The Virgin Huntress (The Devil DeVere #2) Page 10

  “What are you saying, Captain Hewett DeVere?” Vesta asked.

  “That although you are maddeningly infuriating...” He kissed her eyelid.

  “You called me conniving—”

  “Undoubtedly, you are.” He kissed the other eyelid. “But also exceedingly clever.”

  “Imperious?” Her mouth formed a delectable moue.

  “Delightfully impetuous,” he amended, plying another kiss to the hollow behind her ear.

  “What about spoiled and petulant?”

  “Inarguably so,” he murmured. “But also remarkably sensuous and passionate.” He twined a curl around his finger and kissed it. “Taken as a whole, my love, you are infinitely greater than the sum of your parts—and everything I didn’t know I needed.” He claimed her mouth now, deeply, passionately.

  “Oh, Hew!” Vesta cried, tears streaming down her face. “I just knew you would come to your senses.”

  He laughed and enfolded her in his arms. “I have, indeed, and I vow to cherish you all my life.”

  EPILOGUE

  DeVere House, Bloomsbury, 1783

  “I’m sorry, madam, but his lordship is much occupied at the moment,” said the stony-faced butler barring Diana’s entrance.

  “But I sent word to Lord DeVere hours ago!” she protested. “He was to have taken his goddaughter to the theater earlier this evening, but she has not returned and her maid has no recollection of anything! I insist on speaking with him immediately.” She folded her arms across her chest with a militant look. “I shan’t depart until I have.”

  “If you will just permit me to deliver your message, I will be certain to convey the urgency of it.” The servant looked apologetic, but Diana wasn’t having it.

  “I’m afraid the only message I have for his lordship must be delivered personally.” Seething with anger, fear, and frustration, Diana stormed past the stunned retainer. “Well,” she demanded, “will you conduct me, or must I search every chamber myself?”

  The butler looked apoplectic. “Madam, Lord DeVere is in the midst of entertaining guests. It is a very private affair.”

  She halted to turn blazing eyes upon the harried retainer. “And this is an urgent matter! Were it not so, I promise you, I would never have set foot in this disreputable abode.”

  “Very well, madam.” He gave a resigned sigh. “May I please have your name, and I will inquire if Lord DeVere will receive you.”

  “I will not give you my name! I refuse to have it bandied about among his guests. Pray tell him a lady is here regarding his goddaughter. He will certainly know who I am.”

  ***

  “What the devil is it, Winchester?” Lord DeVere demanded. “I thought I communicated quite clearly that we were not to be disturbed.”

  The flushing servant diverted his gaze to the ceiling in an obvious effort to ignore the ongoing orgy. “But there is a lady to see you, my lord. She is most insistent.”

  DeVere gave a long, lazy pull on the stem of the hookah proffered by his scantily clad companion, whilst another enthusiastically employed herself with his pleasure.

  “Another one?” Lord Malden chortled. “By all means, have him send the baggage in. Damn me, DeVere, but you are well supplied.”

  “I am, indeed,” DeVere answered. “It is a most amicable arrangement with Madam Hayes, but I had not requested another.”

  The servant flushed. “You misapprehend, my lord. This lady—”

  “Will not be turned away.” Diana stepped into the room behind the agitated servant and almost choked at her first glimpse of her quondam lover in over four years. With jaw gaping, she surveyed a scene that could have been stolen from an Ottoman sultan’s seraglio. The room, hazed with smoke and the exotic essence of incense, was illuminated with the glow of brass lanterns. The ceiling and walls were draped in myriad hues of silk while Turkish rugs and cushions scattered the floor. Surrounded by this oriental decadence was Ludovic DeVere, sprawled indolently on his Turkish divan, surrounded by half-nude women and several of his boon companions engaged in various and sundry acts of debauchery.

  DeVere looked to her with a narrowed gaze, and Diana was infinitely grateful for the black veil that obscured her face. “Put your playthings away, my pet,” she heard him command the woman kneeling between his legs, “for we have an unexpected guest.”

  “So this is what you have reduced your life to, my lord?” Diana said with icy hauteur.

