"You are unfair, Aunt Di!"
"I have my reasons to be, Vesta. You may entertain him if you like, but I feel a megrim coming on and just may feel the need to spend tomorrow abed. I pray you will make my excuses to Lord DeVere."
***
"A missive from the miss, my lord," said Pratt with a grin.
"And how are you getting by with the little rogue?" DeVere asked as he broke the wax seal. He scanned the contents and shook his head with a laugh. He then rang for his majordomo.
"She sure be a taking little thing, my lord," said Pratt.
"So she's won you over too, eh? Taking, indeed! But the question still remains whether Hew will take her."
Pratt's grin broadened. "Wi' all due respect to the cap'n, my lord, do ye truly think he will have much say in't?"
DeVere roared with mirth. "By the look of things, I'd say highly unlikely!"
When Winchester promptly appeared, DeVere handed him the billet with the command, "See all of it done at once."
Chapter Sixteen
DeVere House, Bloomsbury
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 ba
ck, "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.
Chapter Seventeen
Upper Grosvenor Street
At half-nine, Diana thought she would wear down the carpet from her pacing. She had rose an hour betimes in agitation at her impending confrontation with her erstwhile lover, and he had failed to show. Damn his eyes!
She had no doubt he was entirely to blame for Vesta's disappearance. She had written as much to Sir Edward, sending a dispatch by private courier late last night immediately upon her return from DeVere's house. But even with a regular change of horses and riding through most of the night, it would take almost three days for the messenger to reach Thornhill Park and then another three or four for Edward to arrive in London, but arrive he certainly would by the week's end. And there would, indeed, be a reckoning! A very large man with a slow burning fuse, Edward was a veritable cannon once lit.
Although he and DeVere were the best of friends, Edward treasured nothing above his daughter. He would be livid at DeVere, friendship be damned. At the moment, the vision of witnessing him pummeling DeVere brought a smile to her face, albeit a smile that was short-lived.
Having lost patience, Diana was prepared to carry out her own threat, even if it meant bribing two burly footmen to drag his lordship bodily from his bed. In a rising fever of vitriol, she called for the carriage and returned upstairs to retrieve her hat and gloves, but by the time she descended, there he was.
Garbed in silk and lace and all the sartorial splendor of his exalted rank, he stood in her foyer, staring up at her with his sardonic blue gaze. The footman relieved him of hat and sword stick, and DeVere made her a flourishing bow. "Your humble servant, madam," he declared.
"You are late," she answered his greeting.
His playful and mocking air vanished, replaced by disdain. He replied in a tone matching her own, "You are lucky I came at all, my dear. I am not in the habit of answering to anyone. But given your near fit of hysterics at my house last night, I was inclined to indulge you."
"Indulge me? You arrogant bas—" she hissed.
"Tsk. Tsk, my lady. Such a display of spleen is hardly conducive to civil discourse, especially when I am come at your express behest."
Diana was seething inside but recognized the truth of her faux pas. Any show of emotion was disadvantageous with a man like DeVere, who would perceive it as nothing but weakness. Hiding her temper under a frosty veneer, she showed him to the withdrawing room, deliberately seating herself in the middle of the settle, forcing him to maintain a more comfortable distance in a nearby chair.
"Shall we forgo the niceties, my lord?" she said without prelude. "You must know that extended conversation with you is the last thing I desire."
His lips twitched. "Conversation is last on my list of preferred activities."
She gave a disdainful sniff in response to his innuendo. "I feel I am owed the courtesy of an explanation. As Vesta's godmother, she was in my sole charge."
"Yet Ned wrote explicitly for me to look after you both while in London."
"And she is gone! How can you call this looking after her?" She rose and paced.
DeVere's mouth formed a harsh line as he tracked her movements. "I told you she is safe, Diana. My word should have sufficed."
"Your word!" Diana spun on him with a derisive laugh. "Pardon me if I have reason to doubt your integrity, as our history has proven you have a practice of secrecy and intrigue."
Lord DeVere flicked an imaginary speck from his sleeve. "Your emotions cloud your judgment, Diana. Our history as you call it has nothing to do with this."
"I have not given you leave to address me with such familiarity, Lord DeVere."
He inclined his head with a mocking stare. "As you wish, Baroness."
"And I have every reason to mistrust you."
"Do you, indeed? And precisely how have I abused your good faith?"
