A DEVIL'S TOUCH (The Devil DeVere)

by Vane, Victoria

  Chapter Five

  Diana cried out in alarm at the sudden gush of warm fluid streaming down her thighs. Ludovic bolted upright, wide-eyed in panic. "God, God, Diana! What is it? What has happened?"

  "I-I think it's my waters. The membranes must have ruptured."

  He regarded her, thunderstruck. "But I didn't…I took care not to… Sweet Jesus," he groaned. "What does this mean?"

  She gifted him a tremulous smile. "I think it means, my love, that I am about to have your child."

  "Bloody hell!" he cried. "It's not time! Ford said you were weeks away! Have we precipitated the event? Have the pains begun?" he demanded. "Ford warned me not to ouch you, but selfish bastard that I am, I wouldn't listen. Damn it all!" he gave her an anguished look. "What have I done?"

  Diana's heart wrenched for him, for she had never seen Ludovic look more contrite. "But, darling," she reassured, "even Dr. Ford knows that childbirth is never an exact science. As to the pains, I don't think they have begun, but it's hard to say, as I was exceedingly distracted until this very moment."

  He leaped from the bed and snatched up his shirt and breeches. "I must send for Ford post haste."

  "I think that might be wise," she agreed. "But please don’t work yourself into such a lather, my love. It could be quite some time yet."

  "Me? In a lather? Preposterous!" he replied and promptly donned his shirt backward.

  Diana opened her mouth to laugh but clutched her belly with a sharp cry instead, as the first birth pain seized her, pulling her into its vice-like grip.

  "Diana!" He came to her side. "What can I do for you?"

  "Perhaps my…dressing gown?" she suggested between gasps. "And ring…for Sally?"

  "Of course!" He helped her into the gown and then strode across the chamber for the bell pull. He turned back to Diana. "What now?"

  "Outside of summoning Ford, there is naught to be done but wait."

  "And watch you suffer?"

  She gave a wan smile. "Such is the lot of women, my love."

  "Bloody, bloody hell!" He rent his shirt in his impatience to remove and right it. "I feel impotent!” He threw the shit down with a growl and yanked another from the clothespress. Diana watched in bemusement as he paced the room. "Where the devil is that maid of yours?"

  A soft rap sounded, and Sally entered with a bob. "You rang—" Sally's eyes grew wide at the sight of Diana holding her belly. "My lady! Is it your time already?"

  "I'm afraid so. My waters have broken."

  "Stay with her!" Ludovic demanded, stomping into his boots. "You are not to leave her side until I return. Not for a moment. Do you understand me?"

  "Aye, my lord," Sally promised. "You can trust I shan't leave her."

  ***

  Upon leaving Diana, Ludovic dispatched two running footmen—one to Dr. Ford's Mayfair residence and the other to the Westminster Lying-In Hospital. He then sought out some Dutch courage to settle his nerves, but his hands shook so badly that he spilled more brandy than reached the glass. In his exasperation, he took a long, burning draught straight from the bottle.

  Until now he had never recalled a single moment of true fear in his entire life. He had known anger, frustration, and even dark despair, but never fright. Yet the look on Diana's face when the pains came upon her sent his heart lurching into his throat with stark terror. Had he endangered her? Or the child? How the devil would he ever go on if he lost her? He violently shook away that last morbid thought, forced a deep breath, and took another fortifying swig.

  He reminded himself that Ned had sworn there was no harm in coitus and tried to reassure himself that this situation was purely coincidental, but still, his conscience stabbed and his heart raced. What if the bloody quack didn't arrive on time? The feeling of helplessness nearly enraged him. He strode back up the staircase with a look that sent servants scurrying. He burst back into the bedchamber, only to find Diana's beautiful face etched with pain.

  He rushed to her side and roared at the frightened maid who held Diana's hand. "Don't just sit there, damn you! Do something!"

  The girl's eyes watered, and her lips quivered. "But, my lord, there's naught to be done."

  Diana released the long breath she'd been holding and his shoulders instantly slumped in relief. "Darling," she said, "I know you mean well, but you are not really helping at all. Perhaps you should go for a ride?"

  He groaned. "I can't leave you, Diana."

  "It was not a suggestion. I'm commanding you. Please. If you don't wish to ride, then perhaps the village tavern? I'll send a footman for you when there is news."

