A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere) (5 page)

"Ruined?" She stifled a gasp and almost dropped the candle that trembled in her hand.
Three thousand guineas? Good God!
She leaned against the wall to keep from slithering to the floor.

She considered making her presence known and openly confronting Edward and DeVere but knew that they would feel it necessary to hide or obscure the truth from her under the preposterous pretext of protecting her delicate, feminine sensibilities. Instead, she snuffed the candle and pressed as closely as she dared to the door. Still, she only caught frustrating snippets of the exchange.

"
…
amazed such a fine specimen of womanhood…such a buffoon…"

She found it strange that she took Edward's high regard for
her in stride, yet DeVere's words of admiration stirred something deep within. She couldn't comprehend why—when he'd already shown himself a rake of the first order and a man with no respect for women—yet his interest almost made her forget the issue of Reggie's debt. She heard the clink of glass, and then the conversation was frustratingly muffled, as if they had turned their backs or moved further away.

They were now speaking of DeVere's odious mistress, a topic she had not the slightest interest in. She turned to leave, but her breathing arrested as her own name assailed her ears. It was Ned, and he was laughing.

"Diana come to your bed
...
whoremonger
...
wouldn't touch you with gloves..."

Diana's hand flew to her mouth at DeVere's unmitigated presumption. While she was certainly guilty of encouraging a harmless flirtation with him, the notion of joining ranks with such as Caroline Capheaton was beyond the pale. With her blood near the boiling point, she spun on her heel and returned to her room. It would be a cold day in hell before she ever allowed herself to be used by such a libertine.

But then again, it was precisely this illicit thought that took root in her subconscious as she returned to her chamber—what it would be like to know such a man as a lover, to give herself up to selfish, lascivious lust, to finally let loose the deep and relentless yearning after a lifetime of suppressed passion?

She recalled the hungry way his blue gaze had devoured her at their very first meeting, and the suggestion that had hung heavily in the air between them. She had thought herself dismissed as a potential lover until overhearing his profession of interest to Edward, a confession that inspired within her equal parts loathing and lust.

Feeling stifled, Diana flung open the French doors and stepped onto the balcony into the moonlight. She stood there in the deep silence of the night, lost in her reflections and the illicit visions that kept returning to DeVere. When the damp chill forced her back inside, Diana explored her room, still restless and seeking escape from her disquieting ruminations. She discovered a leatherbound volume of John Donne and opened it at random to "The Dream",
an unfamiliar work, but one whose theme she hoped might induce sleep. By the end of the first stanza, however, Diana realized her error. The erotic message of the poem was clear.

Unbidden, her mind conjured Donne's lovers. The man asleep and dreaming of his love only to be awakened by the
object of his passion took the form of DeVere. She cast the book aside with a listless sigh before her mind's eye could invoke what she knew would be the intimately familiar features of his lover.

***

Her footfalls were lost in the plush Turkish carpet of DeVere's bedchamber. Behind the shield of her hand, the flame of the lone candle flickered as she padded across the room to the massive tester bed. The curtains were drawn back, but the bed was cast in the obscurity of shadow. She wondered briefly if one body or two would be revealed in the faint light of her fluttering flame, yet she moved closer still with bated breath that expelled from her lungs in a soft rush to find him alone. She snuffed the candle, waiting for her vision to adjust. She stood there, pulse racing and heart hammering a rapid tattoo against her breastbone at the thought of him waking to find her there.

He was sprawled on his back, arms outstretched in the confident repose of a king or some other invincible being. A sheet draped over a thigh and a portion of torso left the other half of him bare to her ravenous gaze. She devoured the vision of lean, sculpted muscles that closely resembled a god manifested in all his masculine splendor.

"Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best not to dream all my dream, let's act the rest. You are called forth from my dream," he whispered. "I knew you would come."

She stepped back with a gasp.
              "But how could you know that?"

"Because this is ineludible, you and I. You can't escape it." He reached out a hand, his voice husky with desire. "Come to me now, my magnificent huntress."

The words were an irresistible magnetic lure that drew her to him. Untying the sash at her waist, the silk wrapper slithered from her shoulders to pool softly at her feet.

His pupils flared beneath sleep-heavy lids as she stood before him, unabashed in her nakedness. She let him look his fill, his lazy inspection sending mixed anticipation and trepidation washing over her in tiny waves. He peeled back the sheet and sat up. Her gaze was riveted at once to the jutting proof of his arousal. She licked her lips, the wicked promise of unknown delights filling her with a sharp-edged hunger.

