A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere) (7 page)

In the ostentatiously
gilded library with its Italianate frescoed ceiling, DeVere lounged, his booted feet carelessly propped upon the burnished mahogany desk, studying his guest in a silent and scowling appraisal. DeVere noted the bloodshot eyes, the facial ruddiness, and slightly bloated features. Of medium height and slight build, the Baron Palmerston-Wriothesley might have appeared somewhat boyish from a distance, but in close quarters, he showed all the signs of deterioration from dissipation. Sizing the man up, DeVere found the sum total wanting.

Lord Reggie deserved to squirm like the worm he was. Indeed,
far
worse. What he truly merited was to be strung up by his bollocks.

"You wished a word with me, my lord?" Reggie finally prompted, the lengthy silence having achieving its purpose. "If it is an apology you seek for my...
er...condition last evening." He gave an embarrassed laugh. "I'm sure you know how it is..."

"To be carried home stinking drunk?" DeVere made no effort to hide his scorn. "Not in a good many years. It is my
observation, Lord Reginald, that if a man cannot hold his drink, it behooves him to abstain unless in the company of those he implicitly trusts."

"Lofty words from one whose own exploits in debauchery are legendary," Reggie snapped back. "I was lost in the heat of the moment. You are a notorious gamester. Surely you have found yourself in a similar predicament—"

DeVere raised a hand and gave the man a dangerous look. "Don't
ever
presume
to compare yourself with me. I may play deep, but I have the means to do so. And when I lose, I pay the reckoning. A gentleman
never
shirks a debt of honor." He retrieved a handful of notes from his breast pocket and slammed them on the desk. "Your vowels, I believe?"

"How do you have these? And why?" Reggie's expression grew thunderous. "I credited O'Kelly with more discretion."

"How I came by them doesn't matter a whit," DeVere answered. "As to why? To save certain innocent people embarrassment. While you can go to the devil for all I care, I won't have others suffer on your behalf and certainly not while under my roof."

Reggie's gaze narrowed. "I told O'Kelly I would get the money. I sent notice to the banker—"

"And thus, you forfeited your estate, your sole means of livelihood to that blackguard? An estate that I understand only came to you by marriage? What manner of jackass are you?"

Reggie looked like he would explode but managed a tight-lipped reply. "I find myself in a bit of a tight spot at present, but all will be well after the races."

"And so you would place your entire future on a stupid four-legged creature?" DeVere rolled his eyes heavenward. "The fool's folly never ends!"

Reggie's fists were balled by his sides, his eyes glazed with fury. "If I win the race, my problems are resolved."

"And if you lose?" DeVere observed his guest's agitation with smug satisfaction. At times like these, wielding his power was a heady sensation.

"Then I suppose I shall have to appeal to you for some agreeable terms of repayment."

DeVere offered him an icy smile. "You take much for granted, sir. My generosity is not without bounds. We are not kinsmen. We are not even friends, and your debt has already increased by twelve percent, though O'Kelly surely would have charged you twenty, his reputation for usury exceeding that of the Westminster Jews. If you are not able to settle your debt with me by the end of the day tomorrow, the only terms I will accept will be your property." His lips curved at what remained unspoken.
And that includes your wife.

***

Agitated and restless, Diana paced her room until she thought she would burst from anticipation. At half past three, while Annalee napped, she and Edward followed the same path she had taken that morning to the stables where two of DeVere's junior grooms met them with a pair of saddled horses.

"My lord ordered it so," the groom said. "The lady will have a much better view of the field astride."

"But what of my mare, Cartimandua?" she asked.

"My lord has already taken her to the down."

"His jockey, you mean?"

"No, my lady, his lordship hisself rides the mare."

"Does he?" After the groom assisted her to mount, Diana turned to Edward with skepticism. "I thought it was
Hewett
DeVere who was such a noted horseman."

Ned laughed. "Who do you think taught
him
? DeVere is the devil on horseback. Though he is sadly lacking in discipline, Ludovic is actually a man of many talents, Diana. When he applies himself to a thing, he's a formidable force. Thus it's fortunate for the world around him that his passions quickly fade."

"I see," said Diana in bemusement. "He is a rather unusual man."

"Unusual? I might suggest
ungovernable.
"

"You mean a rogue." Diana settled her skirts and took up the reins.

"It's not that he's without honor, Diana, but you must understand DeVere only follows his
own
code." Ned gave her a meaningful look and hoisted himself gracefully into the saddle. "I hope you'll take extreme care in any dealings with him. He is ruthless and calculating when he chooses to be and has a strong predilection to manipulate and exploit the vulnerabilities of others—when it suits his purpose. He just can't help himself. It's not that he's evil incarnate, or anything like that. It's just he has low tolerance for weakness, incompetence, or buffoonery."

Diana lifted her brow. "You know I am no fool, dear Edward. I take full responsibility for my actions and have already made clear what I am willing and
not
willing to sacrifice. You are truly like night and day, you and he," she remarked. "I marvel that you've maintained such a close friendship all these years."

Edward shrugged. "We are enough alike in matters of
import. Though I may not approve of all his actions, how he chooses to live is his business. I shall never meddle." He inclined his head to the verdant landscape in the near distance. "Shall we go and watch the trials?"

"But of course!" Diana laughed and urged her horse into an easy canter.