Diana realized she had backed herself into a corner. She had vowed not to give him a display of the bitterness and hurt she carried like so much unwanted baggage and then had done precisely that. "None of it matters anymore," she replied. "The issue is Vesta."
"Very well. Have it your way." DeVere rolled his eyes with a sigh. "It seems that Vesta and Hew have embarked upon a short pleasure cruise."
"A cruise? You refer to an ocean voyage?"
"I do."
"But how is such a thing possible?"
"As you know, Baroness, our mutual goddaughter is a young lady of high spirits. It appears she has taken it upon herself to spirit away the object of her matrimonial fancy—my brother, Captain Hewett DeVere."
Diana was stunned. "You imply that Vesta has kidnapped Hew?"
"Just so. After administering a sleeping draught in his tea, she whisked him off to Greenwich where they boarded a yacht."
"A yacht?" she repeated blankly. "And just how would an eighteen-year-old girl come by such a thing as a yacht?"
DeVere studied the ceiling. "As I am not in the least opposed to a union between my best friend's daughter and my younger brother, I offered her any resource at my command to promote the match." His mouth twitched again. "She took me at my word."
"And appropriated a yacht?" Diana collapsed back onto the settle with an air of incredulity.
"Just so."
"She is gone to sea with no chaperone? This is outrageous!"
"I told you she is perfectly safe," he repeated in a bored tone. "She was escorted by my man, Pratt, and is under my brother's care. You know as well as I that he would not hesitate to give his life to keep her safe."
"But she is ruined! Don't you understand that?" Diana struggled to contain her fury.
DeVere only looked bored. "Was not the entire point of coming to London to find some dupe willing to leg-shackle? If so, my brother is the ideal candidate."
"Speaking of your brother, don't you see this intolerable situation gives him no choice, no recourse, but to wed her? Is that fair to him?"
DeVere shrugged. "He had recently come to the decision to wed, and as I stated, there are various advantages to the match."
"Advantages to you, mayhap, but what of Hew? Is he not his own man and fully capable of managing his own life without your interference?"
DeVere's gaze narrowed. "Why so concerned for my brother? One might think you have feelings for Hew."
"What if I did?" she retorted. "It's no business of yours! Besides, your abominable machinations have already destroyed any potential of that."
DeVere rose and came to her, perching himself on the arm of the settle. "My honorable and straitlaced brother could never satisfy a woman like you, Diana. He could never plumb the depths of your passion...unlock your secret desires."
His voice was low and seductive, and the flickering blue fire in his eyes heated her insides. Diana fiercely tamped down the s
moldering sensation that threatened to reignite feelings she'd struggled to suppress. "And what would you know of my wants and desires after four years?"
"A great deal." He gave her a slow, confident smile. "Given that I was the one to unleash them."
Diana averted her face with a bitter laugh. "Thus you presume to have an exclusive claim to me?"
"Has any other exerted one?" he asked softly. Nonplussed, he reached out a hand and traced a long, manicured finger along her jaw. "You are still unwed, Diana. Have you taken another lover in my absence?"
"It is none of your business whether I have or not, and you are grossly impertinent to ask."
He laughed long and low. "I think I have my answer."
She glared at him, and thus they remained, silently challenging each other for an interminable beat. Then suddenly his mouth was on hers, taking, possessing, as if it was, indeed, his singular privilege. Diana leaned into him, teasing his lower lip with her tongue and sucking it eagerly into her mouth before sinking her teeth into it. Hard. Savoring the coppery taste of his blood.
"What the hell!" DeVere jerked back with a cry. He touched his lip and examined the crimson stain on his fingertip, his expression a mix of outrage and bemusement.
"You took without invitation," Diana said. "It was a warning not to do so again."
"I have never importuned you. As I recall, you came to me."
"A mistake I shall never repeat." Diana rose in a rustle of silk and crossed the room to pour two glasses of sherry. "As to Vesta and Hew, I have already written Sir Edward of what little I knew of the circumstances. I would recommend you do so as well. I daresay he will not be pleased when he comes to town." She took a sip of her drink and offered the other to DeVere, who had retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket to blot the drops of blood from his mouth.
"I imagine Vesta and Hew will be happily wed before that eventuality," he said. "They should return in two or three days, and I have already procured the special license." He accepted the proffered sherry. Diana smirked when he winced at the first stinging sip. He shot her a dark look.
A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere) Page 16