Seven Nights of Sin: Seven Sensuous Stories by Bestselling Historical Romance Authors
Page 65
“I thought DeVere’s departure was rather abrupt,” Annalee said. “But I suppose nothing he does should surprise me by now. He is an abominably capricious man.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” said Diana with a sharp pang, wishing to talk about anything but DeVere.
“Did you not? Do you know he has ordered the entire house to be closed up?”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. The servants were amazed, given that he had only recently taken up residence. But they had little to grouse over as he provided them all with a generous severance.”
“He must mean to reside in London, then.” Diana hoped her terse answer would end the discussion. She was so very tired of all the pretense and polite conversation when she only wanted to be alone to weep.
“No, indeed!” Annalee said. “He has now taken it into his head to travel! Do you recall the ignoble Baron Baltimore he spoke of at dinner the first night? Well, DeVere seems to have the queerest obsession with the man. He has taken a notion to follow Lord Baltimore’s travels to Italy and Constantinople.”
“He does what?” Diana was aghast.
“He said he may be gone for years! But who knows what could befall him in the hands of those Turkish heathens. Can you even imagine such a thing? Hew was beside himself about it until he learned his brother finally agreed to buy his commission. He’ll soon be joining the Dragoons.”
Though Annalee continued her prattle, Diana heard nothing more. He had had shown her passion, awakening emotions she had previously locked away deep inside. For two blessed nights, she had abandoned herself to him completely, and just as suddenly, it was over. He was gone from her life. Just like that.
**THIS IS NOT THE END!**
Are you curious to learn more about DeVere and Diana? Read on for a preview of THE DEVIL’S MATCH, part two of Diana and DeVere's story
Preview: The Devil’s Match
Once burned twice shy…but when old flames come together…passion reignites
When burned once… Arriving in London as her goddaughter's chaperone, Baroness Diana Palmerston-Wriothesley wants to avoid her erstwhile lover at all costs. Once nearly consumed by passion, four years has reduced the former inferno to bitterness and ashes.
By an old flame... A world-weary master of seduction, Ludovic "The Devil" DeVere is bored with his chosen life of debauchery. When Diana's charge disappears, she is forced to seek help from the devil's lair, and their mutual desire reignites with undeniable ferocity.
Fire is best fought with fire… While DeVere is hell-bent to have her back for keeps, Diana is equally determined to bring him to his knees.
DeVere House, Bloomsbury, 1783
VISCOUNT LUDOVIC DEVERE SPRAWLED INDOLENTLY ON HIS TURKISH DIVAN, pulling on a hookah while a voluptuous redhead serviced him with her decadent mouth. Eyes at half-mast, he lazily surveyed the scene of oriental decadence that could have been stolen from an Ottoman sultan’s seraglio—the myriad hues of silk draping the walls and ceiling, the vivid Turkish rugs and cushions that scattered the floor, the writhing shadows created by the luminous glow of brass lanterns.
Through the purple-blue haze of smoke and incense, his boon companions engaged in various and sundry acts of pleasure with the half-dozen women he’d engaged for an evening of debauchery, and Ludovic realized he was bored out of his senses. He’d been this way for days—restive, edgy, and irritable—as if his life had become suddenly unbalanced. He also recognized with even greater self-annoyance that the marks of his discontent had commenced upon a certain person’s arrival in London, a circumstance that aggravated him beyond measure.
Although he’d successfully avoided any encounter with Diana in the past sennight, Hew’s apparent interest in her had eaten away at him, a circumstance that had both spurred Ludovic to assist in Vesta’s abduction scheme, as well as subconsciously inciting him to host tonight’s fest of carnal indulgence. Deep down, he still carried the obstinate belief that with sensory repletion, the yearning for something more would go away. Unfortunately, neither the drink, the opium, nor the sex, had sufficed to fill the yen that the knowledge of her nearby presence had created. Yet, paradoxically, he still wished to avoid her at all costs.
“What the devil is it, Winchester?” Lord DeVere snapped at the appearance of his majordomo. “I thought I communicated quite clearly that we were not to be disturbed.”
The flushing servant diverted his gaze to the ceiling in an obvious effort to ignore the ongoing orgy. “But there is a lady to see you, my lord. She is most insistent.”
“Another one?” Lord Malden chortled. “By all means, have him send the baggage in. Damn me, DeVere, but you are well supplied.”
“I am, indeed,” DeVere answered. “It is a most amicable arrangement with Madam Hayes, but I had not requested another.” DeVere gave another long, lazy pull on the stem of the hookah proffered by his scantily clad companion and cast a sadly indifferent gaze at the temptress who enthusiastically sucked his cock.
The servant flushed. “You misapprehend, my lord. This lady—”
“Will not be turned away.” Diana stepped boldly into the room.
Ludovic almost laughed aloud. For there she stood, as if he’d conjured her. Although a black veil obscured her face, he could have identified her proud carriage and sultry voice among a hundred similar women. In all of his six-and-thirty years, he had never allowed a woman to get under his skin, but this one had infected him with an infirmity for which he had yet to find a complete cure.
Oh, he’d sought balm for his condition, all right. In Paris, he had soothed his raging fever with opera dancers, and in Italy, the finest Venetian courtesans had served as a temporary unguent. Following in the footprints of the ignoble Baron Baltimore, after whom he had capriciously chosen to model his life, Ludovic had sojourned to the East in an endeavor to satiate his sybaritic senses in every possible way. But still, his symptoms—the hollow sensation, the emotional detachment as if he were sleepwalking through life—inevitably returned.
Though his pulse had quickened at the very sight of Diana, he addressed the woman kneeling between his legs with an air of careless indifference. “Put your playthings away, my pet, for we have an unexpected guest.”