  He looked to Diana, feeling completely at sea. How could she send him away at a time like this? "But what if—"

  "Sally will send someone instantly should any doubt arise. Won't you, Sally?"

  "Aye, my lady." She nodded emphatically and then her timid gaze returned to Ludovic. "My lord?"

  "What?" he snapped.

  "Perhaps me mum can be of assistance? At least until the doctor comes. She knows a bit about midwifery after delivering eight of us at home."

  "That's an excellent notion, Sally," Diana replied. "Don't you think so, darling?"

  "Yes. It is at that. Pray give me the direction and I shall fetch her myself."

  "Aye, milord. The house be three lanes down from Jackson's Tavern, but ye can ask of most anyone where the Abbott place is."

  He nodded. "Right then." He made it three strides toward the door and then spun back around on his heel. "Leave us, Sally."

  The maid's forehead wrinkled. She looked to Diana for confirmation.

  "Just for a moment, Sally," she urged.

  The door had barely closed before he threw himself to his knees beside the bed, taking Diana’s hand in a desperate grip and plying kisses to every knuckle. He looked up at her with burning eyes as he pressed her hand to his cheek. "I said only hours ago that you have never disappointed me. I beg of you, Diana, please don't start now."

  Her face went ashen before his eyes. "How can you say that! You know I have no control over the sex of this child."

  "You think I speak of my heir?" He gave a mad laugh. "I don't care if it's a boy, a girl, or a bloody donkey! I only want you safe. I need you, Diana. You are my light, my sustenance. You are everything to me." He looked up to find tears staining her cheeks and rose to kiss them all away.

  "I promise." She returned a watery smile. "I won't disappoint you, my love. Now please go."

  ***

  Diana had never experienced such agony. Nine hours she had travailed, alternating between panting and screaming in her sweat-soaked bed, and now with every push, she expected to be torn asunder.

  "Just one more, my lady," coaxed the kindly Mrs. Abbott. Diana barely heard the woman for the buzzing in her ears. She was so tired. So very weak.

  "Sally, give her the leather to bite down on." It was an effort for Diana to pry her jaw open again to the saliva-coated leather strip. She marveled that she hadn't already chewed clean through it.

  When the next paralyzing paroxysm of pain came upon her, Diana wondered if she might actually perish before pushing this baby out, but then she recalled her promise and the tormented look on her beloved husband's face when he departed.

  "Now, my lady!" Mrs. Abbott commanded. "Bear down hard as you can—like a difficult shite!"

  With his image burned into her brain, Diana drew in a great lungful of air and pushed for all she was worth, putting into the effort all the strength she could possibly muster…and then the world faded to black.

  ***

  Ludovic sat alone in his library after having drunk himself into a near stupor. He had failed her. He had removed her to the country and hired the very best medical practitioner, thinking he had taken every precaution to insure the best of care for her. In his aristocratic arrogance he thought himself immune from the risks, but the footmen had returned empty handed. Dr. Ford was already engaged in a breech birth, and could not leave for fear of losing his patient. That was
hours ago and he still had not arrived. Now Ludovic was paralyzed with the terror that he would lose Diana.

  "My lord! You must come!"

  At the maid's cry Ludovic lurched unsteadily to his feet. "Is it Diana?" he blurted.

  Before the hapless girl could answer, he bolted past her to rush up the staircase where he froze in the doorway, his focus glued to the pale face and limp form lying in the bed. His vision blurred. The room began to spin until a piercing cry shattered his stunned state of consciousness.

  "It's not what you think, my lord," Mrs. Abbott spoke up. "She only sleeps. She fainted away on the last push, but 'twas a good one," she added on a chuckle. "She had a difficult time, but all is well, my lord."

  "Thank God!" He exhaled a prayer and for the first time noticed the bundle in the midwife's arms. He peered closer and felt his chest seized anew at the shriveled blue-tinged face. "Is it…is it deformed?" he asked with a feeling of dread.

  Mrs. Abbott burst into laughter. "Nay, my lord! 'Tis quite a handsome young lad ye've sired."

  He came closer to examine the tiny creature's features,, only to have them contort and let out a blood--curdling screech.

  "My God! What's wrong with it?" he demanded.

  Mrs. Abbot chortled. "'Tis naught a nice, plump teat won't fix."

