirted.
If Dr Avers’ nephews were present they did not come forward to be introduced. While dancing she resolutely devoted her attention to her partner yet remained oblivious to his blushes and stammered compliments. Frowning matrons murmured together behind their fans and their husbands beamed at her and clapped.
Without turning her head or raising her eyes she knew the instant Devlin entered the room and felt a wave of heat engulf her from toes to hairline.
Returning to her seat beside her mother, she was catching her breath after the Barley Mow when Thomas Varcoe approached and made his bow.
She sensed Devlin’s gaze, She did not look, would not look. But in her mind she saw the harsh planes of his face, the lock of dark hair that always fell across his forehead and the intensity in his eyes. Her body remembered his hands. Scarred, weathered, rough hands: their gentle touch, their brutal rejection.
Her mother’s voice jerked her out of her reverie. Arch and syrupy as she twittered at Thomas, it held warning as she gave Tamara’s forearm a sharp tap with her closed fan.
Fighting renewed anguish, Tamara welcomed an upsurge of anger. Using its strength she raised her head, her gaze drawn unerringly to Devlin’s. His expression was thunderous.
She tilted her chin a fraction, defying him even as she defied her own aching grief. Closing her eyes to break the contact, to shut him out, she turned her head and placed her hand in Thomas’s. They took their places and the orchestra struck up the opening chords of the dance. She responded to his fulsome compliments with an absent smile. And wondered why, when Devlin had derided and rebuffed her, his glare held such fury.
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