He drew her into his arms, and the game began. Their mouths met and melded, his tongue darted over her lips, his teeth grazing them lightly. He pulled on the lower, sucking it into his mouth and then urged her to open to a hungry, breath-stealing match of capture and release that heated her blood. Their tongues met in a simulated lovers' dance that became an explosion of sublime sensation, sending blazing jolts to her belly and a hot pool of moisture between her thighs.

He cupped her breast, teasing her nipple with his thumb. His mouth broke away from hers to ply hot, open kisses to her throat that left her gasping. Of their own volition, her hands engaged in a tactile exploration of his body, reveling in the erotic abrasiveness of his coarse hair against her own smooth skin. She roamed his hard chest, the rigid plain of his stomach, the powerful thigh muscles that now encased her hips, pulling her closer, tighter, and anchoring her against him until she could feel the hot pulse of his jutting manhood against her most private place.

He took her hand in his, guiding her to his rigid staff and enclosed her fingers about it. It was thick and hard and hot and pulsing. "I make no secret of how much I want you," he said, low and hoarse. "Tell me you do, too, Diana. Say you want to take me into your body."

"But I'm here," she whispered. "Is that not proof enough?"

"No." He released her hand, but his probing gaze kept her captive. "Though I would worship you with my body, only you are in control of your pleasure. You must tell me you want this."

She licked her lips, her breathing coming in ragged puffs.

"You have only to say yes, Diana, and I will lay paradise at your feet."

At last, a reply sounded from her throat. "Yes."

He caught the whispered exhalation with his mouth. His hands slid down her back to palm and squeeze her buttocks. He lowered his head to her breast, kissing, gently biting, his tongue rasping her nipple, sending racking rivulets of pleasure to her womb. As her arousal rapidly escalated to a blinding need to feel the hot, hard length of him in her passage, she writhed and ground against him with a fierce cry.

Diana awoke with a sob, her body fevered, her sheets discarded, and her night rail tangled about her waist. She lay in this heightened state of arousal, panting, disoriented, and aching to her very core, until at last, she sought her own release.

Diana returned to
her apartments after breakfast, appalled at the state of her bedchamber. Stockings, fans, and various other personal articles were strewn about the room. The clothespress hung open, and the drawers of the highboy appeared to have been ransacked. In growing panic, her gaze darted to the dressing table, only to discover her jewel case was missing. Certain she'd been the victim of robbery, she called for Polly to alert their host.

"But '
tweren't no robbery, my lady." The maid wrung her hands.

"What on earth do you mean? My jewel box is gone missing!"

"'Twas my Lord Reginald, my lady," the maid sobbed. "He came shortly after you went down to breakfast. He was frantic to know where you kept your coin, and then he saw the box."

Diana's hand flew instinctively to her neck, relieved to find the double strand of pearls with the diamond clasp, a family heirloom that she usually wore only on special occasions. She supposed she had the duchess's arrogant disdain of her to thank
for their safety. She would never have worn them otherwise. But for Reggie to have taken her money and jewels was indefensible.

In her mortification, Diana felt the spots of color staining her cheeks. "I am certain Lord Reginald had good reason for his actions. He was likely seeking some personal effect he had given me for safekeeping."

"If you say so, my lady." The maid looked dubious.

"Do you know where he is now, Polly?"

"No, my lady. He's left his chamber, but he was dressed in riding clothes."

Diana made a strangled sound.
Let hell and a thousand furies strike him!
He's done it again!
This time he'd stolen every penny and all but the pearls about her neck just to go back for more? Diana's eyes burned, and her body shook with rage, yet she refused to break down in front of a servant. "Do you know if Sir Edward is in his rooms?"

"I also saw him depart earlier, my lady."

Diana frowned. "Then perhaps they are both only gone down to watch the training runs. If not, mayhap Sir Edward or Hew knows Lord Reggie's whereabouts. Pray help me into my riding habit. Then I would be grateful if you would put the room back in order."

***

Diana followed the well-travelled, gravel path from the back of the house through the impeccably landscaped park to the first of a set of low brick, slate-roofed buildings that comprised the DeVere stable block. An undergroom rushed out to meet her. "Have you come to watch the training runs, milady? Master Hew has challenged my Lord DeVere to a match race out on the down."

"Has he? I presume Sir Edward and my husband Lord Reginald are there as well?"

