A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere)

by Vane, Victoria

  The pace in which they'd traveled could only be described as leisurely, with frequent stops at points of interest and a three-day shopping spree in London, after which they'd had to acquire an entire baggage coach. Yet, travel-weary after long days of rough going on the muddy and ill-repaired roads, Diana was envious of the gentlemen whose mere gender allowed them the freedom to gallivant the countryside on horseback. Had it not been for Annalee, she might well have thrown decorum aside and joined them. Her gaze returned to the gently snoring form of her cousin and dearest friend.

  The carriage unexpectedly jolted to a halt. A brisk knock on the window followed. Diana opened the door just as Sir Edward Chambers dismounted from his horse and handed the reins to his groom. Annalee stirred, her soft brown eyes opening wide and doe-like. "Are we arrived at last?" she asked.

  "We are indeed, my love." Her husband entered the carriage with a grace and agility remarkable in such a large man. "I trust the journey has not been too trying?"

  Though professing nothing but robust health to her husband, the prominence of her fragile cheekbones and pale blue shadows beneath her eyes belied Annalee's exuberant claims. It was her sixth pregnancy, and none had gone easy. After a difficult birth with her daughter Vesta, the physician had warned that she might never carry another child to term. Yet disconsolate after four miscarriages, Annalee was still determined to produce a male heir.

  To all outward appearances, Edward and Annalee were the perfect couple. Part of Diana wanted to believe their happiness a façade, if only to ameliorate her own discontent, but their affection and Annalee's multiple pregnancies were proof enough of their genuine affection. Diana couldn't help a deep pang of envy but consoled herself that at least she'd never had to suffer the anguish of a miscarriage or the intense suffering of a stillbirth as Annalee had. But her own womb ached in its emptiness and her heart with paroxysms of longing. If there was one word that best described her entire life, it was surely unfulfilled.

  "Not at all, dearest. I have never travelled with greater ease," Annalee replied.

  "I am much relieved," Edward said.

  Diana averted her gaze at the overt display of affection as Edward plied a kiss to Annalee's hand, his warm gaze resting on her with a loving concern. "I'm still glad to have arrived at last," said Annalee. "I don't think I could have endured another day confined to this carriage, although I surely could not have withstood it at all without Diana. I am so glad you and Lord Reginald accepted Lord DeVere's invitation."

  Diana forced a laugh. "One never has to give Reggie much encouragement to try a new horse. He accompanied our head groom a sennight ago with our two best horses, my mare to breed and a stallion to race. Reggie said it would be advantageous to accustom them to the lay of the land."

  Guileless Annalee gave her a compassionate smile, and suddenly, Diana realized that they already knew the truth. Reggie had had no need to accompany the horses to Surrey. Employing an army of grooms to attend their beloved horses, he had sought a convenient excuse to avoid the trap of days on end in her company. Yet Diana was determined to maintain her sham, the precious pretense that had become indispensable to her life.

  "He was probably wise to have done so," Edward said. "He'll not find worthier competition than amongst DeVere's racing stock."

  "It would not hurt Reggie in the least to suffer a set-down, though I should hate to see our own horse lose. I fear my husband suffers the hubris of one who remains undefeated for three racing seasons," Diana said.

  "His pride should be the least of your concerns," Edward remarked.

  "What do you mean?" Diana grew instantly wary, given Reggie's predilection for drink and weakness for gaming.

  "I've already warned Reginald to take care in any manner of wager with DeVere. Whether it be cards, dice, or horses, he has the devil's own luck."

  Diana's brows puckered in censure. "You mean the viscount is a wastrel."

  Annalee gave a subtle nod.

  "I would not say so," Edward argued. "He is my best friend, after all. No, I would best describe DeVere as a capricious man with a subversive streak. He won't be ruled by anyone."

  "You may paint him whatever shade you like, dear Edward, but if the boot still fits..." Diana gave a disdainful sniff. "And such men are ruined every day. It's inconceivable how many live in such selfish degeneracy to the destruction of their own noble houses and without the least compunction."