  “It is fortunate that I don’t give a damn for your opinion, madam.” He caressed the bare breast of his would-be odalisque and gave Diana a lazy smile. He took another pull on the hookah, blowing purple-cast smoke rings into the air. “Now, to what do I owe the privilege of your queenly condescension?”

  Diana fumed under his mockery. “How dare you ignore my messages and compel me to come to this...this...den of iniquity!”

  He chuckled. “It was your choice to invade my domain. Thus, it is not for me to concern myself with your injured sensibilities. I already conveyed to you that the girl is safe. There was nothing further to be said.” He gave a bland lift of his brow.

  “Nothing further! Where is she? She was last in your charge and has not returned! I found her maid locked in her room! If anything has happened to her—”

  “I assure you she is perfectly safe in my brother’s keeping.”

  “Hew is involved in this? I don’t believe it. He would never—

  DeVere’s mouth kicked up in the corner. “Perhaps I misspoke. It would be vastly more correct to say he is in hers.”

  Diana felt her forehead pucker in befuddlement. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “When Vesta revealed to me that she was determined to have Hew, I agreed to lend some small assistance in the matter.”

  “That’s ludicrous! Vesta hasn’t even had her come-out. It is far too soon for her to be thinking of anyone!”

  “Nevertheless.” He shrugged.

  “Is that all you have to say?”

  “For the nonce. Conversation is not my chief pursuit at the moment, but should you be inclined to join me...”

  The look he gave her send rebellious quivers to a place low in her belly, a sensation she was quick to quell. He had always incited such conflicting feelings in her—part loathing mixed with a greater portion of lust. She despised that he still had such power over her even after four years.

  “You revile me!” Diana spat. “I will expect your call with a full explanation on the morrow. Perhaps you will be more inclined to converse at nine o’clock?”

  “An ungodly hour. I doubt I shall have risen before two.”

  Diana spun toward the door. “You will call, my lord, or you will much regret my methods of rousing you.”

  “I doubt that, my dear. You may rouse me any way you like.”

  The room rumbled with snickers and guffaws.

  “A tolerable, handsome figure,” Lord Malden remarked to her departing back, “but a tongue like a shrew. Perhaps you can teach her a better means of employing it, eh, DeVere?”

  Diana paused, her hand on the door, and turned to confront her detractors. “Better a shrew than a sheep, my lord.” She gave a pointed look toward DeVere. “For hapless sheep are devoured by ruthless wolves.”

  EXCERPT FROM THE DEVIL YOU KNOW

  Coming from Breathless Press July 27, 2012

  Vauxhall Pleasure Gardens, 1768

  The melodious strains of the Corelli air grew fainter, the lamps swaying gently in the evening breeze sparser, and the tree-lined pathway narrower, while the stars glimmered in the clear night sky like diamonds against black velvet. It was all seemingly custom ordered for the two couples meandering the lesser-travelled Lovers’ Walk. While the first pair perambulated arm-in-arm, pausing upon occasion to steal a laughing kiss, the second lagged farther and farther behind until the young lady caused their progress to halt altogether. “Ouch! Pray stop,” she cried, clutching her companion’s arm.

  “What is it, Caroline?” asked Ludovic, Lord D
eVere.

  “Only a minor nuisance. I’ve a pebble in my shoe.” The couple ahead, Sir Edward and Lady Annalee Chambers, immediately turned back. “No, no.” Lady Caroline waved them onward with a smile. “Don’t trouble yourselves. Pray go on ahead. I just need to find a bench where I might remove my slipper. We’ll catch up with you directly.”

  Lady Chambers looked to her husband with hesitation. “I don’t know... I would hate to be deemed a negligent chaperone.”

  The two men exchanged a conspiratorial look.

  “I promise she is in good hands with me, Annalee,” Lord DeVere reassured. “Why don’t we just meet up with you at the Ruins of Palmyra?”

  Lady Chambers’ brows met in a frown until her husband whispered something reassuring in her ear. Her mouth formed a perfect O, and then she smiled. “Very well, then. Ned and I will walk slowly, but pray don’t be too far behind.”