"Sir Edward for a fact, but Lord Reginald did not accompany him. Instead, he called for his saddle mount and rode out an hour ago."

Diana fought the rise of panic in her voice. "Did he perchance say where he might be going?"

"I'm afraid not, though he did go off in the direction of Clay Hill."

Damn him!
It was just as she had suspected. Was there no end to this madness? She felt suddenly unsteady on her feet. The groom reached a tentative hand to her elbow. "Are you all right, my lady?"

She took in a restorative breath, willing herself to calm.
"Yes. I'm fine, thank you."

"Will you be needing a mount saddled?" he asked.

"No, I don't think I'll be joining them after all," she said.

"I'm to take another horse down there directly. Is there any message?"

Diana considered what she should do. She knew she needed assistance but hesitated to reveal even to Edward and Annalee the depths of her predicament. At the same time, she knew she was in way over her head. Reggie had spiraled completely out of control.

"Please," she said. "If you would let Sir Edward know that I wish to speak with him on a matter of great import."

"I'll do so directly, my lady." The groom tugged a forelock and trotted off.

Diana entered the building that stabled the racehorses in a state of discomposed abstraction. She wandered blindly past the first few empty stalls that housed the mounts currently out on the down seeking that of her own mare, Cartimandua, and would have walked right by had not the mare greeted her with a low nicker. Moving mechanically, Diana entered the mare's box only to collapse in the straw, face buried in her hands. "He has ruined us," she cried. "He has gambled away everything! And worse, the
fool doesn't even know what he has in his own stables."

As if in sympathy, the mare lowered her face to her mistress, tickling her cheek with warm, grass-scented breath. Clutching the mare's neck, Diana sobbed into the silky mane.
              The mare snorted and pawed the straw. And suddenly Diana knew what she must do.

***

"What is it, Diana?" Annalee asked, her face full of concern as Diana paced the room.

"Reggie has taken everything and returned to Clay Hill."

Edward was grim-faced. "I'll go and get him at once," he said, already rising to his feet.

"Don't you see it's futile?" Diana stifled a sob. "There is no controlling him. Besides, the damage is done. I know he's already ruined us and has wagered what little we have left on the race."

Annalee put her arms around her cousin. "But surely there is something that can be done." She looked plaintively to her husband, who raked a hand through his sandy hair.

"I wish to God I knew what," he said. "Just how did it come to pass, Diana?"

"I don't know," she said. "He has always gamed, but for the past few months, perhaps even the past year, the race meetings, cockfights, and who-knows-what-else have become almost an obsession. I hardly see him anymore. He's had no care for the estate and doesn't tell me anything he does."

Ned and Annalee exchanged glances.

Diana paced the room, wringing her hands. "You think he has a mistress, don't you? I have suspected as much myself."

"Perhaps there is another reasonable explanation," Annalee suggested.

"I can't imagine what it could be, and to be truthful, I don't miss his attentions in the least. He can bed every woman in England for all I care," Diana replied dispassionately. "But the estate—he had no right to do what he's done."

"But what can you do?" Annalee asked.

"There's only one thing, and I would have done it long ago but for my pride and fear of social ostracism."

Annalee gasped. "You don't mean to petition for a divorce?"

"Not quite," Diana said. "I have no proof of adultery and therefore, no legal grounds for divorce. However, given the circumstances, I think I should be able to at least achieve a legal separation. It is the only way I can become free of him. Is it not, Edward?"

Edward looked pensive. "Are you quite sure about this,
Diana? Although I can't blame your desire to take such steps given the present situation, you are not mistaken about becoming a pariah."

"As long as I can count on the both of you, I have no need of anyone else," she declared.

"But of course we would stand by you. Always, dearest," said Annalee.

"But as a woman, you have no property rights. If granted a legal separation, he will get everything."

"But what if nothing remains to begin with?" Diana laughed bitterly.

"Then how do you propose to live?" he asked.

"I know what I must do, Edward. As ironic as it seems, the race appears my best hope of recovery."

Edward made an exasperated sound. "You mean to throw good money after bad? What if you lose?"

Annalee gave her husband a reproachful look. "Diana is always welcome in our home."

Diana laughed. "Never you worry, Edward. I shan't allow myself to be foisted upon you as a dependent relation. I'll surely contrive some other way."

Edward looked dubious.

"How can we help you?" Annalee asked.

"If I'm going to run Cartimandua, I have need of two things—the entry fee and a jockey."

