A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere)

by Vane, Victoria

  "Yes," she said proudly. "But it is now my choice to be so."

  "But why?" Diana asked. "Why would any woman choose such a thing?"

  "I was already ruined and had no dowry to wed. Thus, I could only hope to make my living by dancing or by prostitution. Scarred as I am, I would have been among the lowest of the low in my country. Here I can remain partially veiled and am considered an exotic flower to command a premium price. I have much money saved. I shall not work long. Maybe one more year, and then I retire a wealthy woman. Perhaps I shall open my own house, or mayhap go to France or Italy. I have freedom that I never knew in my country."

  "Are you not his mistress?" Diana asked.

  "Not in any sense you would understand, Khanum. I massage him. I dance for him. He allows me to serve him this way because I desire to do so, but he does not demand from me. He does not take. He has never spent his seed inside my body. It is only you he wants, and so I will do all in my power to ensure that you will please him well."

  "This has been a most enlightening conversation, but I fear once more that you are misled. I have no interest in Lord DeVere—to be his mistress, his odalisque, or anything else."

  Salime exhaled an exasperated sound. "What woman would not wish such a man? It is not you, but he who would soon be enslaved, heart and soul—prostrate at your feet! You are a fool to refuse what I freely offer, Khanum, so I waste no more of my precious time. Should you, however, come to your senses, I may be found at King's Place. But do not wait too long, for perhaps my services will then not be so cheap."

  Salime rose with jangling bracelets and tinkling bells and departed without another word, her giant eunuch trailing, and her words echoing long after her. He is also a fool to care for one who does not even know him... It is he who would soon be enslaved, heart and soul—prostrate at your feet.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Thornhill Park, Yorkshire, two weeks later

  Gowned in apricot silk moiré trimmed with peach bows and blond lace, Lady Vesta Chambers descended the stairs on her father's arm. The color combination of her dress was both striking and innocent, complimenting her flawless complexion and enhancing the natural blush in Vesta's cheeks. With her mahogany ringlets elegantly coifed atop her head, appearing as regal as a queen surveying her domain, Vesta paused to gaze upon the crowd of well-wishers that packed the ballroom. Her countenance luminous with happiness, Diana thought she had never appeared more lovely and radiant.

  Although always considered uncommonly handsome, Diana knew she paled in comparison to the younger woman. This night was a stark reminder of the ephemeral quality of youth, and that her own had been wasted. At two-and-thirty, the first blush was long off the rose, and her reflection had begun to show faint lines worn by unhappy years. Although delighted for Vesta, who would soon begin a new life as Captain Hewett DeVere's wife, Diana wondered dismally what her own future would hold.

  "What a beautiful bride she makes," Lady Phoebe Chambers gushed, appearing at Diana's side.

  "She looks so much like her mother," Diana remarked with a hint of sadness.

  "Annalee was your cousin, was she not?" Phoebe asked.

  "Yes," Diana replied. "But we were much more like sisters."

  "I can imagine how difficult all of this must be for you," Phoebe said. "My marriage to Ned, Vesta's engagement to Hew; the suddenness of it must have been quite a shock, but I never intended to come between any of you, you know. Ned is very hurt that our marriage may have alienated you."

  Diana studied the woman she had once believed her nemesis. She had, indeed, despised Phoebe, casting all culpability on the pert and pretty former actress for disrupting her neatly ordered life, but she realized now how selfish and self-absorbed she had been to do so. Ned had grieved the loss of Annalee for over three years. Eschewing all pleasurable pursuits, he had dedicated the last few years to managing his estate and raising his daughter, but now Vesta was grown, and Ned, of all people, deserved to be happy again. Besides, upon further acquaintance, Phoebe had shown herself to be a lady of good breeding and not the stage strumpet Diana had in her prejudice supposed her to be.

  "Please, my lady," Phoebe said, "I would never presume to replace Annalee in anyone's affections, but if we could only be friends, it would mean so very much to Ned...and to me." Phoebe regarded her with earnest blue eyes that could not hide her wistfulness. Softening, Diana vowed in that moment to be more civil.

  "Please accept my apologies for my reserve, Lady Chambers—"

  "Just Phoebe," the other woman insisted.

