The Virgin Huntress (The Devil DeVere #2)

by Victoria Vane

  “Then we can resolve that question right now! I don’t love you, Vesta!”

  “But you will!” she insisted. “You only need time to know it.”

  Hew rose. “Where are my clothes?”

  “I had them taken away.”

  “You conniving creature! How can you possibly think I could ever love such a spoiled, petulant, self-absorbed, and scheming little wretch?”

  Her eyes misted; her lower lip quivered. “But you don’t understand at all! You could never have been truly happy with her, Hew, when you were meant for me! It was fated, don’t you see? I knew it from the moment I saw you, just as Mama knew she loved Papa.”

  “Foolish chit! What can you possibly know of love?” He scoffed. “You’re barely out of the schoolroom, have been coddled and pampered your entire life. You’ve seen nothing of the world, yet seem to think you can control and order others’ lives like some imperious little martinet! Moreover, you know absolutely nothing about me!”

  “But I do,” she insisted. “I know all about you from Pratt. I know where you grew up and that you like to hunt and fish. I do too, you know. I can shoot a fowling piece as good as Papa and even know how to tickle a trout.”

  “You do?”

  “I do! I’ve done it many times! I know that you despised Latin and left your studies early to join the dragoons. You are an avid turf man and never miss a race meet if you can help it, although you have missed many while away in the American war. I know you are brave too, Captain Hew. But no one needed to tell me that. I just knew. You are also a magnificent rider, and riding is what I enjoy most.”

  His gaze narrowed. “And I understand you are quite as proficient at it as you are at playacting.”

  Vesta had the grace to look chagrinned. She licked her lips and continued her inventory. “Pratt said you were the terror of Tarleton’s legion in the war, yet you saved many men’s lives—”

  “Many more died,” he interjected bitterly.

  “But you did not. I thank God that you lived,” she murmured. Her solemn expression and the earnestness in her wide, hazel gaze put him off balance. Vesta continued in a soft, plaintive tone, “What I don’t know...is how you got this.” She reached her fingers toward his cheek. He shrank back, catching her wrist.

  “Don’t, Vesta.”

  “But I touched you earlier,” she said. “You didn’t mind then.”

  He felt the heat of embarrassment flush his face. No, he had not minded. He had been bloody eager for much more than that too, but that was when she was just a figment of his imagination, a siren in a dream.

  She shrugged. “I also know that you don’t sweeten your tea.”

  His gaze narrowed, and then the corner of his mouth lifted involuntarily. “So you already knew that, did you?” She gave him a mischievous smile that lit her entire face. Against his will, he found himself softening toward her. “Then why would you think I would drink that concoction?”

  “It was a safe wager because I also know you are a gentleman,” she said. “But not priggish like Papa can be sometimes.”

  On safer ground now, his temper flared anew. “On the contrary, I think your father has been far too lax where you are concerned.”

  Vesta’s smile vanished.

  “Indeed, we will not only turnabout at once,” Hew said, “but I intend to personally see you on the first coach back to Yorkshire where I shall strongly suggest your father lock you away for the next five years...or however long it takes for you to grow up! Now, will you fetch my clothes, or must I parade out the door bare arsed?”

  “I’m sorry, Hew, but I cannot do that,” she replied firmly.

  “And why is that?”

  “Because the door is locked, and Pratt has the key.”

  ***

  “The devil you say!” He strode toward it, jerked the knob, and then pounded with his fist.

  “Don’t worry,” she said calmly. “We have food and drink enough for two more days.”

  He turned on her like a predator, backing her into the corner. He grasped her shoulders, pinning her in place. Hew stood head and shoulders over her, making Vesta more aware of her diminutive stature than ever before. He glowered down upon her with blue fire flashing in his eyes. Her heart beat an erratic tattoo against her breastbone, part fear and part exhilaration. He surely takes notice of me now.

  “You intend to keep me confined in here with you for three days?” His voice was low and ominous.

  “It doesn’t have to be three days,” she said. “It just depends how long it takes for you to come to your senses.”

