The Virgin Huntress (The Devil DeVere #2)

  The Virgin

  Huntress

  The Devil DeVere

  Book 2

  Victoria Vane

  Breathless Press

  Calgary, Alberta

  www.breathlesspress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or

  persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The Virgin Huntress

  Copyright© 2012 Victoria Vane

  ISBN: 978-1-77101-828-9

  Cover Artist: Victoria Miller

  Editor: T. S. Chevrestt

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations

  embodied in reviews.

  Breathless Press

  www.breathlesspress.com

  Dedication

  This little story is dedicated to all of those who chose to wait!

  Acknowledgments:

  A huge thank you to my family for their continued encouragement and support, and especially to my long-suffering editor, Tara Chevrestt.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Thornhill Park, Yorkshire, 1783

  “I just can’t believe it!” Vesta wailed. “Papa just pops off to London one day and returns a sennight later with a wife? How could he? And without even consulting me! And that...that...hussy is barely older than I am!”

  “Vesta, dearest, I quite understand how you feel after having been his only joy for so long, but it’s hardly the end of the world,” replied her godmother Diana. “You must not despise your father for remarrying. After all, he’s mourned your mother far longer than most men would have done. Besides, he’s still a young man and no doubt has renewed hope for an heir...especially given such a young bride.”

  Vesta curled her lips in repugnance. “Is that why he’s wed her, do you suppose? Simply to sire an heir?”

  “I don’t doubt that’s part of his reason.”

  “But why must he act such a besotted fool over her?” Vesta asked, her eyes burning with welling tears. “Phoebe this and Phoebe that and my darling, sweet Phoebe. It’s enough to make me cast up my accounts!”

  “I know, darling.” The elder woman soothed and stroked Vesta’s hair. “But by all indications, it does appear a love match.”

  “But it means so very much change! She has already turned the entire household upside down.” Vesta noted with particular rancor her father’s abrupt change in habits, his late risings, early retirement, and his lessened enthusiasm for estate business. “Why did he go and do such an addlepated thing when we were so happy before?”

  “I know, I know.” Diana closed her petite body in a warm, maternal embrace. “It must be terribly hard on you, my lamb, but you must at least try to be happy for your father’s sake.”

  “But what about you, Aunt Di? I hadn’t even considered how greatly this alters your position. I just can’t bear it!” Vesta’s lips quivered. “Here, you have virtually run the household since Mama...” She broke off with a sniff. “I was certain that in time, Papa would ask you...” Vesta hiccupped.

  Her Aunt Diana, in reality her godmother and second cousin, had been a surrogate mother to her for the past three years. She had also helped to run the household and frequently acted as hostess for her father. It only made sense that Papa would eventually wed her. “And now Papa no longer rides with me in the mornings because darling Phoebe doesn’t ride. Nor does he play backgammon before bed because we can’t play as three. He’s ruined it all!” She flung herself onto her bed to fully indulge her histrionics.

  “And what about my come-out? Has he forgotten all about it?” Her body shuddered anew. Her father’s stated purpose in going to London a fortnight ago had been to secure a house for the upcoming season. Instead, he had returned with his own bride in tow after a mere three days acquaintance. Vesta was truly and tearfully bewildered why any man nearing forty years would do such a foolish thing as taking a young bride like that detestable Phoebe. The circumstance filled her with resentment and rage.

  There was only one answer for it. After several more minutes of racking sobs, Vesta bolted upright. “I will just run away!” Vesta cried. “I hate her! I hate them both!”

  Diana retrieved a lace-edged, linen handkerchief from her sleeve and patted Vesta’s tear-stained cheeks. “There there, dearest. Surely some better arrangement can be made. It is time for your introduction to society, and your father has already secured a house for the season. Perhaps you and I could go to London together? What would you think of that?”

  “Do you really mean that, Aunt Di?” Vesta blew her nose loudly. “Just you and I?”

  “Why not, dear lamb? I have not been to the capital in nearly five years. I would certainly relish the change in scenery after being buried in the country for so long. Imagine the shopping, the sights, and of course, there is much to do to prepare for your come-out.”

  “It would all be such a pleasure, don’t you think?” Vesta said. “But, Papa? Would he ever allow it? I’ve never been farther than Leeds without him and never anywhere overnight.”

  “Don’t worry about your father.” Diana stroked Vesta’s cheek. “I shall speak with him at once and convince him it’s the best solution for all.”

  ***

  “Are you quite sure about this, Diana?” Sir Edward asked when she put forth the notion. “Vesta is a headstrong girl and may prove a greater responsibility than you wish.”

  Although his sentiments were all well and proper, Diana couldn’t help thinking his demeanor suggested as much eagerness to remain in his love nest as Diana felt to escape it.

  “I foresee no trouble with Vesta,” she said with confidence. “She and I have developed a very good understanding over the past three years. You know, she has become almost a daughter to me.” Or, better said, the daughter I almost had.

  He studied her in a long moment of thoughtful consideration. “You aren’t really leaving because...” He looked flustered. “You see, I had hoped you and Phoebe...”