  "Phoebe. You are right. There have been many abrupt changes, and I have blamed you unfairly, but I suppose life must go on."

  They both turned their attention to the bottom of the grand staircase, where with a rapt expression, Captain Hewett received his bride-to-be. A footman offered champagne to all, and Phoebe accepted two glasses. "To new beginnings?" she prompted, handing one to Diana. Diana inclined her head with a smile.

  "What a lovely engagement party, Papa!" Vesta declared in a voice breathy with excitement as she, Hew, and Edward joined the two women. "Look, Hew!" Vesta pointed to the string quartet. "The musicians are preparing to play. We must form up for the dancing soon." Her excited gaze darted about the room. "But where is Uncle Vic?"

  "I have yet to see him," Hew replied with a frown. "He was supposed to have arrived two days ago with some horses he intended to race at Doncaster, but I haven't heard from him. I sent Pratt to locate him hours ago."

  Vesta's joyful countenance crumpled.

  "Don't take it to heart," Edward said. "DeVere has a strong aversion to all things matrimonial."

  "But he would never miss our engagement party! Would he?" Vesta asked.

  Ned shrugged, but Hew's expression hardened. "I know he despises all the social niceties, but he will surely live to regret it, my love, if he does not show."

  "But he must! He is the best man and the highest-ranking guest. The rules of precedence dictate that he begins the dancing."

  "Dancing? My brother?" Hew laughed. "I fear you may expect too much, Vesta. I can't recall the last time Ludovic graced a dance floor. Can you, Sir Edward?"

  "I believe it may have been at my own wedding to Annalee. Caroline Capheaton somehow managed to coerce him."

  "Caroline? The duchess?" Diana asked. "One need not stretch the imagination to guess what inducement she must have used."

  Edward's brows shot up, and Diana wished she had held her tongue.

  Vesta's gaze narrowed. "Well, he will do it for me, Hew. I swear he will. I will not let anything spoil the happiest night of my life." She shot him a sidelong glance, adding with a coquettish smile, "Well, maybe the second happiest night."

  Edward glowered, and Hew colored magenta. "Perhaps you could delay the orchestra for a bit while I try to locate my errant brother?" Hew suggested to his soon-to-be father-in-law.

  He turned on his heel to do precisely that when Vesta laid a staying hand on his arm. "Wait, Hew. There he is."

  All eyes turned to the door where DeVere paused, doffed his hat to bride and groom, and made a sweeping bow. He continued toward them, sporting a glazed look and a somewhat unsteady gait.

  "What the devil!" Hew exclaimed. "Is he drunk?"

  "By all appearances..." Edward shrugged. "I suppose it was to be expected. He told me he strongly preferred a quiet civil ceremony, rather than all the hullabaloo. At least he deigned to make an appearance."

  "Perhaps I'd rather he hadn't. My apologies, dearest," Hew said to Vesta. "Do you wish me to ask him to leave?"

  "Lackaday, Hew!" Vesta exclaimed. "He is your brother!"

  "Still, I won't have him embarrass you." Hew looked to Sir Edward.

  "I am long accustomed to DeVere's caprice. He may do as he wishes...as long as he remains clothed."

  "What is that supposed to mean?" Diana asked.

  "The night Annalee and I were engaged, he took a naked dip in the ornamental fountain. Luckily, the rose petals concealed...y
ou know."

  Diana was aghast. "Has he no sense of propriety?"

  "None," Hew answered. "A word of warning, Diana, the less made of it, the better. Should you dare criticize, he will only delight in flouting you all the more."

  "Dear brother. Dear sister." Bride and groom regarded him with uncertainty as DeVere embraced each with a kiss on the cheek. Diana was assailed with the pungent smell of brandy even from where she stood behind them. She also noted with distaste that he was rumpled, unshaven, his velvet coat was covered with dust, and mud clung to the soles of his normally glossy black boots. "Why the long faces?" he asked.

  Hew gave him a scathing look. "What did you do? Come straight from the races?"

  "It was either that or ne'er at all." DeVere filched a glass of champagne from a passing footman. He raised it in a silent salute and then downed the contents in one draught. "Music!" he cried. "Let the festivities begin." He commanded the orchestra with an imperious wave of his hand. He turned back to Hew and patted his coat pocket with a sloppy smile. "I was obliged to stay until the last race, but at least I am arrived plump enough in the purse to open the Faro bank."

