Devil's Desire

by Laurie McBain

  "Well, what did you want to see me about? Not about that, I'll wager," Peter replied, a trifle put out.

  "I'm leaving for Westerly tomorrow," Alex an­swered succinctly.

  "Leaving London! You can't possibly be serious, Alex. Why; whatever will you do down there?" Pe­ter demanded incredulously.

  "This is beginning to sound like a Shakespearean comedy! Does no one leave London these days?" he sighed, then turning a hard golden-eyed stare at Pe­ter, said, "I might add that I'll be seeing to the es­tate that keeps your pockets well-lined"

  Peter had the grace to look slightly ashamed at that remark, but puzzlement still showed in his eyes as Alex continued.

  "London is full of mincing fops, unlicked cubs . and needle-witted mamas shoving their daughters into the highest bidder's bed and I'm sick of the lot of them," he declared with contempt in his voice.

  "Sure it's not Mariana that's made you turn tail?"

  “I don't believe I heard you correctly, Peter. Would you care to repeat that remark?" Lord Tre­vegne asked in a tone so quiet and menacing it made Peter's blood run cold. He feared he had pushed his brother's temper too far this time, and felt sick as he thought of the other men who had also learned too late of Lord Trevegne's deadly tem­per and were now laid to rest in the bowels of the earth.

  "I'm sorry, Alex. Please forget I ever said that. I know you'd never run from anything. I'm just a beef-head sometimes, but it's just that I know how much you loved her, and she did last longer than anyone else. I never did understand why you dropped her. She's a real beauty, and now they say she's got old Linville almost at the altar, so I thought maybe you minded even though you've said you were through with her," he stammered.

  Lord Trevegne gave a sigh of exasperation, patience beginning to become frayed about the edges by this well-intentioned, yet aggravating in­terest in his welfare.

  "You play with fire, Peter. I know you well enough not to take half of what you say seriously, knowing how impetuous you are, but others do not realize that you often say things you find yourself re­gretting later. So take care Peter, or you shall find yourself in very deep waters," Alex reprimanded him coldly. "But to answer your question. I was never in love with Mariana, nor have I ever been in love with any woman. At least not enough to ask her to marry me. I should be bored with her before the honeymoon was over. I'm tired of having them fall at my feet, or more aptly, into my bed, either be­cause they think they're in love with me, or because of my title and estates—which I believe they love even more," he said cynically. "Mariana and I en­joyed a brief affaire de coeur, and now it's over—maybe a little sooner than it would have been, but that was merely precipitated by a disagreement which could not be eradicated. So we had a parting of the ways, and whoever she becomes entangled with next is of no interest to me," he said with a strange smile lurking in his eyes. "I'm only discuss­ing this with you to end, once and for all, this speculation, which, it would seem the whole of Lon­don is concerned with. I do not make it a practice of mine to discuss my. personal affairs with any­one—even you. But it would seem that most of my private life is common knowledge, and of exaggerated interest in every drawing-room and tavern. I would at least like to have the story straight in your mind before you inadvertently add to the gossip out of your own imagination—or while you're in your cups."

  "I say, Alex, I'm no long-tongued chatterer telling tales about my own brother!" Peter exclaimed in a grievous tone, adding indignantly, "And I can hold my liquor as well as any man. Trevegne blood's thicker than wine anyway,"

  "I beg your pardon." Alex bowed slightly. "I know that you would not say anything injurious to me on purpose—but you might be goaded to in an­ger."

  Peter finished off his brandy with II careless flour­ish of his hand, draining it to the last drop, then laughed suddenly. "Damned if I'll get in a duel over somebody else's ladybird. She may be a beauty, but I've always thought her a bit above herself. Won't even give me the time of day and hasn't got a sense of humor, either. Nor will I challenge every man in the street over some tittle-tattle at a tea-party! Should be over something more important than a windbag, eh?"

  Alex threw back his head and laughed, joining Peter in his mirth, both men standing tall and proud, bearing a marked family resemblance to each other in their aristocratic faces and arrogantly tilted square jaws, their hawk-visaged features softened by their laughter. The fifteen years difference in their ages disappeared as they laughed to­gether in boyish abandon.