  “Would become friends?” she finished with a forced smile. “But of course we shall!” When hell doth freeze over.

  “I am so pleased,” he said. “You have been such an important part of our lives. I had feared...” He gave a helpless shrug.

  “Don’t be absurd, dear Edward.” She emitted a brittle laugh. “I am delighted that you are so happy.” I just hope you don’t soon expire of a heart seizure out of zeal for your new husbandly duties.

  “You are certain that this is what you wish, Diana? To leave Thornhill?”

  She played with her gloves, refusing to meet his gaze. “I have long denied myself a trip to London. My gowns are all sadly outmoded, and I shall certainly relish the change in scenery after being buried in the country for so long.”

  “Very well,” he said. “You will find the house comfortably furnished and fully staffed. I will, of course, provide a generous allowance for anything either of you should need. If anything unanticipated should transpire, you need only look to DeVere—”

  “DeVere? Viscount DeVere?” Diana couldn’t help the twitch of distaste his name brought to her lips. It had been four years since she’d last seen him, and never would be too soon for her to encounter him again. “I assure you we shall need nothing from him. Indeed, I fear even the remotest association with that wastrel might bar Vesta from the better drawing rooms.” It was a plausible excuse and the one she would stand by.

  Edward frowned. “Don’t you think
that a bit harsh, Di? He is Vesta’s godfather, after all.”

  She laughed. “I only wonder what my dear cousin Annalee was thinking to have ever allowed such a thing!”

  His frown deepened to a full-blown scowl.

  “Oh, don’t look so thunderous, Edward! I know he is your friend, but you know as well as I that his reputation is the lowest, and he revels in it. Vesta may be his godchild, but the less made of it the better.”

  “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear about him.”

  “Lackaday! I only need believe half of it to be reviled. Besides, I do not base my opinions purely on hearsay. I have had sufficient dealings of my own with the man to have his full measure.” She almost bit her tongue on her poor choice of words. His full measure, indeed. The remembrance of it still shook her four years later.

  “Surely you don’t still hold him to blame for—”

  “For Reginald? Not completely.” Diana strolled to the window and gazed out at the vast expanse of park. She sighed long and deep. She chose her next words carefully in the knowledge that the truth of her past connection with the viscount would never be revealed. DeVere had, at least, promised her that much. “We both know Reginald had long made a habit of going for wool and coming home shorn. DeVere was merely the devil’s agent who accomplished the inevitable. Still, one cannot touch...excrement”—she looked to Ned with a meaningful curve of her lips—”and not be defiled. I’d much rather avoid any contact with DeVere.”

  “Regardless of your low opinion of him, I would be remiss beyond redemption to allow two women alone in London without benefit of male protection. I would entrust my own life to DeVere and will notify him of your arrival.”

  “But—” She spun around, but his darkening look squelched further protest.

  “If you wish Vesta to accompany you, I won’t hear another word.”

  Though she felt like she was sucking on a lemon, she forced a smile. “Very well. I see I have no choice. If in need, I will call upon DeVere.”

  When pigs take flight...

  CHAPTER TWO

  Bloomsbury Square, London, 1783

  “It is officially finished at last,” declared Captain Hewett DeVere with a sigh.

  “What is finished?” asked the disembodied voice of Ludovic, Viscount DeVere, completely concealed behind the pages of Heber’s Racing Calendar.

  “The war. They have signed the Treaty of Paris. Though I’m thankful for the cease of bloodshed, this also means I am now consigned to obscurity and idleness as a half-pay officer.”

  A pair of cobalt-blue eyes peered over the racing periodical. “Perhaps you can clarify for me, dear brother, which part of that statement disturbs you most? The obscurity or the idleness?”

  Hew gave a half smile. “The obscurity, of course. ‘Death or glory’ is the motto of the Seventeenth Dragoons, after all. Over half my troop achieved the dubious honor of the former at the Battle of Cowpens while I survived with little to show but a half-dozen scars and a limp.”

  “And the men’s lives you saved?” Ludovic asked.

  “Greatly exceeded by those fallen. And we failed, Vic. In the end, it was all for naught. We have lost the war.”

  “Still, obscure idleness seems extraordinarily underrated when compared to a glorious death.”

  “Surely our birth order was some cosmic mix up or a freak of nature,” Hew remarked with a shake of his head. He laid down The Gazetteer to sip his morning coffee and sift through the mail. “You’ve a letter from Ned.”

  “Open it for me, will you?”

  Hew broke the seal and scanned a few lines.

  “Well, what does he say? Is he already harboring regrets? If so, there’s nothing for it now.”

  “He says little. Only that his daughter, Vesta, will be coming for the season, chaperoned by a female relation. He sends his regrets that he and Phoebe will not arrive until a few weeks later. He also asks if you will stable a couple of horses for them.”

  “Of course, and then we’ll be expected to dance attendance on them, walking the minuet and driving in the park with little Vesta and her dragon duenna.” Ludovic glowered. “Bloody fabulous.”

  “She is your goddaughter.”