  "The Faro bank?" Vesta's gaze flitted from DeVere to Hew with dismay. "But you can't do it, Uncle Vic! It would ruin the party if you commence gaming, for there will not be a single gentleman left for the dancing. Besides, you must be the first to commence."

  Ludovic turned to the tiny termagant with an intimidating arch of his brow. "You expect me to dance?"

  "Indeed, you must," Vesta insisted. "By tradition, the highest-ranking couple always opens the dancing with a minuet, and you are a viscount, after all."

  "A minuet?" he said. "Bloody hell. It only gets worse. Do you really think to have me tripping about the dance floor like some Frenchified fop in front of a hundred people?"

  Vesta's face crumpled. Tears misted her eyes. Her lower lip quivered. "Please, Uncle Vic," she implored prettily. "It's your only brother's engagement party, and it's tradition for the highest-ranking gentleman to lead out the highest-ranking lady. If you do not do so, then who will accompany Aunt Di?"

  ***

  Ludovic noted the glimmer in her eye and the sly quirk of Vesta's lips. The scheming little baggage was once more up to something. Very well then, I'll play along.

  "Me?" Diana queried. "Vesta, I have no intention of dancing with anyone."

  She couldn't have made it more clear who anyone was, yet Ludovic noted with satisfaction how she avoided his gaze. "But, my dear Lady Palmerston-Wriothesley, we wouldn't wish to defy tradition, would we? What would people say?" he mocked.

  "You are wearing boots," she replied with contempt. "A gentlemen does not dance in boots."

  He glanced down at his feet with a feigned look of surprise. "Ah, so I am. Yet fabricated of the supplest calfskin by George Hoby's own hands." He extended a leg in admiration and then experimentally flexed and rotated his ankle.

  Diana visibly paled.

  Ludovic chuckled. "I daresay I can manage even with the boots."

  "You wouldn't!"

  "Why ever not?"

  "My lord, you may make an ass of yourself all you like, but I will not allow you to humiliate me or our dear goddaughter."

  "Once again, my lady, you make unfounded presumptions. You will put your antagonism aside for Vesta and Hew's sake. And I will lead you out to the floor where you will dance with a smile upon your face as if you are transported."

  "And if I refuse?" she challenged.

  He answered sotto voce with a twisted smile. "Then, my dear, I will bodily carry you. And I promise there is not a single one here who would dare to intervene."

  ***

  When Lord DeVere extended his velvet-clad arm, Diana scrambled for any excuse, any way out, but then his hand came over hers, holding it in a clasp of iron on his sleeve. The taunting look he delivered confirmed that her wish was impossible; there would be no escaping the mortification.

  Choosing to meet her fate with quiet dignity, Diana raised her chin and advanced to the center of the room on DeVere's arm. She watched with amazement as with a mere inclination of his head, the crowd divided, moving in a giant wave toward the outer walls, as if he were Moses parting the Red Sea. With a hundred or more pairs of eyes riveted on their every move, Diana felt her face would burst into flames. He gave her another mocking smile, and she wondered if the evening could possibly get any worse.

  Upon DeVere's command, the musicians launched into an airy piece she recognized as a Bach minuet. Determined not to give him any more fodder for ridicule, Diana turned to their audience, dipping into the deep curtsey, the formal show of reverence that began the courtly minuet. She kept her eyes lowered on her silk petticoats sweeping the floor, then turned to offer the same homage to her partner, refusing to meet DeVere's gaze even as she rose to face him. She couldn't mask her nervous tremble when he reached for her hand to begin the dance.

  She stared, flabbergasted when he remarked, "Just concentrate on the pattern, Diana, and I'll ensure you don't make a spectacle of us."

  "Me? I'm not the one reeling with drink!" Diana couldn't determine if he had meant to reassure or ridicule, but he had certainly succeeded in discomposing her. Thenceforth, it took all her concentration to keep track of the intricate steps. They had already proceeded halfway across the floor when Diana realized rather than stumbling and staggering through the dance as she had anticipated, DeVere rose and dipped in perfect time with the music, every movement executed flawlessly.