  Waiting until the Chambers disappeared into the darkness, the remaining couple cast a last furtive glance up and down the path to ensure their privacy before coming together in a fierce and impassioned embrace. Panting, clutching, and moaning between fervent kisses, the lovers backed deeper into the privacy of the trees, tugging at cravat and laces, tearing at clothes.

  Her bodice loosened, DeVere freed Caroline’s breasts from their confinement and pulled a nipple eagerly into his mouth. She threw her head back with a cry and groped for the placket of her lover’s breeches. He raised his head from her half-bared bosom with a groan and halted her progress by encircling her delicate wrist in his iron grip.

  “What a delightful wanton you are, but if you seek proof of my desire, I’ve already given you undeniable evidence. There’s no need to torture me further.”

  “But I have a very special birthday gift for you, my darling.”

  “Do you, indeed?” he asked, his interest growing in tandem with his erection.

  She glanced down with a half smile at the huge bulge in his breeches. “I want to feel your desire, Ludovic. She ran her fingers leisurely up the length of him and brazenly cupped his straining cock through his breeches. “Oh my.” She voiced her delight as if she’d discovered an unexpected bounty.

  Damn the vixen! Oh my isn’t the half of it. He was already hard as a rock, and her boldness only pulled at his last shreds of restraint. He was actually trying to behave with circumspection...for a change.

  “Yes,” she gushed. “A very special gift.”

  “You play with fire, Caroline,” he warned. “You know we mustn’t take this much further.”

  She met his gaze with a guileless expression. “You do intend to marry me, don’t you?”

  “I have already asked to speak to your father. Surely, he knows my purpose.”

  “He won’t have the slightest objection to your suit, I assure you. Papa only wishes to see me happy and will agree to whomever I choose...so long as he’s noble...and rich,” she added with a laugh. “So what harm is there in seeking a bit of pleasure while we can?”

  She removed his hand from her breasts and brought it to her lips. She wet them with her little, pink tongue and slowly drew his index finger into the hot confines of her mouth. Her other hand squeezed the bulge in his breeches.

  Ludovic ground his teeth. “Methinks you don’t know what you do, Caro.”

  She sucked harder, sending a jolt of molten lust to his throbbing staff and then withdrew his finger, using it to trace a sensuous path over her full mouth. She gave him a slow, evocative smile. “But that’s where you are quite wrong, my darling. I assure you, I know exactly what to do.”

  Words filled with prurient promise. Bugger it all! Ludovic flung his best and most expensive silk frockcoat to the ground, spreading it wide for her to kneel upon, a willing sacrifice to the gods of pleasure. With her gaze fixed upon his face, Caroline lowered herself to her knees, plucking her gloves off with her perfect, little teeth while he manically struggled with the straining buttons holding his jutting cock at bay. Once freed, his entire hot, hard length sprang forth into her hand.

  She slid it slowly up and down his shaft. “I don’t know who has the better gift, you or I.” She chortled, low and husky. Gazing into his eyes, she darted out her tongue, stroking the underside of his length, teasing him with little flicks and darts. He inhaled sharply, his cock reflexively jerking in her hand. With a look of devilment, she slowly circled his crown of smooth flesh between her parted lips.

  “Dear God in heaven.” He threw his head back with a groan. His bollocks contracting in anticipation, he clasped her nape in encouragement.

  “And the same heaven awaits you,” she murmured before taking him slowly and completely into her delicious and decadent mouth.

  ***

  “There you are, my dears!” exclaimed Lady Capheaton when the two couples returned to their supper box. “I’d begun to fear you’d become lost.” Lady Capheaton gave her daughter’s escort a scathing look.

  “Pray forgive us, Mama. It is entirely my fault, “Lady Caroline said. “I didn’t mean to worry you, but I was so completely engrossed by the mural of the Ruins of Palmyra. Lord DeVere has been there, you know, to nearly all the ancient ruins. When I discovered him a veritable fount, I took obscene advantage of him.” She looked to him with artless innocence, and DeVere thought he would swallow his own tongue. Fount, indeed! She nearly sucked me dry.

