The Trouble with Sin
The Devil DeVere Series
Victoria Vane
The Trouble with Sin
Copyright ©2013 Victoria Vane
Edited By Tara Chevrestt
Cover Art by Polina Ipatova
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.
To John, Sean, and Brandon-
three men who fill my life with love and laughter.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Epilogue
Sneak Peek: Jewel of the East (#5)
The Devil DeVere Series
Standalone Romances by Victoria Vane
Victoria's Titillating Tidbits
Works Cited
About Victoria Vane
But when the morning comes at last,
And we must part, our passions cold,
You'll think of some new feather, scarf
To buy with my small piece of gold;
- A Fleeting Passion by William Henry Davies
Chapter One
A private abode on Wigmore Street, City of Westminster – 1764
Simon's bored gaze drifted over the library—his favorite room in the house—lingering on a shelf teeming with his beloved volumes of verse.
"For nigh on twenty years, we have done our best for you with only modest expectations in return. Have we not provided you with every advantage? And this is how you would repay us?"
His father's fist slammed on the desk, rattling ink pots, drawing Simon's attention to the bottles. He wondered idly if they would spill.
Lord Singleton continued his rant, "By pulling foolish and irresponsible pranks? By getting tossed out of school?"
Simon inhaled. "I'm not expelled, only rusticated for the term."
"There's bloody little difference in my book, my boy!" He threw his hands in the air. "Worse, you and your fellow malefactors have enraged the king!"
"That was simply an error of happenstance."
"Happenstance?" Lord Singleton glowered. "How the devil can absconding with a lion be happenstance?"
"It was supposed to have been a bear," Simon clarified with a fleeting smile.
"Bloody hell!" Baron Singleton raged on. "The species makes no difference! You stole the king's property! Have you no shame, Simon?"
Knowing there was nothing he say to appease his father, Simon fixed his gaze in perverse fascination on Lord Singleton's quivering jowls.
"Well!" Lord Singleton demanded. "What have you to say for yourself?"
Simon's need to compose a contrite platitude was, thankfully, forestalled by three sharp raps on the library door. Pausing on the threshold, Lady Singleton's gaze wavered between her husband and son, and then back to Simon with obvious maternal concern. She had always doted on her youngest child. He wondered if she had purposely interrupted to save him further browbeating.
"Have you quite finished, my dear?" she asked her husband.
"Not by half!" Lord Singleton barked. "He has been spoiled and coddled his entire life and now would run wild! This ungovernable behavior shall cease and desist this very day!"
Simon kept his gaze impassive and fixed on his father's waistcoat buttons. He marveled at the strength of the buttons, wondering if a great sneeze would make them pop.
"But, my dear," said Lady Singleton, "you know this is all due to the unholy influence of that…that…that… irredeemable devil DeVere!"
"On that, my dear, we are in total accord," the baron replied. "Bad blood runs in the DeVeres. Morally corrupt, all of them." Lord Singleton's lips thinned and his gaze focused once more on his son. "Henceforth, you are to have no further association with that reprobate."
"But he and Ned are my oldest friends—" Simon protested.
"And a poor choice indeed! A man is often judged by the company he keeps."
"And not just judged by man," Lady Singleton added. "Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? You must study the Proverbs, Simon, lest you be damned by your association with such Godless persons."
"If that is so, Mama," Simon replied softly, "how would the sinners ever come to know Grace? Did our own Lord not keep company with tax collectors and known prostitutes?"
Lady Singleton closed her mouth with an almost audible snap.
Baron Singleton glared at his son. He then prompted his wife, "Did you need me, Albinia?"
"I do indeed. I came to remind you the Reverend William Dodd will be addressing the Magdalen Society today. You have not forgotten, I hope?" Simon's mother was an avid supporter of the charity who hoped to cleanse the city of prostitution. "Lord and Lady Hertford will also be in attendance. The marquess has committed to soliciting the patronage of Queen Charlotte to expand the Magdalen House."
Lord Singleton pulled out his timepiece and examined it with a frown. He then rose from his desk tugging at his snug waistcoat. "I'm late for an appointment at my club." It was the stock excuse for avoiding his wife's society meetings. Simon marveled at his father's lack of imagination. "Let Simon sit in my stead. Association with such persons can only benefit his character."
"What a wonderful idea!" Lady Singleton exclaimed. "You must meet the Reverend Dodd, Simon. He is such an eloquent young man and so well versed in the scriptures."
Bloody hell! Simon groaned. He was consigned to perdition indeed—ceaseless hours in the company of religious fanatics and hypocrites.
"But, Mama," he protested. "I had planned to occupy myself with meditation of the Psalms this afternoon."
"Is that so?" Lord Singleton cast Simon a dubious look.
Simon offered his mother a beatific smile. "Yes. After much soul searching, I feel a calling to join the clergy."
"The calling? The clergy?" Lady Singleton repeated. "But you have said nothing about joining the church." She looked to her husband. "Is this really true?"
Lord Singleton grunted. "'Tis the bloody first I've heard of it!"