  “My senses?” He shook her so hard she thought her teeth would rattle. “It is you whose mind is disordered if you think you can tame me like some pet! Is that what you think, Vesta? That you can somehow turn a man like me into your little lap dog?”

  “No.” She stiffened her spine and spoke, as earnest as she had ever been in her life. “I could never imagine you as a lap dog. Ever. You are a mastiff. Big, powerful, dignified, brave, and yet gentle.” She nodded with a look of self-satisfaction. “Yes. Most definitely a mastiff.”

  Hew gaped at her, speechless.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “You must be hungry by now,” Vesta said. “There is a lovely basket here with bread, cheese, meat pies, and wine.”

  “No, thank you.” He snarled but then in almost the same breath, snatched up a bottle of wine, pulled out the cork with his teeth, and took an angry swig. Vesta seated herself alone at the table and nibbled on some cheese.

  “Do you intend to share?”

  He only glared his response and continued pacing with pauses only to pull on the bottle.

  She shrugged and opened another one, making a great production of pouring it into a glass. She took a sip and made a face.

  “What is it?” Hew asked.

  “Nothing, really. I’m just accustomed to drinking it with water. Papa does not approve of young ladies drinking spirits of any kind full strength. Would you care to play some dominoes or cards?” she asked. “I know All Fours, Casino, and Piquet. I am also quite adept at Matador too, but my favorite games are backgammon and chess. Although luck is a great part of the former, I find that one really cannot win without also employing a stratagem in the long run.”

  Hew chuckled despite himself. “I can see how games of strategy might be your forte.”

  “Do you care to play?” she asked brightly.

  “No, I would not.” He growled in answer.

  She sighed. “Then I suppose it shall have to be Solitaire.”

  For the next hour, Vesta dealt cards to herself and sipped wine while Hew paced the confines of the cabin, feeling like a caged tiger until he suddenly spun on her. “With us locked in like this, what do you suppose would happen if the ship were to wreck?”

  She replied as if he was a simpleton. “Then I suppose you would have to break the windows if we really needed to escape. But I agree. This arrangement is much more tedious than I had imagined it would be. I’ve never been on a sailing ship before and would very much like to be above deck,” she said wistfully.

  “Then what is to stop you?”

  Vesta considered the question and suddenly brightened. “Well, I hadn’t considered it until now, but given we are well at sea, there’s nothing, I suppose! It’s not likely that you would jump into the ocean now, is it?”

  “Then you can open this door.”

  She grinned. “I only needed to ring the bell.”

  He looked flummoxed. “The bell?”

  “Over there.” She indicated the bell pull he had overlooked in his agitation. Before Vesta could even rise, Hew had already given the cord a violent tug. “Et tu, Brute?” Hew exclaimed when the elderly jockey answered the call. “Even you knew about this?”

  “Aye, Cap’n Hew,” Pratt said, looking mighty green about the gills. “But when my lord commanded I was to be Man Friday to the little miss, I ne’er imagined ‘twould be shipboard.”

  “You get no sympat
hy from me, old fellow. Let the punishment fit the crime, I say. Now, pray bring me my clothes!”

  Pratt handed the captain a bundle with a rueful look. “I was expectin’ ye might be callin’ for ‘em.”

  Hew snatched them with a glare and then turned back to Vesta. “Some privacy, please?”

  “But I’ve already seen—”

  “Out with you!” he bellowed.

  “Fine then.” She threw her cards down with a scowl. “I’ll be up on deck with Pratt.”

  Hew mumbled, “And may a great whale come and swallow you up.”

  ***

  Although well accustomed to sea voyages, the lingering effects of the opiate, combined with the rolling of the ocean, soon had Hew swaying on his feet. Although the wine he’d imbibed didn’t help his balance, it had served to dull the throbbing in his head. The gust of damp sea air blasting his face as he ascended from below did wonders to dissipate the rest, as well as soothing his black temper.

  If he wasn’t so damned incensed about it, he might even have been flattered to have made such an impression on the girl. Were he five or ten years younger and without the experience he’d gained in the dragoons, he would certainly have been mesmerized by her alabaster skin, glossy dark ringlets, guileless hazel eyes, and impish smile. Based on her good looks alone, certainly some unwary fool would take her. Why the devil she’d latched on to him with such ferocity before she’d even ventured out into society was beyond his comprehension. Didn’t young girls dream of balls and parties and all that nonsense?