  In one night, his proposed bride-to-be had revealed a depth of cunning and guile he never would have thought she possessed. In truth, their entire assignation had been purely her design, a revelation as equally disturbing and sublime as was the expert skill with which Caro had brought him to completion.

  But while he’d initially been excited by her lively sense of adventure and even more delighted to know he wouldn’t experience a cold marriage bed, her actions now provoked myriad questions. Foremost was just how she had come by such intimate, carnal knowledge. Although Ludovic had never possessed a jealous nature, he had also never entertained the notion of sharing his future wife with another man. That one, or more, may have already preceded him was both irksome and highly disconcerting.

  “We have an especial guest who has been patiently awaiting your return, Caroline.” Lady Capheaton’s voice interrupted his ruminations.

  “Oh? And who might that be, Mama?” Caroline asked with barely veiled disinterest.

  “Why, it’s his Grace of Beauclerc who honors us with his presence,” Lady Capheaton answered in her cloyingly sycophantic style.

  A mincing, middle-aged dandy broke from conversation with Caroline’s father with a sweep of his leg and a flourishing bow. His coat cut from midnight velvet, his red-heeled shoes adorned with diamond buckles, and his elaborately-embroidered silk waistcoat could only have come from Paris. Caroline’s eyes widened in surprise while the duke’s glimmered with interest.

  “Then I am honored, indeed, Your Grace.” Caroline abruptly released Ludovic’s arm to puddle her petticoats in a deep obeisance to the duke.

  “My dearest Lady Caroline.” The duke took her hand as she rose, smoothing his lips over her fingers. “The reports of your pulchritude were sadly understated.” Ludovic noted a display of uneven and discolored teeth when he spoke.

  “The duke is an old and dear friend of your father’s and recently widowed,” Lady Capheaton explained to her daughter. “Now out of mourning, he has come to join our party with a particular desire to meet you.”

  “You honor me too much, Your Grace,” Carline replied breathily, fluttering her lashes over modestly downcast eyes.

  What the hell is the vixen playing at? Does she think to make me jealous? Ludovic discarded the notion as meritless as he’d already expressed his intent to wed her. He stepped forward to put an end to the game and was met with the duke’s supercilious stare. Until that moment, Ludovic had watched the interaction between the duke and the Capheatons with a sense of detached amusement, but the haughty stare sent his hackles rising as if they were a pair of gamecocks being set-to for a match.

&n
bsp; “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.” Beauclerc lifted a penciled brow.

  “DeVere,” he answered.

  “The viscount?” asked the duke.

  “His heir,” Ludovic volunteered more defensively than he would have liked. He made a second effort to mark his claim. “The Lady Caroline and I have just returned from a most delightful little promenade.”

  The penciled lines became ludicrous squiggles. “Have you, indeed?”

  Casting Ludovic a reproachful look, Caroline blurted, “Lord DeVere refers to the Ruins of Palmyra. From a distance, one would surely believe it real. It is so lifelike it stirs the blood. Have you seen it, Your Grace?”

  “I don’t believe I have,” the duke answered. “But since it is a while yet before the illuminations, perhaps you could show it to me?” He offered her his velvet-clad arm.

  Caroline’s gaze flicked from Ludovic to the duke and back again. Her lips formed the slightest moue as if she weighed upon the scales of her mind the relative merits of a mere viscount-to-be against the certainty of a ducal cornet. DeVere realized she had found his side of the scale wanting when with no more than an apologetic shrug, Caroline placed her dainty, white-be-gloved fingers upon the sleeve of the Duke of Beauclerc. Without even a final glance back at her erstwhile lover, Caroline and her duke departed.

  Ludovic was incredulous. Although his first inclination was to wipe the duke’s smug expression from his bloated face, preferably with his fist, he realized the true rage he should have felt never surfaced. Certainly his pride was injured, but he would have expected to feel far more upon being so properly jilted. Right curious, that.

  Chuckling at his dispassionate conclusion, Ludovic took up Beauclerc’s abandoned drink with an inward smile as another consoling thought came to mind. The burning question of Caroline’s capacity for fidelity no longer plagued him, but he would soon ensure that it plagued the good duke instead!