  Ned raised a hand in objection. "Pray disabuse yourself of that notion, my dear Diana. Though one might deem DeVere's behavior self-destructive, I assure you he has not diminished his family fortune a whit. A true Midas touch has he. In fact, DeVere is the luckiest ba—" Annalee shot him a warning look. "…devil I know."

  "Is that so?" Diana's lips curved into a half smile. "Then betwixt Reggie and DeVere, this shall surely prove a diverting excursion."

  With that pronouncement, the chaise occupied by its two ladies and gentleman owner, with their outriders, servants, and baggage train, passed through the wooded eminence surrounding the vast estate to make its grand entrance through the gates of Woodcote Park.

  ***

  Laughing and chattering, the small troupe alighted from their carriage in front of an elegant stone and stucco façade, initiating a flurry of activity. Several grooms emerged from nowhere to take charge of coach and horses, while an army of footmen materialized to unload their baggage.

  Amidst this scene, their host appeared at the top of the white marble landing, affecting a pose with his quizzing glass, and presumably assessing the efficiency of his staff. Diana thought he closely resembled a king surveying his domain. Strikingly garbed in peacock-blue silk brocade with cascades of Mechlin lace, he appeared in all the sartorial splendor of his lofty station. Her initial impression of arrogance and hauteur shattered, however, with his rapid descent down the stairs. He was upon them in an instant, pulling Edward into a hearty embrace.

  "Ned, you dull dog, it's been too long! And my dear Annalee, lovely as ever." He took possession of her hands, but instead of the expected brush over her fingers, he bussed both of her cheeks in the continental style. Diana stood in the background observing the viscount with bemusement. He was nothing like she had expected.

  Annalee prompted Diana forward. "My Lord DeVere, may I present to you my cousin, the Baroness Diana Palmerston-Wriothesley."

  His gaze of cobalt-blue met hers, and Diana's smile froze on her face, an unfamiliar and unsettling frisson of physical awareness sweeping over her as he took her in from head to toe in a swift, and by his show of strong white teeth, appreciative appraisal. For a woman who took pride in her self-possession, she was strangely discomposed when he raised her fingers to his lips, his thumb skillfully settling on the bare expanse of skin just above her glove, setting her pulse skittering.

  "Baroness." The timbre of his voice, the curve of his lips, was fraught with meaning, sending a jolt of heat to a place low in her belly. He gave a shallow bow that set his gaze on a horizontal plane with her breasts and lingered there much longer than proper, his eyes flickering like a blue flame. Her nipples tightened, contracting against her layers of muslin and silk, sending a tiny tremor rippling over her. Without having uttered a word beyond her name, the portentous weight of an indecent proposition hung between them.

  At once shocked and affronted, Diana withdrew her hand, dragged her gaze from his, and dipped into a perfect puddle of silk petticoats. "My Lord DeVere."

  "So that's the way of it," he answered with a lift of a sardonic brow and a twitch of his sensuous lips before abruptly turning his attention back to Edward.

  The way of it, indeed! Diana's frantically fluttering fan cooled her face and hid her pique. She commended herself in having quelled his lewd and insufferable pretensions, but still felt inexplicably let down in having been so summarily dismissed. In this one brief exchange, he had made her keenly aware of the unanswered ache deep inside. It had been so very long since any man had singled her out, let alone with a look of blata
nt desire. It was as if he had unlocked a door, a secret portal to a hidden place in her soul. It was both novel and terrifying, making her heart gallop and her body tremble. Quashing these unsettling emotions, she nevertheless found her gaze tracking DeVere's every movement as the viscount swept the frontage of the house in a grand gesture.

  "So what think you of my new heap of rocks, Ned? The park abuts the racecourse, you know. It was the primary reason for my initial inquiry, although after I learned all of its infamous past, I knew I had to own it."

  Annalee gazed up at the structure with a frown. "Infamous? Whatever do you mean?"

  Lord DeVere laughed. "My predecessor was quite a nefarious character, but I will defer relating the entire sordid history until supper time. Your apartments are already prepared. Will your husband soon be joining us, Baroness?"

  "For supper?" she asked.

  "Do you expect him by that time?"