"I was just about to tell you when Mama rapped upon the door," Simon smoothly prevaricated. "I've seen the error of my ways and am determined to return to the straight and narrow path."
"Simon! My dear, dear boy!" Lady Singleton's eyes glistened. "I cannot tell you how this warms my heart! It is my fondest dream come true!"
His mother's dream became Simon's nightmare when he was summoned to the drawing room two hours later. Bored out of his mind, Simon drummed his fingers on his thigh, stifled yawns, and fought the urge to roll his eyes while the Reverend Dodd droned on about the evils of carnal temptation.
"Can there be any greater object of compassion than poor, young, thoughtless females plunged into ruin? Artfully ensnared by those with superior faculties, education, and fortune, what defense can an innocent maid have against such formidable fiends and seducers of virtue?"
Lady Singleton plied a handkerchief to her eyes with a sniff. "Such scoundrels!"
Dodd continued, "How can young maids living in want protect themselves against profuse promises of passion, luxury, liberty, and gaiety? Alas! Lost to virtue, they become lost to themselves. Akin to a cut blossom they wither until cast away by the very rogues who prey upon them." The reverend paused for effect and shook his head.
"Poor wretches!" Lady Singleton choked out and then blew her nose.
"But there is hope, madam. Through the efforts of this worthy society, hundreds of penitents have already forsaken their lives of sin. Now through the honest employments of spinning, knitting, and lace-making, these miserable young women have a means to recover their character."
Simon knew many girls who had given up lives of such domestic drudgery in favor of making a living on their backs. None, to his knowledge, suffered the least regret or repentance about it. Nor did they seem overly concerned about their loss of character. Indeed, he had always felt a particular affinity for their joyfully unabashed practice of iniquity.
His thoughts wandered to the ragged gypsy lass whom DeVere had taken under his protection. Surely she was happier in her present circumstances than in her prior life earning three shillings a week in the stench and squalor of the Royal Menagerie. According to Dodd, DeVere was the vilest of rogues for ruining the girl, but Simon doubted very much that Freddie would agree.
Nevertheless, Simon sipped tepid tea, smiled, and nodded, responding with trite and proper remarks, wishing he was anywhere else but this purgatory of prigs.
***
Later into the evening Simon received an unexpected missive from DeVere, or perhaps it was better described as a summons. He wondered what had brought his friend back to town so soon when he'd expected to spend several months in Kent. There was only one way to find out, and happily, that option required escape from his prison.
With the servants reporting his every move, Simon perceived the window as the only way out. Raising the sash, he cast a wary look at the earth below before throwing caution to the winds and one leg over the sill. But when his second leg followed, he found himself suspended twenty feet above ground, grappling for a foothold.
When his slick leather-soled shoes proved ineffectual, he kicked them off in hope that his stockinged feet would allow better purchase. Simon then reached for the drain pipe, wishing he'd also thought to remove his bulky frock coat. He began his decent down the drain, but his silk stockings were even more slippery against the pipe than his shoes had been against the stonework. He managed to shimmy and slide ten feet closer to earth before falling into the yew hedge.
With a muffled groan and an abundance of curses, Simon wrestled out of the greenery, fumbling in the increasing darkness to locate his shoes. He then hailed a sedan chair to convey him to Charing Cross.
***
"What took you so damned long, Sin?" DeVere demanded. "I sent the message to your house hours ago."
Simon signaled the drawer and flung himself onto a bench. "You think it was easy to escape my parents' watchful eye? I can hardly take a piss without permission. I had to sneak out through the damned first-story window. Thank God the hedge broke my fall."
DeVere threw back his head with a laugh. "That explains why you look as if you were dragged through one backwards!"
Simon gave a shake of his lace cuffs. "I'm happy to be the source of your amusement," he replied, tight-lipped. His scowl disappeared, however, upon the arrival of a buxom tavern wench with two fresh tankards. She smiled and leaned over Simon, gifting him with an intimate view of her charms. Simon made an appropriate show of appreciation.
"Where is Ned?" DeVere asked.
"Already gone home to Yorkshire," Simon replied. Done with his slow perusal of her breasts, he cupped the barmaid's arse.
"None 'o that!" She slapped his hand away but it was all just a part of the game.
"Later, my dove? Simon flashed a raffish grin. "I'll make it worth your while."
"So they all say," the wench answered with a saucy smile.
Simon transfixed on the sassy sway of her hips as she parted. He then answered DeVere as if they'd never been interrupted. "As it turns out, Ned would have had to request leave from Westminster anyway. His father has taken ill."
"Is it serious?"
"A heart seizure. Ned got word of it right after you departed for Kent. He was quite shaken by the news."
"He would be, model son that he is. Puts the rest of us blighters to shame."
Simon chuckled. "Speak for yourself, old man. I am my mother's pride and joy, bound for the clergy as I am."
DeVere sputtered his ale. "You? A man of the cloth?"
"What better way to employ my pen than in sermon writing?"
"Between composing lewd verses, you mean?"
Simon shrugged. "All work and no play makes Simon a dull boy."
"But the church, Sin? Come now!"
Simon took a long drink. "If you must know, it seemed the easiest path back into my parents' good graces."
