“I am humbled by your encomium, Lady Vesta. Do you enjoy early morning rides then?”
“Indeed, I do!” she said. “I go every day, rain or shine, when I am in Yorkshire.”
“Rain or shine? A horsewoman after my own heart then.”
She found hers again fluttering out of control. Please, she prayed silently. Please ask.
“Since it appears we share a similar habit, would you care to ride with me on the morrow?”
Vesta thought she would burst with joy. It took all her will to moderate her reply. “I suppose it might be arranged.”
“Delightful!” he replied and turned back to Diana. “As I recall, you also ride, do you not, baroness?”
“Indeed, I do, but it’s been a while—”
“You must join us then. Hyde Park is at its best in the early hours before the inane parade of preening humanity takes over. Shall I bring the horses for you both at seven?”
“That is very kind of you, Captain DeVere.”
“Hew, please, my lady.”
Diana hesitated and then smiled. “Shall we settle on Captain Hew?”
“It is a beginning,” he said with a gleam in his eye. “Until the morrow then, my lady.”
Vesta thought he nearly forgot her when he made his departing bow. Observing the scene, she felt the hot singe behind her eyes at the incredible realization that the woman she cared for most in the world, the one who had been as a mother to her, had instantly become her rival. Her first instinct was to flee to her chamber and bury her head in a pillow or smash something against the wall, but that is precisely what she had done when her father brought Phoebe home. Little good that had done. Papa had been only too eager to let her go.
No, this time Vesta would not run away like a child. This time she would hold her ground and fight for the man she loved.
CHAPTER FIVE
Vesta was already awake when Polly came in with her morning chocolate. To the maid’s surprise, she gulped down the steaming drink so quickly she nearly scorched her throat. “No plaits in my hair today, Polly. You must dress me like a lady...like Aunt Di.”
“Nothing comes out of the sack but what was in it,” mumbled Polly as she stroked the brush through Vesta’s hair.
“Now what is that supposed to mean?
“That you can dress howe’er you like, missy, but ‘tis conduct that makes one a young lady.”
The barb struck home, causing Vesta to bite her tongue this time. “I am a lady now, Polly. And I intend to prove it.”
“Do you now?” The brush paused. “A happy day that will be for us all.”
With her riding hat pinned jauntily in place, Vesta skipped down the stairs only to spend the next quarter hour pacing.
Diana entered the drawing room a few minutes before seven, gloves in hand. She cocked her head at Vesta. “Is that a new riding hat?”
“No. It’s my hair. I had Polly put it up for me.”
“Well, it’s very becoming, my lamb.” Diana beamed. “We will make of you a young lady yet.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that? I am not a little girl anymore!”
“Dearest, I didn’t mean to imply—”
“I know what you meant,” Vesta said. “And after this morning, I refuse to leave this house again until I have new clothes.”
“But of course, my pet! I quite understand your eagerness. We’ve already had our fittings. The first few gowns should be delivered later today. Will that make you feel better?”
“I hope so.” Any further reply was cut short by the arrival of Pratt and Captain Hew, each with two mounts.
“Good morning, ladies. ‘Tis a fine day for a gallop in the park.” Hew beamed at Diana. Before Vesta could even return his salutation, he had his hands about Diana’s waist and was hoisting her onto her horse. He then held it in check while she settled her skirts, leaving Pratt to assist the incredulous Vesta. This time, fury seared her rather than tears. By heavens, she swore she would make him notice her if it was the last thing she ever did.
While Vesta tried her best to keep her mare in step with Hew and Diana, she had to keep circling her mount that jigged and frothed with nervous energy. Laughing and chatting about some race Hew had once rode on 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, Mister 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.”
Vesta continued to fume. Although she could handle her mare just fine, she wondered how they all would feel if some horrible accident befell her. They would both be sorry then!
That’s 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 farther 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, Mister 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 he knelt to retrieve the hat, 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-gray 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.
When she saw Captain Hew’s big bay stallion gaining on the right, Vesta once more thanked her watchful mama. Knowing he would try to grab the bridle to bring her horse to a halt, Vesta nudged the mare, urging more speed, with the cue of her left heel concealed by her voluminous and billowing petticoats. Her hair had fallen in a wind-whipped tangle about her face and neck. She felt the flush in her cheeks and her blood roaring with excitement. It was the most gloriously wild ride she’d ever had, and it was all she could do not to laugh aloud!
“Can you reach the reins?” Captain Hew cried, coming upon her.
“No. I’m afraid!” Vesta whimpered.
They approached the entrance to Kensington Gardens with its myriad hedgerows. “Hell and the devil!” he exclaimed, surging forth, but still unable to claim the bridle. “Trust me, Vesta,” he commanded. “Let go of the horse!”