  Yet, here he was captive on a ship sailing God-knows-where because Vesta Chambers had set her cap for him. He shook his head in incomprehension. The girl was a deceptively powerful force of nature in a very tiny package, but if she thought for a moment to force his hand into marriage with this escapade, she had another thing coming.

  While Hew considered himself a gentleman through and through and knew well the rules of conduct and the protocol to be followed where compromising virgins was concerned, he failed to see how those same rules applied when he was the one being compromised. He had kissed her, certainly. There was no denying that fact, but Vesta had said he’d not laid a hand on her. Strange, that. Hew certainly was in no position to refute it, given his dubious state of consciousness while they were alone together. If she had desired to force the issue of marriage, she’d only to say he had and be done with it, but she had not. Hew feared puzzling out the Vesta enigma might be well beyond his understanding.

  He strode out to the foredeck, relishing the wind, the salt air, and the sense of freedom and well-being the sea always seemed to incite. Had he not been such an avid horseman, Hew thought he might have taken well to a life at sea. But here he was altogether against his will, a circumstance he was determined to rectify without further ado. Turning about, Hew made his way aft to seek out the pilot but realized upon reaching the quarterdeck that Vesta was nowhere to be seen. Pratt met him with a worried look.

  “Where is she, Pratt?” Hew demanded. “Did she go back below deck?”

  Pratt rolled his eyes. “I only wish.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The jockey pointed heavenward, and Hew’s heart lurched. There, one hundred feet above them in the crow’s nest, hugging the mainmast for dear life, was Vesta.

  “She has the ship all in a pother,” Pratt said. “She just tied her skirts together and climbed the bleeding thing like a monkey, but now she won’t come back down. The first mate, Mister Campbell, tried to fetch her, and she refused to let go.”

  “Fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice...” murmured Hew. “No, Pratt, I’m not about to fall for the damsel in distress act again.”

  “’Tis not fear that stops her,” said Mr. Campbell, “but an acute onset of mal de mer. It’s the height. The crow’s nest being farthest from the ship’s center, even the smallest movement is greatly magnified. Even the most weathered sea dog canna help but be affected by it. ‘Tis why the Royal Navy uses it as a form of discipline.”

  “Is that so?” said Hew with a grin. “Then it seems a fitting penalty, does it not?”

  “Ye canna mean to leave the lass up there?” the mate said with alarm.

  “Not forever, certainly,” said Hew. “But a little while longer shan’t do her any harm, the damned reckless, little fool.”

  “Wi’ all due respect, Cap’n Hew, ain’t ye a bit hard on her? Though a right high-spirited slip of a thing, she be no different than you once was yourself,” reminded Pratt. “Ye was once up to much tomfoolery.”

  “The bloody difference is that I am a man! And I would have come back down without endangering others.”

  Pratt scratched his grizzled chin. “Aye, there be no doubt the lass needs to be reined in, but she only wants for the right touch. Ye ken?”

  “The only touch she wants for is a good lash to her backside!” Hew retorted.

  “Stodgy blighter,” Pratt mumbled under his breath.

  Hew glowered. “What the deuce did you say?”

  “’Tis like his lordship says, ye grow old well before yer time, Cap’n Hew.”

  “Because I exercise moderation and good sense? Hang you, Pratt! One of us has to take his responsibilities seriously, and it’s not likely to be my reprobate brother. He and I will come to a reckoning the moment I return too. He swore not to meddle in my life, yet it is he who seems intent on foisting this hoyden upon me.”

  “’Tis more than that, ye know. Ye haven’t been yerself since ye returned from the war. Pr’haps the little hoyden is exactly what you need.”

  “Devil take you, Pratt!” Hew shielded his eyes and looked back up. “I won’t have her. I wouldn’t curse my worst enemy with that girl!”

  “Ye don’t intend to fetch her?”