Although Simon's parents were narrow-minded and puritanical, he never doubted their affection, unlike DeVere who was born into wealth, privilege, and complete parental apathy. His parents notoriously despised each other and flaunted their infidelities. Worse yet, his father was rumored to be half mad from the pox.
"How was Kent?" Simon asked. "As bad as you expected?"
"Far worse. I must now face the penance of exile."
"Exile?" What do you mean?"
DeVere smirked. "I am forced to go abroad and suffer all the decadent and lascivious pleasures the Continent has to offer. Come with me, Sin! This scandal is a blessing in disguise. Just think of it! Months to do as we damned please."
"Impossible." Simon shook his head. "Do you think my father is going to allow me to go off on the Grand Tour after this ruckus we created?”
"But that's just it. A few months away and all will be forgotten. Besides, it won't cost him a farthing. I'll foot the entire bill—or better said—the Viscount DeVere shall."
"You know I can't." Simon sighed. "In fact, he has expressly forbidden me any further contact with you—believes you're a bad influence on my character."
DeVere grinned. "Then he would be right."
"How long will you be gone?" Simon asked.
"Six months. Mayhap a year. Longer if I can manage. Which now reminds me of why I sent for you. There are some things I need you to look after for me." He withdrew a key from his pocket along with a card with an address written on the back. "The key is to the rooms I have let in St. James. You must go there at your earliest convenience."
Chapter Two
It was two days before Simon could break away again. This time his escape was in the light of day, ostensibly to borrow a book of sermons from Reverend Dodd.
With access to DeVere's apartments that included a bed, Simon ventured through St. James the park, hoping to encounter a certain dairy maid. He hadn't laid eyes on the toothsome Lavinia since he'd composed the bawdy verse in her honor—the poem that had incited the chain of events leading to his current disgrace. Arriving at the grazing meadows just above St. James, he was dismayed that Lavinia was nowhere in sight.
"Cuppa milk, young sir?" asked a bent old crone holding a haltered cow.
"No milk, madam," he replied. "But perhaps you could tell me the whereabouts of a lass named Lavinia?"
She extended a gnarled hand with an expectant look. Simon dug two pennies from his pocket and handed them over. Her gaze narrowed. "Milk for tuppence. Questions are thruppence."
Simon retrieved the third coin from his pocket with a resigned sigh.
The crone took it and cackled with toothless triumph. "Lavinia, eh? More like lazy, lackadaisical light skirt, not fit fer an honest day's work. Don't think ye be the first randy young gent to come sniffing about her skirts. Nor will ye be the last."
Simon's hackles rose. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"She done took up with that rogue from the Shakespear's Head. I says good riddance to the baggage." She spat.
"The rogue from the Shakespear's Head? Do you mean Jack Harris?"
"Aye. The pimp general hisself come recruitin'. Lost half a dozen milk maids in a day. May God save 'em all from the pox." She gave a bony shrug and turned away to tend her cow.
Simon trudged away. Damn! It wasn't bad enough that DeVere had left for the Continent, and Ned was rusticated to Yorkshire. Now Livy had
gone to the Shakespear's Head?
He'd sought out Livy with the fancy that a good tupping could lift him out of his doldrums. He'd even secreted in his pocket the Ode to a Milk Maid of St. James in hope that his poetic composition would counterweigh his lack of coin and ease his way under her skirts. Now that she'd entered the world of fleshpots, he'd never be able to afford the pleasure of her company— or any pleasure at all!
Lost in melancholy, Simon hoofed it across the park to DeVere's lodgings. He entered the chamber startled to find the remnants of a meal sitting upon the table, and various articles of clothing littering the floor. How Strange. DeVere had been gone for days. Did the house employ slatternly chambermaids? Or did someone else occupy the room? Had the avaricious landlord let it out to another in DeVere's absence?
Before he could puzzle it any further, a lump stirred in the bed and then sat up. Simon gaped. "Freddie?"
"Simon?" she returned. The gypsy girl's look of tousled, sleep-drugged petulance sent a surge of blood to Simon's groin. Damn, how he wished he'd been the one to tousle her. A frown marred her brow. "My lord said you'd come and look after me. What took you so long?"
"I-I had no idea," Simon stammered. "I thought you were some musty papers."
Her frown deepened to a scowl.
"Bugger it! Th-that's not what I meant! It's just that he never told me it was you I was to look after." When given the key, Simon hadn't taken into account DeVere's devilish sense of mischief.
She pouted and plucked at the counterpane. "I don't see why he couldn't have taken me with him." She gazed back up at Simon with misty eyes and quivering lips. "He's cast me off, hasn't he?"
Not tears. He could bear anything but a female in tears!
"Please, Freddie. You must understand how he is. I have never known DeVere to form any lingering romantic attachment. It just isn't his way. Did he not explain the arrangement to you?"
"The only arrangement was that I warmed his bed in exchange for this." She gestured to the rooms. "Now he's hied off to foreign parts." Her expression transformed from woeful to sullen in the blink of an eye. "Does he expect me to just pine away until his return?"
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