Trust him? He was a god among mortals. She would trust him if he said she could fly! And that’s exactly what she felt when he swept her off her horse and onto his own. Throwing her arms about him, Vesta burrowed into his neck and simply breathed in the heavenly essence of Captain Hewett DeVere.
***
“I fear she’s fainted.” The low rumble of Hew’s voice, magnified by the position of her head against his chest, tickled Vesta’s insides, yet she tried to remain completely impassive and still, breathing deeply as if she slept.
“Impossible! That child has never fainted in her life,” Diana exclaimed.
Vesta had to keep from grinding her teeth. Child, indeed!
“Nevertheless, she has obviously suffered a great shock. I question her father’s reason in over-mounting the girl.”
“But Vesta is a very accomplished equestrienne. She has ridden that same mare on hunts for almost two years.” Vesta noted the overt skepticism in Diana’s voice. “I’m confounded how one of her experience could have lost control like that.”
“That
little mare was full o’ piss and vinegar from the start, and then the lass lost her cap.” Darling Pratt came to her defense. “Mayhap she let loose the reins to catch it, thus spooking the mare.”
“I suppose that might have done it,” said Diana. “There’s nothing for it but to take her home.”
“Would ye have me carry the lass, Captain Hew?” offered Pratt.
Vesta held her breath on another prayer. No! Please, Mama! I’ll be so very good if you will only let me stay a little longer cocooned against Captain Hew. If she had her choice, she would remain wrapped in his powerful arms and cradled against the solid warmth of his chest forever.
“No, Pratt. Please see if you can catch that flighty mare, and I’ll take the girl home.”
Thank you, dear Mama. Vesta had been granted at least fifteen minutes reprieve, an entire quarter hour to indulge her senses, perhaps even longer if he didn’t hand her off to a footman immediately upon their arrival. Vesta smiled against the crimson wool, scented of horse, leather and Captain Hew.
***
“Took a faint, my sweet arse!” Polly mumbled once Diana and the others had departed. “Now, young lady, you tell me what this ruckus is all about,” she began her diatribe. “You may have fooled the rest wi’ yer damsel in distress act, but don’t think to bamboozle ol’ Polly.”
Vesta’s lips twitched as she tamped down the impulse to giggle.
“I saw that, missy! Ye can pretend all you like, but I know you hear me.”
Vesta cracked one eye open.
“I know ‘twas a great shock when your papa brought a bride home, but the world don’t turn on Lady Vesta Chambers’s command. You’ve been far too indulged, and now you be making sheep’s eyes at that Captain DeVere when anyone can see he’s already taken with my lady.”
“What would you know about anything?” Vesta wailed.
“I have eyes in my head, foolish child,” said Polly.
“But he saved me, Polly! If I meant nothing to him, he wouldn’t have cared. He would have sent Pratt after my horse. Don’t you see?”
“’Tis you who be blind, missy. The captain is a gentleman of the first order and a war hero to boot. One of his stamp would never allow anyone to be endangered. Can’t ye see, the captain is not for a young chit like yerself. He’s a man been to hell and back in the war and no likely to dally wi’ some silly young miss.”
“Silly!”
“Aye!” said Polly. “Keep it up, and ye’ll only make a fool of yerself and spoil any chance for a suitable young man.”
“But I love him, Polly!”
“Pshaw! The frog in the well knows nothing of the great ocean.”
Vesta scrunched her face. “Must you always speak in riddles?”
“Ye’ve been mollycoddled, missy, and can know nothing how the world works.”
“But I do know love, Polly! I loved Captain Hew from the moment I saw him, and I just know I can make him love me too!”
“Humph!” Polly scoffed. “And the ass dreams of thistles too!”
CHAPTER SIX
DeVere House, Bloomsbury
Surprisingly true to his word, Lord DeVere returned from Epsom in time to sup with his brother. After indulging in five heavy courses, he beckoned for a refill of his wine and slumped indolently in his chair. “I assume you’ve paid your duty call to Upper Grosvenor?”
Hew smiled. “I, indeed, paid a call and discovered to my delight that it was not in the least onerous. On the contrary, it was most pleasurable.”
“Was it, at that?” DeVere look intrigued. “And how is little Vesta?”
“Vesta? She has quite the look of Annalee about her, pretty enough to take, I suppose, but a timid little thing.”
DeVere studied his glass. “She’s coming out this season. Comes from excellent stock and has a healthy dowry.”
Hew raised a hand. “Rein back, big brother! I recall you promised me no interference on that front—choosing my own path to hell and all that rot. Don’t think to match me with some simpering chit just because you desire an alliance with your best friend!”
DeVere gave a blithe shrug. “Simply pointing out the obvious advantages. Though you do surprise me by your description of the girl. Although I have not seen her in several years, I seem to recall Vesta as an unusually spirited child.”
“The only spirit I saw was in her damned horse. I don’t know what Ned was thinking to have sent such a high-strung mare with his daughter.”