"You are aware that the entry fee is two hundred fifty pounds?" he asked.

Diana fingered the strand of pearls at her neck. "I was hoping you could make me a loan against these."

Edward gave her an apologetic look. "I'm so sorry, my dear, but I just don't have that much available to me at such short notice. Had I only a day to send to London..."

"There's no time." Her spirits plummeted. "The race is tomorrow."

"Then I'll speak to DeVere," Edward said. "I'll ask him for a personal loan. He need never know what it is for."

"No," Diana protested. "I won't presume on your friendship like that. If anyone must go to DeVere, let it be me."

Edward colored. "I don't know if that is the wisest course, Diana. Although he's my closest friend, he's not to be trusted where women are concerned."

"What I propose is a simple
business
transaction," she argued.

"Simple?" Edward laughed. "That's where you are wrong my
dear. Nothing is ever
simple
with DeVere. I fear any transaction made with him will be much more than you bargained for."

"I thank you for the word of warning, dear Edward, but rest assured, I am not susceptible to such men. DeVere may accept or decline my proposal as he wishes."

***

Diana didn't have to wait long for an answer to her message. Within an hour of DeVere's return, he sent word via a footman for her to meet him in his private withdrawing room. She was surprised to find him waiting for her, looking like he had just finished his toilette. His black hair was damp and hung loosely about his shoulders. He was informally clothed in a dressing gown over his smallclothes and devoid of cravat over his fine lawn shirt. Diana struggled to pull her gaze from the strong column of his neck, a sight that seemed almost illicit in its visual appeal. His state of casual undress made her oddly uncomfortable, as if he implied they were on terms of some intimacy, rather than near-strangers.

DeVere swept her an almost-mocking bow.

"A thousand pardons for interrupting you," Diana said. "But I have a personal matter that Edward felt you might be inclined to assist with."

He replied with his sardonic smile. "And you have come to me? How extraordinary. Whatever it might be, you may consider me at your disposal."

"While I appreciate your graciousness, my lord, I would never accept such a blank check from anyone."

He inclined his head to a velvet-covered settee. "Then pray tell me what I can do for you." He waited for her to settle her skirts and then joined her, draping an arm casually over the back. Diana shifted forward on the seat, all too aware of the tantalizing and unsettling fusion of sandalwood shaving soap and musky male. His proximity and scent were a combined assault that jangled her nerves and made her breath quicken. Diana fussed with a fold in her skirts, not daring to meet his gaze straight-on for fear he might be able to read her lustful thoughts.

"It concerns the races tomorrow." She glanced up to find DeVere studying her with an inscrutable expression. "I wish to make a late entry."

"But hasn't Lord Reginald already entered a horse to race?"

"He has, but there is another...a mare. I want to run her."

"There can only be one entry per owner."

"But
I
am the owner," she said. "The mare is mine. We had brought her to Epsom for breeding, but now I wish her to race."

He looked puzzled. "You would wager against your own husband?"

"Yes. My mare is the better horse."

His brows shot up.
"That's quite an extraordinary claim."

"She is an extraordinary mare.
I raised this horse, my lord, bottle-fed her when her dam rejected her. She was such a puny thing, we never thought she'd survive, let alone race, but she's fleet as a gazelle. In truth, I was glad to hear of the subscription race for mares."

"Ah, but you do not perceive my
modus operandi
."

"What do you mean?"

"I purchased this property to expand my racing stud and am in need of superior broodmares. How better to find the best than to see them run?"

"Devious, indeed!" She laughed. "But won't winning mares come at a premium price?"

"Price is little object when I want something." He gave her a meaningful smile. "But there is one thing I don't understand. If what you say is true, why did your husband not enter this horse?"

"Because my husband seems to have very fixed notions about the inferiority of females
.
"

"Following the
general
principles of nature, I would have to agree with him. However, one does upon occasion discover some most remarkable specimens among your gender." His gaze swept slowly over her, creating a wave of heat in its wake. "You are aware the entry fee is two hundred fifty pounds?"

"Yes," she said. It was a small fortune, yet a much larger one awaited the winner. "That is why I have come to you privately. I would like to keep this matter quiet. Just between us." Reaching behind her neck with trembling hands, Diana fumbled to unclasp the double strand of pearls. The action thrust her breasts upward. DeVere's eyes were fixed on her motions the entire time, an appreciative smile hovering over his mouth. His pupils flared with greater interest when the pearls suddenly released and dropped into her bodice.