  "But you don't even dance!" she hissed.

  He flashed her a dazzling smile that rattled her to the point of faltering. DeVere broke the pattern to take her in hand and lead her back into the dance. "I despise it," he murmured back through his show of brilliant white teeth. "But I never said I couldn't. One can hardly avoid the tedious obligation of it when spending half a year in Paris."

  They executed the first turn and parted for the z-figure. When they came together again, DeVere remarked, "It's the main reason I left Paris for Venice—to escape the execrable French obsession with dancing." They parted once more for the left turn. "There is, however, one form of dance of which I am highly enamored," he said as the figure brought them back together again.

  "And what is that?" she asked.

  "There is a fascinating dance practiced among the Turks and Egyptians."

  "Really?" Diana remarked, intrigued despite herself. "How is it different?"

  DeVere gave her a wicked smile. "It is highly erotic in nature. But if the subject truly interests you, I would be delighted to find you some instruction in oriental dance."

  "You are beyond the pale." Diana glared. DeVere laughed.

  She was still trembling when the final notes sounded at the end of the dance, but now from a completely different cause. She could neither comprehend nor control the effect this man had over her. Her pulse raced; her breathing was short. She repeated her obeisance to partner and onlookers in a daze wrought of conflicting emotions. Suddenly feeling as if she was suffocating, Diana turned in a swish of silk skirts to flee the stifling ballroom.

  ***

  "Just look at them, Hew," Vesta gushed as Diana and DeVere departed the dance floor. "Have you ever seen a more handsome couple? Who would ever have thought?"

  "Couple? I see no couple," said Hew, remarking on Diana's flight. "She has left my brother standing there gaping. To all appearances, she could not leave him fast enough."

  "She's in love with him, you know," Vesta declared.

  Hew sputtered on his drink. "Diana and my brother? Impossible! I mean, there may have been something between them in the distant past, but anyone can see how much she despises him."

  "Poor darling," she cooed, "you know so little of women. She only wants to despise him. That's quite another thing, you know."

  "Oh, no! I have come to recognize that devious gleam, Vesta. Do not meddle with my brother and Diana. I assure you, Ludovic is not a man to be crossed, and there is already some history between th
em we know nothing about."

  "But don't you see it's for their own good? They only need time alone together, Hew, and I am certain they will come to feel quite differently about each other." She beamed up at him. "Just as we did."

  "Just because your scheming worked once does not mean I'll condone it again."

  "But we don't actually have to do anything, Hew. That's beauty of it. All they need is the opportunity for nature to take its course. And I know just the thing."

  Before Hew could even think to stop her, Vesta was already tripping across the ballroom toward the French doors.

  ***

  Bursting onto the terrace, Diana gasped in a great breath, only to discover DeVere had trailed after her. Although she had given him no encouragement, she still wasn't surprised by his dogged pursuit. Once he set his sights on a goal, he was ruthless in obtaining it. He would wear her down until she had no strength left to resist him. She wished she had never recrossed his path.

  "Why?" She spun on him. "Why do you continue to importune me when I have made my repugnance clear?"

  "Why?" he shot back. "Because I always get what I want, and I find I still want you. Indeed, the unfulfilled craving is driving me half-mad."

  "Only half-mad?" she jeered. "You are completely insane if you think to ever have me again. What passed between us was a monumental mistake and one I have no intention of repeating. Why can't you accept that and just let me be?"

  "Why do you continue this game, Diana?" he asked, his voice a soft rumble against her hair. He was standing close enough to engulf her in his scent, a concoction of brandy, leather, horses, and male musk that made her senses reel. "Your own body belies you," he said. "The faintest touch has you trembling with want."

  "Your conceit is unbearable. I'm shivering with cold, you insufferable boor!"

  "The first statement is undoubtedly true." He chuckled. "But I have grave doubts about the second."

  She felt his hard thighs against her backside and his hands on her waist, slowly ascending, the heat of his touch infusing her skin through the light silk of her gown. His thumbs brushed the outsides of her breasts, making her body rack with tiny but undeniable quivers of sensation. "It's not the cold, Diana." His hot breath fanned her nape. "And you know it."