  "My son is hungry? Where's the bloody wet nurse?”

  "Give him to me," a familiar voice whispered. Ludovic spun around to find Diana reaching out her arms. "I will not have my child at another woman's breast."

  "But, my lady," Mrs. Abbott protested, "you are much weakened and need to rest."

  "We will rest together after I have fed my child."

  Still, the woman hesitated.

  "You heard her!" Ludovic glowered.

  The midwife advance to Diana but she held up a staying hand. "No," she said. "I want you to bring him to me, Ludovic."

  "Me?" he asked, incredulous.

  "Yes. You. Don't you want to hold your son?"

  "But of course I do, my dear, but can't we work up to this by degrees?" He recoiled in horror when the midwife held out the fussing child.

  "Coward."

  He shook his head in disbelief. "The devil you say!"

  "I do say. Ludovic Henri Montford DeVere, you are a spineless coward."

  He felt himself puff up in affront. "Very well then. Give me the child." He added for the midwife with an undertone of panic, "But please let us do so closer to the bed." His entire body trembled, overcome with awe when he accepted the now firmly swaddled infant.

  "May I see him now?" Diana asked.

  "Please." He handed the babe off as briskly as he dared, watching in pure amazement as Diana silenced the cries with her breast. "He's a greedy one, like his father." She grinned.

  He perched on the bed beside mother and child while the maids and midwife went about cleaning up the much soiled chamber. "Please," he addressed the servants, "will you give us a moment alone?"

  "Aye, my lord," said Mrs. Abbott.

  "Of course, my lord," Sally echoed, adding, "What a lovely Valentine's gift my lady has given ye."

  "Valentine's gift?" he repeated.

  "Aye." Sally grinned. "It be the fourteenth now, my lord. Sweetheart's Day."

  "Is that so? Then I would be a most shabby creature had I not also a gift for my sweetheart." He disappeared into his dressing room and re-emerged a moment later with an elongated velvet-covered box.

  "Open it for me?" Diana asked.

  Ludovic flipped open the box and his wife gasped at her first vision of the fifty-carat heart-shaped Burmese ruby pendant, encircled by as many carats in diamonds. "I thought of you the moment I saw it, Diana."

  "My God!" she exclaimed. "This must be worth a king's ransom!"

  "Closer to a royal duke's ransom." He grinned.

  "Whatever the cost, it's priceless to me," she said, her eyes gleaming. She then glanced down at her sleeping son. "It appears he has already exhausted himself."

  "Let us hope, for his future wife, that his stamina for that activity improves with age."

  "You are incorrigible!"

  "Is that a complaint?"

  "Never." She paused with a frown. "Although I wouldn't mind if we waited a few weeks… at the least."

  Ludovic sighed. "Ford warned me. He said you might never let me touch you again after this ordeal."

  "And have you seek your comfort elsewhere? I think not!"

  Noticing her gaze drifting back to half mast, he quietly rose quietly, but then they snapped open again. "Darling, what will we call him?"

  "Whatever you like, Diana. Just not Ludovic. I despise the name."

  Her face fell. "But he is your heir."

  "And may have his pick of any other name."

  "Valentine."

  "Gad, no!" He groaned. "You can't mean it!"

  "You said any other name." Her gaze narrowed. "I take you at your word."

  "But, Diana, consider the taunting—"

  "Very well then. Ludovic Valentine Montford DeVere. That's my final decision."

  He heaved a sigh and raised his hands in surrender. "Pray let us shorten it to Val then. Val DeVere isn't quite so horrific."

  His heart squeezed in his chest when Diana smiled a besotted smile at her babe in arms, murmuring, "Val DeVere… the devil's heir."

  End

  Excerpt: A WILD NIGHT'S BRIDE

  St. James, Westminster – 1783

  "Ned, you must wake up." The frantic whisper and tickle of silky hair pleasantly penetrated the periphery of Sir Edward Chambers' drink-induced, sexually sated and fog-enshrouded consciousness. "Come Neddie," the soft voice implored. "You must wake or, there will be the devil to pay."

  He groaned, rolling onto his side to the simultaneous awareness of a pounding head and the soft, warm presence beside him. He groped blindly, defining a shapely feminine backside that tauntingly wriggled against his groin, stirring quite another part of him to a wakeful and throbbing state. With a moan, he nuzzled her neck while his burgeoning erection sought the warmth betwixt her thighs. "Annalee, my sweet Annalee," he murmured into her hair.