  “No, I do not. If she climbed up, she is certainly capable of climbing back down.”

  Hew ignored Vesta for a good quarter hour until the sky began to darken and the wind to kick up.

  ***

  Vesta wanted to crawl into a hole, somewhere very deep in the solid ground, curl up, and die. She had never felt so horrible in her entire life. At first unaffected and even exhilarated by the rolling motion of the ship, she only wanted a better view of the wide, blue ocean. The mast wasn’t even so difficult to navigate, once she tied her skirts out of the way. The rope ladder made the climb far easier than the great oak outside her bedroom window, but once she’d scaled the heights of the crow’s nest, the vertigo had set in...and the nausea. Heaven help her. Her stomach now lurched in rhythm with every rise and fall of the ship. The ruthless, relentless, remorseless waves caused Vesta to greatly regret the bit of bread and cheese she’d consumed less than an hour ago.

  The first mate had tried to coax her down, but she just couldn’t trust him enough to let go, and she truly wanted to. She had already sworn to Mama that she would never board a ship again once she safely descended. She really needed to get down, but to do so, she also needed Hew. She cast a gaze down over her shoulder and found him shielding his eyes and looking up at her. He was too far away to see his expression, but he just stood there, and then the beast turned away for a leisurely stroll of the quarterdeck.

  Vesta swore to herself she wouldn’t beg, but she’d begun to feel weak, and weakness always frightened her. Besides, it looked like a storm might be brewing. “Please, Hew,” she wailed. “I can’t do it by myself!” Her distress cry seemed to have the desired effect, for a moment later, he was shrugged out of coat and boots and scaling the ladder.

  “What the devil are you doing up here?” he bellowed.

  “I just wanted to see the ocean,” she replied.

  “You are surrounded by the bloody ocean!”

  “But it’s different up here. I really felt like a bird in its nest. Do you suppose that’s why they call it the crow’s nest? Personally, I would have chosen a nicer bird. Crows are rather pestilent, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t think. Indeed, the only thing I desire to expend any effort
on right now is getting you safely back below.”

  The wind was roaring in their ears. Lightning flashed in the distance. A squall was unquestionably rolling in. Vesta could feel the solid mass of him blocking the wind behind her. His arms braced the mast on either side of her, his body caging hers. “You will need to let go, Vesta. You need to turn around and face me so I can carry you down.”

  “But how?” she wailed.

  “Put your arms around my neck and your legs about my waist, and I can climb relatively unimpeded. Just please hold tight.”

  Vesta complied without further demur. She threw her arms about his neck, and he helped her to position her legs. Closing her eyes, she clung tight and close, aware of their danger and endeavoring not to obstruct his movement.

  The rain had begun falling, hard and heavy, beating against them like liquid pellets, decreasing visibility and increasing the peril of their slow descent. It seemed an eternity until they reached the solid surface of the lurching deck. Soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone, Vesta’s tiny frame racked with uncontrollable shivers. She heard Hew curse, and without retrieving his coat or boots, he carried Vesta below.

  ***

  The descent from the crow’s nest with Vesta clinging to his body was a nightmare. The rain pelting his face had felt like tiny razor blades and formed blinding rivulets that obscured his already perilous descent. He couldn’t afford one false move from that height. Rescuing Vesta from the rigging was a reluctant endeavor at best, and now his muscles ached and his left leg burned like hell from the effort. He would have forcibly peeled her from his body the moment his feet hit the deck, but Vesta shivered uncontrollably, and she was nearly blue-tinged with wet and cold. With a groan of resignation, Hew carried her the remaining way back to the master stateroom.

  He kicked the door closed behind them and braced himself against it for balance. The storm had now come upon them full force, catching the yacht helplessly in its clutches. Water streamed down both their bodies to puddle on the floor. Vesta’s arms were still twined tightly about his neck, and her chest pressed against his, but her legs had slipped. He hadn’t noticed until this moment that her petticoats had bunched up around her thighs, wrapping his hips in bare, white, and deceptively shapely, feminine flesh. Even more powerful was the sudden awareness that his hands supported a firm, round, and lush womanly bottom.