  Alex looked fondly at his brother's slighter figure, feeling the full weight of responsibility for Peter on his shoulders; broad shoulders that were accus­tomed to bearing responsibility. Watching Peter, he wondered whether he had ever been that young and carefree? Innocent of worries, and unaware of how very lonely the world really was? It seemed like an eternity since he had felt the warmth of an unselfish love surrounding him; a love that could warm like a welcoming fire on a cold night, seeming to penetrate to the very depths of one's body. He had enjoyed love these past years, but it was not the same kind of love. It was an unsatisfying love that consumed and devoured, leaving only regrets in its stead. But he had come to expect nothing else. That other type of love was something that no longer existed for him.

  Lord of the Manor at fifteen, he'd been a very ­young and inexperienced heir to the enormous es­tates and holdings of the Trevegnes. Lord Denet had been his guardian, and had become a good friend while helping him bear up under his new and heavy responsibility. With the help of trusted estate agents and lawyers, he had learned to manage Westerly; proving himself a very capable young Lord of the Manor.

  But it was no easy victory, and there were many battles along the way. A young and inexperienced Marquis was considered easy game by crooked estate agents who cared for nothing except to fill their own pockets, and by the supposedly close friends of his father who claimed they had been owed a debt by the deceased—nothing written, of course, just sealed with a handshake. And then there was the friendly advice from his father's friends, most of whom had young daughters and impoverished es­tates, who hinted at a secret agreement of a mar­riage contract that had been made years previously; the young Marquis' assets making him an excellent son-in-law.

  But Lord Denet was nobody's fool; and armed with his staff of lawyers he managed to keep the vultures at bay until the new Marquis could stand on his own.

  So the young Marquis had grown up; and hardened into iron along the way. That he never had the opportunity of being carefree and gay, lines of worry etched into his face before he was twenty, did not seem to bother him. He made up for the earlier years of his manhood that he missed by liv­ing every moment to the fullest these last years in London and on the continent.

  No one could have guessed how far-reaching the death of his father had been. He was killed in a duel shortly before the birth of his second son—mur­dered by an adversary who had fired early. Alex remembered his father as a man of action who loved parties, gaming, and even more, the hunt. He thoroughly enjoyed life, but he had little business acumen. He'd let the estate run itself and the holdings go unchecked for years. Westerly, however, had been kept up, partly due to the efforts of his mother, and was still a magnificent manor house.

  But Lady Trevegne had not lived to enjoy it—nor had she lived long enough to see her second son. A birth and a death—nature equalizing itself,

  Alex, bitterly resented the fact that Peter had never known her. There would never be another woman like her. She was the only woman he had ever trusted. He remembered her bright blue eyes—Peter's eyes—laughing, teasing, letting him pull her golden curls out of place, hugging him tightly when she put him to bed. She had made each day seem a gay holiday; each night in front of the grand fire­place, a make-believe world of fairies and elves, blood-thirsty pirates and brave knights-filling his world with a love and security lost forever with her death. He had felt cheated by it, but at least he had his memories. Peter had nothing.

  Gradually he settled
down to his way of life and accepted it. He seldom went to London, and then only on affairs dealing with business and the estate. As he got older, he missed at first the closeness of his friends and the gaiety and pleasures that life in London could give a young man. But as the time passed, he matured faster than his friends, living an easy and frivolous London life. His healthy country life turned him into a virile man, his hands strong, lean and brown, not the lily-white hands of the town gentleman. Even when he had returned to London after years of exile, he couldn't completely forget his other way of life. His muscles remained firm and rock-hard, and he was capable of great en­durance and strength—enjoying boxing and fencing, riding hard, unable to feign fatigue as many of his contemporaries seemed fond of doing after a light canter.