  The warm, welcoming body became cold stone. "Phoebe," the voice intoned.

  Ned's bleary eyes popped open, his attention immediately riveted to the massive bed, the heavy velvet curtains of rich crimson and gold, and the towering hand-carved posts of mahogany. He jerked upright as if doused with ice water, his gaze settling on the voluptuous blue-eyed blonde lying amidst the tangle of luxurious linens. "Kitty?"

  "No. Phoebe," she answered. "My name. It's Pheo-be."

  "Phoebe?" He frowned in puzzlement. His vision darted from his thoroughly tumbled bedfellow to the opulent room. He frantically scrubbed his face and looked wildly about the room, eager to light upon something, anything, to assure himself he wasn't going mad. The vision of his surroundings sent him scrambling to his knees, entangling him in the bed sheets, and tumbling him to the floor. Lying stunned on the thick Turkish carpet, his confused conscience absorbed the soaring twenty-foot shadow-boxed ceiling depicting classical heroes.

  "Kitty, Phoebe, or whoever-the-devil-you-are," he hissed through his teeth, "This isn't Carleton House, is it?"

  "No," she answered.

  His heart beating apace, Ned willed himself first to breathe and then to modulate a tone verging on panic. "I was with DeVere last night. Where is DeVere?"

  "DeVere is locked safely in the linen closet." She hugged her breasts, her expression suddenly wary. "Don't you remember anything?"

  He vigorously shook his pounding head only to bring forth a chaotic kaleidoscope of last night's events, and the impossible truth persisted to push its way to the surface.

  His eyes glued to the bed, Ned made a mechanical backward retreat to the center of the room where he had a clearer prospect of its crowning glory. His vision rose to the top of the headboard, to the heraldic shield seated betwixt the carved figures of a lion and a unicorn. His gaze slid with dread to the engraved scroll beneath. ‘Di
eu Et Mon Driot,' God and my right, the motto of the king. His chest seized. The room began to spin. He looked to Phoebe, aware that the blood was draining from his face, and that his voice emerged as a strangled sound. "May the same God save me…for I'm going to be hung, drawn, and quartered for spending last night rutting in the King of England's bed!"

  Excerpt: THE VIRGIN HUNTRESS

  London's Hyde Park- 1783

  While Vesta tried her best to keep her mare in step with Hew and Diana, she had to keep circling her horse that jigged and frothed with nervous energy. Laughing and chatting about some race Hew once rode with Diana's horse, they seemed to hardly take any heed of Vesta at all. How dare Aunt Di monopolize him like this!

  "Are you aright wi' the mare, miss?" Pratt asked her with solicitude not forthcoming from any other quarter.

  "I am fine, Mr. Pratt. It's just that she has been deprived of her normal gallop since leaving Yorkshire over a sennight ago. She is accustomed to frequent and vigorous exercise and can be a handful when denied."

  Although she could handle her mare just fine, she wondered how they all would feel if some horrible accident befell her. Vesta continued to fume. They would both be sorry then!

  That was it! Vesta couldn't believe the answer was right before her eyes. It only wanted the proper timing and a distraction for Pratt. Determined to put her plan into action, Vesta held back, letting the others ride further ahead. When Pratt's head was turned, she saw her chance.

  Whispering a prayer of supplication to her Mama, her ever-diligent guardian angel, Vesta plucked out her hat pin and tossed the riding cap to the ground. "Oh dear, Mr. Pratt," she exclaimed. "I've lost my favorite hat!"

  "Ne'er fret, my lady," the elder jockey said, dropping to the ground with surprising agility. In that precious desperate moment when his back was turned, Vesta dropped her reins and spurred her mare. Artemis, who never needed strong incentive to begin with, took off down Rotten Row like a bolt of dappled grey lightning. Vesta hung over her mare's neck clutching the mane as if fearing for her very life but all the while whispering sweet endearments to her most cooperative conspirator. She knew it would be a mistake to look back. Instead, she urged and cooed and waited for the sound of thunder, for her knight in that lovely crimson crested helmet to come to her rescue and prayed fervently that her savior would not be the grizzled little Pratt.