  Diana shook her head in confusion. "But what do you mean? He should have arrived here days ago. With the groom and horses. Do you mean to say—"

  "Your horses are safely stabled here, and a magnificent pair they are. Your husband, however—"

  "You have not seen him?"

  "A number of fellows arrived with your horses but then departed. I was not made aware that your husband was among them. If so, I was denied both the privilege of an introduction as well as that of serving as a proper host."

  "'Tis most peculiar he did not make himself known to you." A lump of unease began forming in the pit of Diana's stomach. "I can only hope nothing untoward has occurred."

  "Perhaps Hew can enlighten us," said DeVere.

  Diana pursed her lips. "Hew?"

  "My younger brother. He has been overseeing the preparations for the races and surely will have spoken with all who arrived."

  "Your brother is down from Oxford, then?" Edward asked.

  "Just so. He would never miss a racing weekend if he could help it. He's a veritable centaur, you know, and it will be a battle to get him to return to his studies. He has little inclination in that direction to begin with and has been begging me to purchase him colors. Though I've tried most strenuously to dissuade him, he is hell-bent to join the Seventeenth Light Dragoons."

  "'Tis a noble ambition, but none can deny the war is going badly," Edward mused.

  "Precisely. He's my heir and all the family I have left. Perhaps you can talk sense into him, Ned. He has little respect for my judgment."

  "Your own fault, Vic. You know you've done bloody little to cultivate it."

  "All too true. Yet, it's truly a marvel how immune my little brother has been to my dedicated and dissolute example." DeVere smirked. "I have great fear he will be his own man after all."

  "I certainly look forward to seeing him again," Edward said.

  "You shall, anon. I will send for him. Or even better, why don't you and I take a brief tour of the stables? We are sure to find him there." DeVere turned back to Diana and Annalee. "Why don't you ladies allow my footman to escort you to your chambers?" A servant appeared at a mere inclination of DeVere's head. "I promise, Baroness, your mystery will be resolved by supper time."

  Diana smiled. "You are too kind, my lord."

  He gave a nod with a subtle curve of his lips, and then his glazed flicked to Annalee. "By the by, a mutual acquaintance will be joining us as hostess this evening. Unexpected but fortuitous, as our pairs are somewhat uneven. Perhaps you remember her? It is Her Grace, Caroline, Duchess of Beauclerc."

  Annalee scowled. "Caroline? You mean Caroline Capheaton? The one who—"

  The viscount cocked a warning brow. "Is recently widowed and will be gracing us with her most noble presence."

  Chapter Two

  After having shared a contraband brandy and an hour of conversation with Ned, Ludovic retired to his private apartments, but to his consternation, his valet was nowhere in sight. He mumbled curses as he kicked off his shoes and struggled out of his impeccably fitted frock coat, fumbling with growing impatience with the countless buttons of his silk waistcoat. Stripping off the layers of velvet, silk, fine linen, and hand-worked lace, he was divested of all but smallclothes when he finally padded into his bedchamber.

  "There you are at last, darling. I had all but given up on you," a sultry voice crooned. There was Caroline, sprawled shamelessly naked atop the crimson satin counterpane, her fingers stroking the exposed curls of her mons. "I wondered if I was going to be reduced to pleasuring myself."

  "Did you, indeed?" he asked. While his cock jolted at the brazen and lascivious display, he was damnably annoyed at her imperious invasion of his private domain. "While I am not in such an uncouth habit of keeping a lady waiting, I am also unaccustomed to unannounced visitors to my bedchamber."

  "But don't you love surprises?"

  "Not particularly. Yet you seem to have a penchant for springing them."

  Her lips formed a sultry pout. "But what choice did I have when you've neglected me so sadly these last months? I told you London was unbearable. And then you left town without a word when you knew I was about to come out of mourning."

  He had, indeed, been avoiding her. It was precisely why he had left. With Beauclerc's death, Ludovic's interest had instantly waned, yet Caroline had only become more demanding, treating him as if he were her stud for hire. It was damnably tiresome. He'd considered cutting her loose long before departing for Epsom, yet he preferred to wait until he had another prospect in sight, rather than sacrificing his pleasure altogether. He knew he was a selfish bastard, but he despised the thought of resorting to professional women to satisfy his appetites. He had his noble sire to thank for that.