“What do you mean? I’ve seen the chit on the hunt. As a child of no more than thirteen, she was already taking fences with the best of them.”
“Well, she nearly took the bloody hedgerow into Kensington Gardens this morning! The horse bolted, she lost her reins, though I’m not sure in which order. When I caught up to them, she was clinging like a grapevine to the mare’s neck, and I was certain she’d break her own. I was in danger of a heart seizure myself until I plucked her from the saddle. She then fainted dead away in my arms.” Hew drained his glass.
“You do not describe the child I remember.” DeVere added with rare reflection, “But then again, I suppose one should expect some diminished exuberance after the loss of her mother.”
“I will say her present guardian seems to have done a remarkable job in assuming the role,” Hew said.
DeVere’s brows lifted. “You speak of the duenna? Was she not the dragon we expected?”
Hew chuckled. “Far from it, brother mine. She is closer to her namesake, the goddess huntress and protector of virgins.”
DeVere’s eyes narrowed. “You speak of Annalee’s cousin, Diana? Has she, indeed, come to London after all these years?”
“She has. And I am delighted for it. Why so surprised?” Hew studied his face.
DeVere refused to meet his gaze. “After all that transpired with her husband, I thought she would avoid causing the resurrection of the old scandal.”
“But isn’t it all just ancient history now?”
DeVere looked up. “Old sins, even unfounded ones, cast long shadows, especially among the ton.”
“But surely you don’t think a woman like that should bury herself in the country forever?”
DeVere’s gaze narrowed to a pinpoint. “You seem inordinately interested in the baroness, Hew.”
Hew straightened his spine and squarely met his brother’s inquiring look. “What if I am?”
“She hardly meets the criterion we agreed upon.” DeVere began ticking off his manicured fingers. “First off, she was wed for many years without producing any offspring.”
“If rumors about her husband were true, one can hardly lay the blame at her feet.”
“Nevertheless, she is three and thirty, if a day. A bit long in the tooth when considering a broodmare.”
“It makes not the least difference to me if she’s a few years my senior—”
“A half dozen at least—” DeVere interjected.
“And she could still have a full dozen fruitful breeding years remaining—”
“There’s the matter of a dowry—”
Hew set his goblet down with a decisive clink. “She has an estate—”
“Wrong again, Hew. The estate is on a leasehold.”
“And just how would you be privy to all this?” Hew asked.
“Because I hold the lease.”
“Damn! You bought that blighter, Lord Reggie’s, gaming debts?”
DeVere inclined his head.
“Why would you do such a thing?”
DeVere looked annoyed. “Why must everyone always ask why? I do because it suits me to do. I do not adhere to the worldview that one must always have a reason for everything. You should know this better than anyone. Now as to the handsome widow, while I commend your taste, you would do well to seek your mare in other pastures.”
“I’m not buying it, Vic.”
“What?” DeVere asked.
“Your dissuasion. Though you present a convincing argument, I think there’s more to it. You think I�
��m poaching on your preserves, don’t you?”
DeVere scowled. “You know bloody well I have no intentions in that quarter, or any other for that matter.”
“But of course,” Hew said mildly. “For surely, if you had, you would have made some miniscule effort toward achieving that end in these past four years, instead of gallivanting among the heathens, collecting concubines.”
“Hang you, Hew,” DeVere drawled. “This conversation has advanced beyond tedious to mind-numbing. Can we be done with it now?”
“Whatever you like, brother mine, but inheritance or no, I will be seeing Diana again.”
***
“What is it, Winchester?” Lord DeVere demanded, his black mood having refused to lift ever since last evening’s confrontation with Hew. Damn her for coming to town and disrupting his peace! And double-damn Hew for taking an interest in her. He’d spent nearly four years abroad, committing all manner of debauchery just to get her out of his system, and now this?
“My lord, there is a young and unattended female to see you. She is a most insistent creature.”
“Is she, indeed?” He was immediately intrigued. Only lately, a pert Covent Garden actress had sought him out as a protector...only to subsequently marry his best friend. His smile dimmed. “What does this creature look like?”
“Very young, my lord,” the majordomo said with a look of condemnation.
“Such censure from my own servant, Winchester?” DeVere laughed aloud. “I’ll be the judge. Pray bring the chit to me.”
The girl preceded Winchester into the room in a swirl of black cloak, throwing back her hood to reveal burnished mahogany ringlets and a startlingly familiar face.
He rose from his chair with a start. “I’ll be deuced if it isn’t Annalee reborn!”
“Then, you have a poor memory, my lord. Her eyes were brown. Mine are hazel. See?” She stepped closer with an impish smile.
DeVere felt the cloud about him instantly dissolve. He took her hand and bowed over it. “I stand corrected. Only Lady Vesta Chambers has such lovely, hazel eyes.”
“I feared you would not recognize me,” Vesta said.
The Virgin Huntress (The Devil DeVere #2) Page 3