  He became a member of the Corinthian set and of the Four-in-Hand Club, with his unparalleled ex­pertise at fhe reins. He was invited to many a rout, party, and week-end outing, but his cynical nature only gained in strength as he participated in the so­cial whirl of London life. Over the years, rumors began to surround his handsome and haughty figure. & he withdrew further into himself with his cyni­cism-presenting an inscrutable mien to the world the stories grew about him. He was an unknown entity. His wild escapades, some true, some not, be­gan to gain him fame throughout London, and com­bined with a certain mysterious aura that surround­ed him, fired people's imaginations. Nothing is so intriguing as a mystery-a puzzle. And the Marquis of St. Fleur presented one. His luck with chance, beating the odds, was uncanny. He never seemed to lose; whether it be at cards, or with the ladies.

  When he entered a room, dressed totally in black, as he seemed fond of doing, he could set feminine hearts fluttering from a mere glance of his golden eyes. He was indifferent, arrogant, and at times in­sultingly rude even to the most beautiful women, but that only added to his devil-may-care figure. And the thought of his estates, money and the famous Trevegne jewels made him more desirable yet.

  "You don't mind if I stay in London for awhile, do you?" inquired Peter hopefully.

  "No, stay as long as you wish, but do try to act with a little decorum for a change."·

  "You needn't worry. I won't do anything that you yourself wouldn't do," Peter promised rashly, a twin­kle in his eyes.

  "That's precisely what has me worried," replied Lord Trevegne seriously as he walked to the door with his brother, cuffing his ear fondly as he warned, "Be careful, Peter. Remember I won't be here to help you out of a difficult time."

  "Don't worry, old boy," Peter grinned, but with serious eyes for once. "I shall be a model of society, and do you proud," he said in farewell, leaping down the stairs two at a time, his promise already forgotten.

  Alex stood shaking his head, a frown of worry on his forehead as he turned towards his bedchamber, and the sleep long awaited. He wanted Peter to have what he had missed in his youth, but maybe he was too lenient with him at times. He didn't want Peter to feel deprived of anything. He deserved everything that he could give him-small comfort for never having known either of his par­ents.

  "Very well, Your Lordship," Dawson, Lord Tre­vegne's secretary answered, clearing the large, ma­hogany desk of the accounts and orders they had just been through for the last hour. Will there be anything else, M'Lord?"

  "No, just continue as usual, and no advances to Peter, unless I approve them. And if anything ur­gent should arise send me a missive immediately," Alex answered, straightening his lacy, white cravat before the mirror. "Otherwise, I leave you in charge, Dawson. I've complete confidence in your ability."

  "Thank you, Your Lordship; Dawson answered, flustered by the compliment.

  "You do me a great honor, and may I wish you a pleasant journey-although it promises rain before evening. It shall be a wet and gloomy morning for your trip tomorrow. Are you sure you wish to ride on ahead of the carriage, Your Lordship?" he asked worriedly.

  Lord Trevegne looked at the small, gray-haired man with his stooped shoulders and squinting eyes. He trusted Dawson implicitly, as he could few other men. Dawson had taken over management of his es­tates for him many years ago, and Dawson knew as much, if not more, about his financial affairs than he did himself. He told Dawson the truth when he stated he had complete confidence in him.

  "No need to worry, Dawson. I shall—" Lord Tre­vegne began to answer, when there was a knock on the door. It was opened by a footman announcing stiffly:

  "Lady Mariana Woodley, Your Lordship."

  He stepped aside as Lady Mariana swept regally into the room in a bright-red, velvet walking dress and matching fur-trimmed mantle and bonnet, her hands tucked into a large, dark, fur muff; her exotic perfume reaching out to the two men standing in the middle of the room as she moved toward them.

  Dawson made his way to the door unnoticed. He never liked Lady Mariana, and personally speaking, was glad that His Lordship was finished with her; he only wished that he could send her on her way without so much as a by your leave. In fact, His Lordship would have been surprised to learn this was the consensus of most of his household.

  "Alex, darling," she murmured softly. "You have been very impolite by not coming to see me since I've returned from the country." She pouted prettily.

  Lord Trevegne watched through narrowed eyes as she moved towards him, her long, narrow hands now outstretched gracefully. She was indeed a ­beautiful woman, her dark-brown hair superbly coiffed to reveal a long, slender neck, beautifully arched like a swan's.