  “And I shall wait on her accordingly, but I expect you to do your part too.”

  “Of course. I would be honored.”

  “I still can’t believe Ned made such a cake of himself over a Covent Garden actress.”

  “That would be Phoebe?” Hew asked.

  “Yes. The damned fool up and married the chit when he surely could have enjoyed her without the leg shackles. Three years of celibacy surely affected his brain.”

  “He has only a daughter. Perhaps he still seeks an heir. Speaking of which, do you never think of your own legacy?”

  “It’s far too early, and I’m far too sober to contemplate such a topic. I generally prefer a couple bottles of port before waxing philosophic.”

  “But what if you had not escaped the Turks? We are the last of the DeVeres, and you live recklessly. What if I’d been killed at Cowpens rather than just wounded?”

  “Now that’s a highly disconcerting thought.”

  “Precisely, Vic. You should wed. Just because one woman turned out to be a shameless grasping jade—”

  Ludovic threw down his periodical with a scowl. “And wherever an ass falls, there he will never fall again.”

  “I indeed marvel at that, Vic.” Hew beckoned the hovering footman for more coffee.

  “That I have remained unwed?”

  “No, that you are still an ass.” Hew grinned. “Although yet an unmated ass.”

  “And that is precisely the state I intend to maintain. A man who lives alone is a god unto himself.”

  “And a devil unto others.” Hew gave an exasperated sigh. Ludovic was six and thirty, Hew’s senior by eight years. With vast properties and a healthy fortune, he was expected to have settled down long ago, but following a jilt on the eve of his engagement, he had begun a downward spiral of drinking and whoring from which he’d never emerged. Now, over a dozen years later, it was his chosen lifestyle: drinking, whoring, and horses, that was. Ludovic’s one true, unwavering passion was his racing stud.

  Hew studied his brother for a long, silent moment. “How can you wish to continue on indefinitely in this empty life you lead? You have an obligation, Vic. You should give the matter some serious reflection.”

  Ludovic tipped his chair back with a devious grin. “Actually, dear brother, I already have.”

  “What do you mean?” Hew asked. “You are going to take a wife at last?”

  “No, dear boy.” Ludovic chuckled. “You are.”

  It was a long moment before Hew could regain his powers of speech. “I can’t possibly have heard you correctly.”

  “But I assure you, you did,” Ludovic said. “You see, I have thought about my obligation to ensure the propagation of little DeVeres and find I am not the slightest disposed to it. As matters stand, you would inherit all should anything unforeseen befall me. Therefore, Hew, I deem it your onus to get the heir.”

  “But the title is your birthright.”

  “And so it shall remain until my demise, which, by the by, I don’t hope for any time soon. Pursuant to that eventuality, however, you must ensure that I am not without an heir.”

  “Me? You truly think to put this matter upon me?” Hew was astounded but not because he was opposed to the notion. On the contrary, unlike his brother who was completely hardened to women, Hew had long looked forward to taking a wife. He had even hoped to do just that once the war was over, and now with peace declared, only his finances remained an impediment.

  “I can surely make it worth your while.”

  “You would bribe me?” Hew asked.

  “Let us call it an inducement. I mean to offer you a very generous settlement for your capitulation to enter the connubial state.”

  “You are in earnest then?” Hew met his brother’s icy-blue stare with a co
ol one of his own, knowing it would be a grave error to show any eagerness. To do so would greatly diminish his negotiating power, but if he played his hand well, this strange turn of events could certainly enhance his future prospects. “How generous?”

  “I am prepared to assign over the Staffordshire estate, one of the most productive of my holdings, and to place another thirty thousand in trust. You must, of course, sell your commission. It would be inconceivably inconvenient if you were to get yourself killed before completing your end of this bargain.”

  “You need not fear on that score as I have just accepted the position of riding master to what remains of the Seventeenth Light Dragoons. It is a role in which I can function unimpaired by my injuries. But what of the broodmare?” Hew thought this too good to be true, that there must be a catch somewhere. “I can only assume you have someone already in mind.”

  “Surprisingly, I do not,” Ludovic said. “I would not have you curse me the rest of your days. I shall let you enter hell by your own chosen path. I only ask that she be of good stock and bring a respectable dowry.”

  “A broodmare with a fortune then. You know they say there is no greater rogue than a man who weds only for money.”

  “And no greater fool than one who weds for love,” his brother quipped.

  “Love does exist, you know,” Hew said.

  “You waste your breath.”

  Hew shrugged. “I hate to think you a hopeless case. You’ve never kept a mistress above a month, never formed any lingering romantic attachment. Tell me, Ludovic, is there anything you truly care about?”

  The viscount considered the question for a long moment. “Horses,” he answered. “I care a bloody great deal about my stables.”

  “If you weren’t my own brother, I’d think you one heartless bastard.”

  Ludovic laughed outright. “Don’t let the blood connection stop you.” He then poured some brandy into his coffee and raised his cup in salute. “You already know it’s true, little brother, and for the record, it’s all the more reason I should not be the one to procreate!”