  "Where is my valet, Caroline?" It was an effort to hide his impatience.

  "Why, I sent him away, of course."

  "Did you?" He hid his displeasure behind a smile. "Upon whose authority?"

  "Why, my own. A duchess ranks far above a mere viscount, you know." She chuckled. "I confess it was excessively diverting to watch your poor menial's inward struggle when I ordered him out."

  "It is deuced inconvenient to disrobe unassisted." DeVere scowled.

  "But darling, why should you be inconvenienced at all when I am here to free you of your clothes? I am near perishing from my hunger to get my hands and mouth on that magnificent instrument of yours." Her fingers trailed lazily over her smooth, white belly to the mounds of her breasts. She toyed with her nipples. They became instantly erect, yet his enthusiasm was strangely lacking, proof positive he was overdue for a change in paramours.

  He'd known it for some time, of course. Yet he'd been unmotivated to take action until this afternoon's arrival of the striking Baroness Diana whatever-the-hell-her-hyphenated-surname was. She was a delectable dish, that one. Voluptuous as hell, she had instantly triggered his lust. He had yet to see the stamp of her spouse, but the man's attention to her was suspect from the outset. He had let her travel half the country without the benefit of his escort and had not even notified her where he was staying. Ludovic couldn't help wondering if she might be ripe for the plucking. Stolen fruit is most often the sweetest, after all.

  He had seen the brief frisson of reciprocal desire in her eyes, yet she had instantly suppressed it. Right unfortunate, that. Perhaps she was amongst that rare species called faithful wives. He would have believed them mythical creatures had he not seen Annalee's example firsthand. There was no question that both she and Ned were revoltingly devoted to one another.

  His cock stirred at the thought of Diana…and the image of it sliding between the luscious mounds of her breasts. Yet here was Caroline in his bed—the proverbial gift horse, writhing and moaning in the full thrall of masturbation. Perhaps if he were to close his eyes and enter her from behind? He retrieved a small, satin pouch from the pocket of his breeches and unfastened the placket to withdraw his semi-erect phallus. Taking it in hand, he sheathed it in a thin layer of sheep gut incongruously secured with a blue satin riband.

  Noting his preventive me
asures, Caroline's eyes narrowed. "Why must you always use such a device?"

  "Out of care for my health…as well as your own," he answered.

  She sat upright, lips curved in distaste. "You suspect I carry disease?"

  "I suspect nothing. But I know for fact you have other lovers, some of whom are far less fastidious than me. But if my preference for armor offends you, my sweet, I can surely eliminate my own discomfort." Taking his stiffened cock in hand, he fisted himself with several hard, fast strokes. His brief actions swiftly brought him to full length and breadth. He heard her intake of breath. He saw her pupils flare in eyes widened in fascination and desire. She licked her lips.

  His own twitched. "Do I detect a change of heart, my pet?"

  She glared in outraged capitulation. "Come and fuck me, you bastard!"

  With a laugh, Ludovic flipped Caroline onto her stomach, a position that would muffle her voice. He then closed his eyes, envisioned Diana beneath him, and plunged deeply into her.

  ***

  Diana and Annalee were swiftly and efficiently settled in separate en-suite apartments in the west wing. Diana could hardly contain her awe at accommodations that were commodious and breathtaking in opulence, with furnishings of damask and gilt, and elaborately plaster-worked ceilings complete with silk coverings on the wainscoted walls. She noted with particular pleasure the French doors opening to a balcony overlooking a magnificent parterre garden and ornamental fountain.

  Edward was right. If this was only Viscount DeVere's retreat, he certainly suffered from no dearth of fortune. For no particular reason, Diana found herself overcome with curiosity about the man. He must be about thirty and had never married; that much she knew from Annalee. And who was this duchess? Her instincts already told her there was a story even before DeVere had cut Annalee off. She tried to shake it off as none of her business, and yet...