***

The afternoon had proven a glorious diversion. During that brief period of watching the horses gallop across the down, Diana's spirits had risen, and her mind had cleared of any worry. Hew had ridden DeVere's stallion against DeVere on Cartimandua, and the lithe little chestnut mare had certainly held her own, keeping pace with the larger horse until the very last furlong when he began to gain ground. Although Prometheus won by a length, the horses were carrying unequal weight for size, which had placed the mare at a disadvantage. Aware of this, DeVere was suitably impressed with her.

"You were right. She's got both speed and bottom," he remarked upon dismounting and handed the horse off for hot-walking.

"She was bred to run, my lord, and moreover, to produce winners. If she wins tomorrow, you must help to ensure that I get
the prize money to clear Reggie's debts, less what I owe you for the entry fee, of course."

"Perhaps I should remind you that your win is not assured," DeVere said.

"I know, my lord, but she has a good chance. You said so yourself."

"I'll allow you that," he agreed with a smile.

"I have one concern now," she said. "Who will ride her?"

"I have a very good man in Pratt," he said. "He's one of my best grooms. I willingly place him at your disposal."

"Then we are agreed, my lord?"

"Aye. Your mare will run."

Diana unclasped her pearls and handed them to DeVere with a satisfied smile. "Then mine was not such a ridiculous proposition after all."

"Mayhap not, but mine was far better," he added sotto voce
,
with a dark look that made her insides quiver.

The smile froze on Diana's face. "There is something you clearly do not yet understand, my lord. My virtue is neither for sale, nor for barter—under any circumstances."

DeVere answered with a cynical laugh. "My dear, there is something
you
have yet to learn. In this world, everything and
everyone
has a price."

***

Insufferable man!
Diana's pulse pounded a furious drumbeat in her head. She had never known anyone who could inflame her to such a passion of pique as Ludovic DeVere. His arrogance was intolerable, yet all of her senses seemed to spring to life in his presence. He both taunted and tempted with his sardonic gaze of the deepest blue, and the mocking twist to his sensuous mouth.

Wish as she might, she found him impossible to ignore, especially the fact that he wanted her. This knowledge and the visions of him in her dreams incessantly plagued her thoughts. What would it be like
just once
to be his lover? She knew she could never act upon such a thing. She could never live with herself if she did, yet he still preoccupied her mind.

After the mare's cooling, Diana accompanied the groom and Cartimandua back to the stables where he led her into her box and then returned to the others on the down. Diana remained with her mare. While she and Reggie employed a number of boys in their stables, Diana had always enjoyed caring for her own mounts. It was an old and well-loved habit. The smells of fresh hay, oiled leather, and equine were a concoction that always
soothed her soul.

Taking up a brush, she began stroking the sleek, chestnut coat. While the horse contentedly munched her oats, Diana remained enthralled with her thoughts of DeVere—until Reggie's voice jarred into her ruminations, and the boar's hair brush almost dropped from her hand. Her first impulse was to confront him, but his peculiar speech gave her pause.

"We were so close," Reggie said, clawing a hand through his thinning hair. "So damnably close to our plans coming to fruition. I was up at least a thousand at the Hazard table, but then my luck suddenly turned south. Cogged dice, it was! The bloody sharps! Half a dozen throws, and it was all gone. All we had hoped for dashed away!"

We? Our plans?
Diana frowned. He was talking to his head groom, James Johnson, and while she was obscured from their view by her mare, she could clearly distinguish the two of them through the iron bars of the box stall.

"But we still have the race," answered Johnson. "While the prize money won't be as much as we'd hoped to gain, surely it will suffice for a time. Were you successful with O'Kelly's man?"

"Aye. The avaricious bastard. There was at least one hundred pounds in gold coin and bejeweled baubles in that purse."

Her purse! Her jewels!

"O'Kelly's man will need to disappear to the north," Johnson said. "The Colonel is
not
a man to cross."

"Precisely why we have taken particular care in our arrangements, but the matter is settled," Reggie said with a dismissive wave. "What now of DeVere's jockey groom? Have you made contact with him yet?"

"Aye. Pratt seems a pliable sort. Given a bit of grease, he'll throw the race sure enough," said Johnson.

"How much?" Reggie asked.

"Fifty quid should suffice."

"'Tis near enough to keep him in the style of a gentleman for a year. Tell him he gets half now and the rest after we win. You are as sure of him as we are of the other?"

"Aye. More so. He risks nothing as his lordship's horse is untried and a long shot at best. 'Twill be no surprise if they lose, and the groom needn't fear getting the boot."

"Then that takes care of our two main competitors."

"But there be six running. What if we don't win?"

"There you go again! Don't even think such negative thoughts. You know our entire fate rests between your hands and
that stallion's legs. Win that race for us and you win our freedom."

"You are certain about this, Reggie?" Johnson said. "You are still willing to make the sacrifice?"

Their nefarious plan to fix the race had become clear, but Diana found her bewilderment only increasing.
Sacrifice?
What on earth were they talking about?

A pause followed. "Have I ever given you reason to doubt me before, my dear?"

My dear?
She shook her head, disbelieving her ears. Why would Reggie be on such terms of affection with his groom?

"Never," Johnson answered.

"Good then. Don't start now," said Reggie.

"But you have so much more to lose than I."

"No dearest,
we've
so much to gain," said Reggie. His tone had softened. He smiled tenderly and reached out a hand to Johnson's shoulder.

"But your position, your estate—"

"Mean nothing to me, while
you
are everything. You must always remember that, Jemmie. Win us the three thousand, and we'll be on the first packet to France and then on to Italy. Devil take the hindmost."