  He looked down into her liquid, brown eyes and long artificially-darkened lashes, her lips raised, in­viting his kiss, a kiss that he knew could be long and deep; fully reciprocated by her. He did not de­sire her as he once had, but he could still feel admi­ration, and something more, as he continued to stare ­at her. His eyes wandered slowly over her rounded, white breasts, barely concealed by the low-cut, red velvet of her dress and his memory filled in the rest of her curvaceous body—the feel of her warm and naked, lying pressed against his own bare flesh.

  He turned abruptly away. “What do you want, Mariana?" he asked impatiently as he walked over to his desk, selecting a thin cheroot from a carved ­wooden box. He lighted it, and turning around, ex­haled smoke which masked his expression, the aroma of the fine tobacco engulfing her heady per­fume. "It's not proper, my dear, for an unescorted lady to call at a gentleman's home during the day."

  "And when have either you or I ever done what is considered proper?" she countered.

  "I really didn't believe that we had anything further to say to one another. We've both made our de­cisions, and I intend to keep to mine. From what I've heard, you have been doing the same—unless, of course, they're only rumors," he added taunt­ingly .:

  "They are not rumors!" Lady Mariana answered angrily, her dark-brown eyes flashing.

  "Well then, what have we further to say to one another?" Lord Trevegne replied coldly.

  "We've everything to talk about, Alex.” She moved closer to stand directly in front of him, her eyes looking beseechingly up into his hard, golden ones.

  "Can you actually stand here, before me now, and say you do not desire me? That you don't wish we were upstairs—"

  "Don't, Mariana," he said harshly, gripping her soft arms with hard, biting fingers. "You're just cheapening yourself by going on this way."

  "Cheapening myself!” Mariana cried shrilly. "I'm merely stating the truth—the bare facts. We're in love with one another. At least I admit it!”

  "No, Mariana. We desired each other, that's alI, nothing more. We both knew that it would end someday and you just ended it sooner by your threats. No one threatens me, or tries to blackmail me, my dear." He pushed her away from him in dis­gust, and looked away from her angry, white face and heaving breasts.

  "I only threatened to leave you for the Duke—un­less you married me—to try and force you to admit to yourself that you loved me and wanted to marry me. You can't stand the thought of some other man making love to me, can you?"

  "My dear Mariana, I d
on't give a damn whose bed you warm. What we had is through. You fin­ished it yourself, although I must admit it would have ended shortly as the heat of desire became cold ashes," he said indifferently. .

  "I don't believe you. You're mad about me. I'm in your blood, just as you're in. mine," she' spoke passionately. "I could have had Linville over a year ago, but no, I decided to let becoming a Duchess take second place to my love for you."

  "Ah, yes, the Duke. That really has been your su­preme goal in life; Lady Mariana, the Duchess. Don't blind yourself to your real motive with me, my dear. You may have desired me, but you also desired all that I hold, including the diamonds and emeralds and other fabulous trinkets which will drape the next Lady Trevegne, Marchioness of St Fleur. .

  "You knew that I never thought of marriage when our affair began, but you didn't seem to mind. You even told me once you enjoyed your widowhood­ free to sample all the delights without having a jeal­ous husband to worry about, I believe you said. Why the sudden change of face, my dear, or was it a charade all along—get me in bed with you, in love with you, then legally tied to you?"

  "You beast!" Lady Mariana spoke, trying to regain her composure, her nostrils flared, her pupils dilated in anger at his revelation of the truth which she could not deny. She threatened leaving him and promised to marry the Duke if he wouldn't marry her. She was so sure of her control over him that she thought he would plead with her to stay and marry him immediately, but instead he told her to do as she wished, he didn't care. She thought his pride was merely injured and that he would, soon come after her, but he didn't. He ignored her and even cut her in front of people at Almack's, giving her that contemptuous look that she had seen him give to the hangers-on who tried to flatter him and seek his favors. The whole plan got far out of con­trol and she was desperate to put things back in their proper order once more.

  "Can't we forget what has happened, Alex? We can go back to the way it was before we had this little quarrel. I'm here now, offering you—"