Stepping closer, Diana addressed him with icy hauteur. “So this is what you have reduced your life to, my lord?”
“It is fortunate that I don’t give a damn for your opinion, madam,” he answered with a taunting smile. Defiantly, he caressed the bare breast of his would-be odalisque and took another pull on the hookah, blowing purple-cast smoke rings into the air. “Now, to what do I owe the privilege of your queenly condescension?” He could almost see her hackles rise, a circumstance that gave him a peculiar twinge of pleasure.
“How dare you ignore my messages and compel me to come to this…this…den of iniquity!”
He could no longer suppress a chuckle. “It was your choice to invade my domain. Thus, it is not for me to concern myself with your injured sensibilities. I already conveyed to you that the girl is safe. There was nothing further to be said.” He gave her a bland lift of his brow, enjoying the hell out of her reaction.
“Nothing further! Where is she?” Diana demanded. “She was last in your charge and has not returned! I found her maid locked in her room! If anything has happened to her—”
“I assure you she is perfectly safe in my brother’s keeping.”
“Hew is involved in this? I don’t believe it. He would never—”
Ludovic’s mouth kicked up in the corner. “Perhaps I misspoke. It would be vastly more correct to say he is in hers.” The girl was a tiny virago. He almost felt pity for his brother.
Diana looked befuddled. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“When Vesta revealed to me that she was determined to have Hew, I agreed to lend some small assistance in the matter.”
“That’s ludicrous! Vesta hasn’t even had her come-out. It is far too soon for her to be thinking of anyone!”
“Nevertheless.�
�� He shrugged.
“Is that all you have to say?”
“For the nonce. Conversation is not my chief pursuit at the moment, but should you be inclined to join me…” He surveyed her with a slow and deliberate appraisal meant both to insult and incite. He was pleased to note the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, proof that his power to inspire her lust had not waned in the least.
“You revile me!” Diana spat. “I will expect your call with a full explanation at nine o’clock on the morrow.”
“An ungodly hour,” he replied. “I doubt I shall have risen before two.”
Diana spun toward the door. “You will call, my lord, or you will much regret my methods of rousing you.”
“I doubt that, my dear,” he replied. “You may rouse me any way you like.”
The room rumbled with snickers and guffaws.
She had meant it as a threat, but Ludovic could picture her face behind the veil, the high color in her cheeks, the passion lighting her green eyes, marking her righteous indignation, the very things that had appealed to him four years ago. He had determined the moment he first saw her that he she would be his. She had been a challenge, but he had, indeed, claimed her. Several ways, in fact, but still not enough to satisfy him. She was the only lover with whom he hadn’t grown bored. He told himself it was only the brevity of their liaison. It hadn’t had sufficient time to grow monotonous.
Though he’d only meant to taunt her further, he felt himself growing rock-hard at the vision of her once again in his bed, proof positive that he hadn’t had his fill of her yet. The notion had sprung from nowhere, but there it was, just as she, staring him in the face.
“A tolerable, handsome figure,” Lord Malden remarked to her departing back, “but a tongue like a shrew.” He added sotto voce, “Perhaps you can teach her a better means of employing it, eh, DeVere?”
Oh, he had done that and more. He had taught her many things, and she had proven both eager and wonderfully sensuous, but her education remained incomplete. Unless… He wondered with an unfamiliar stab of something he didn’t care to identify if Diana had taken other lovers in his absence. He paused to examine that question. Would it really matter if she had? In the end, he found it didn’t diminish his desire for her in the least. His brother was now out of the picture, not that he would have allowed that courtship to have progressed any further.
With one hand on the door, she spun around to confront her detractors. He could almost see her livid gaze penetrating through her veil. “Better a shrew than a sheep, my lord. For hapless sheep are devoured by ruthless wolves.”
So that is the way of it. He chuckled as the door clicked behind her. He had introduced her to passion and left her to her own devices, and for that, she resented him. He had felt her bitterness as a living, breathing force. Yet, there was no doubt in his mind that this sheep desired nothing more than to be devoured slowly and deliberately by a wolf’s mouth, and he would be only too happy to oblige her.
VICTORIA’S TITILLATING TIDBITS
Nearly everything recounted in this story regarding the scandalous life of Frederick Calvert, Sixth Baron Baltimore, is true.
Horseracing was a tremendous obsession with the upper elite through all of the Georgian era but reached its pinnacle in the prize money offered in the late eighteenth century. There was, indeed, a subscription race for mares only in Epsom, 1778 sponsored by Sir Chares Bunbury and Lord Derby. It was named The Oaks after Lord Derby’s estate and offered a prize of two thousand guineas.
Reggie’s race-fixing scheme was inspired by a similar anecdote I read regarding William Douglas, the Earl of March (who makes a brief cameo appearance in this story). When March learned his competitor tried to bribe his groom, he rode his own horse to victory just as Lord DeVere does.
True criminal investigations in the eighteenth century were rare. For those interested, here are links to a couple of fascinating sites on criminal prosecution: Law, Ideology, and the Gallows in 18th and 19th-century England. http://www.bunker8.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/history/36804.htm
Also: http://www.londonlives.org/static/Pretrial.jsp
ABOUT VICTORIA VANE
Victoria Vane is a #1 bestselling award-winning author of smart and sexy romance. Her works range from comedic romps to emotionally compelling erotic romance and have received over twenty awards and nominations including: a 2016 Red Carpet Finalist for both Rough Rider and Jewel Of The East, 2015 Red Carpet Finalist for Best Contemporary romance (Slow Hand), 2014 RONE Winner for Best Historical Post Medieval Romance (Treacherous Temptations), and Library Journal Best Ebook Romance of 2012 (The Devil DeVere series). She currently resides in Palm Coast, Florida with her husband, two sons, a little black dog, and an Arabian horse.
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