The Devil's Match Page 5

  A few minutes later, Diana paused on the threshold to study her unexpected caller. The woman was, indeed, as exotic and incongruous as Polly had described her. She was garbed in diaphanous Turkish trousers and a silk tunic in jewel tones with an exquisitely embroidered girdle about her waist. Rings covered her fingers, and gold bracelets jangled on both arms. Her hair was black as sable and coiled in a braid atop her head with a cap and scarf secured by a jeweled clip draping from her coronet of hair to partially conceal the left side of her face. Dark, almond-shaped eyes lined with kohl regarded her with overt curiosity and more than a hint of hauteur when Diana advanced into the room.

  “I am Salime,” she said, the bells on her kid slippers softly jangling as she rose to her feet. She sized Diana up with a languorous but unreadable gaze, as if she was appraising her worth.

  “And who is this?” Diana inclined her head to the giant who hovered at the window with arms crossed over his massive chest.

  “Pay no heed to Mustafa. He is but a eunuch.”

  “A eunuch?” Diana repeated dumbly.

  “A man with no—”

  “I know what a eunuch is. I just don’t understand why he is here.”

  “He is my servant,” Salime answered matter-of-factly. “Eunuchs are common where I come from.”

  “And where is that?” Diana asked, indicating her guest should sit. Salime did so, reclining with casual indifference while Diana stiffly settled her voluminous skirts. Despite herself, Diana’s curiosity and fascination regarding this woman was growing by the minute. “Do you care for tea?” Diana offered.

  Salime made a face. “An insipid drink. Have you coffee?”

  “I’m sorry, I do not drink it,” Diana replied.

  Salime waved a dismissive hand. “No matter. The English method of preparation is tasteless. The English senses are bland and dull. It is what I miss of my home. The food. The spices. The scents.”

  “And where is home?”

  “A land far away, a place in the East you call Constantinople.”

  “You are a Turk, then?”

  “I was born a Spaniard but raised as a Turk. I was an odalisque in the Imperial Harem at Topkapi Palace.” She gave a proud jut of her chin.

  “An odalisque?” Diana repeated. “It is a kind of female servant, is it not?”

  “An odalisque is a slave to the concubines of the Imperial Harem.”

  “You were a slave?”

  “Yes, taken from a Spanish convent school when very young. I don’t remember much before that.”

  “You were actually raised in a harem? A serail?”

  “Yes,” Salime answered. “But it is not as westerners imagine it. A harem is not a private brothel but the residence of the most venerated women in the empire, the wives and concubines of the sultan. It is also a place of training for young women.”

  “Fascinating,” Diana said.

  Salime shrugged. “I was given to the harem at a young age and like a hundred other girls, educated by a Kalfa, a senior maid. I was taught many things—to read and write, to sing and dance. And when I proved to be the best of the dancers, I found favor with the Valide Sultana who selected me to be presented to the sultan. I might have been chosen as his concubine or may have been married off to a government official, but the harem is a dangerous place, full of intense rivalry and petty jealousies. One night while I slept”—she released the veil from the left side of her face to reveal a long, jagged scar—”my face was cut. And when my beauty was no more, I was cast out.”

  Diana felt her heart move with pity. “How did you come to be in England?”

  “It is another long story and not relevant at the moment. I have a purpose in coming here, Khanum.”

  “I don’t understand. Polly said you are an...er...acquaintance...of Lord DeVere. What brings you to me?”

  The woman’s mouth formed a subtle smile. “I bring instruction, Khanum. To be chosen Iqbal, the favorite of such a man as my lord, is a great honor. Thus, I am come to prepare you.”

  “Prepare me?” Diana asked, puzzled.

  “Yes. And for this, you must come with me.”

  Diana balked. “Go with you where?”

  “To a private place. I cannot teach you here.”

  Diana’s eyes widened. “Just what is it you intend to teach me, Salime?”

  The woman’s smile broadened in a show of pearly white teeth. “The most valuable and treasured secrets of the erotic arts, Khanum. How to bring my lord utter rapture melded from mind, body, and soul.”

  “He sent you for this!” Diana shook with uncontained rage. “Of all the unmitigated gall!

  “Efendi does not send me.” Salime scowled.

  “No? Then why have you come?”

  “Has he not chosen you above all others?” Salime asked.

  Diana emitted a scornful laugh. “He may choose whomever he likes, but I will have none of him!”

  Salime’s brows drew together, and her mouth puckered with an air of disdain. “You would refuse the honor to become the Iqbal, his favorite?”

  “Yes, I refuse him altogether.”

  Salime rolled her eyes and expelled air in a sound of disgust. “How dull of understanding you English women are! Do you not realize the power a woman may wield with her hands, her mouth, her sex? In my land, the woman who pleases the sultan commands the key to his kingdom. For a satisfied man is but wet clay in her hands.”

  “I assure you there are some English women who understand that concept well enough. As for me, I have no desire to command his kingdom or anything else.”

  Salime appeared skeptical. “I think not, Khanum. When you came to him that night, your face may have been hidden by your veil, but your fire was not. I think mayhap you do desire the key to his heart.”

  “You are misguided if you believe he has one.”

  “Are you blind as well as dull witted, Khanum?” Salime asked.

  “I am inclined to accept our differences with reasonable tolerance, Salime, but I shan’t bear your insults,” Diana snapped.

  “The truth offends you?”

  “The truth? The man is shallow, self-absorbed, and devoid of integrity. He is incapable of deep feeling.”

  Salime shook her head with a scowl. “He is also a fool to care for one who does not even know him.”

  Diana was befuddled. “I know him well enough and am confounded why you should defend him so.”

  “Why? Because he saved my life and at some expense to his own,” the exotic woman replied.

  “How?” Diana demanded.

  “You wish to know all? Then I will tell you, Khanum. I said I was cast from the Harem; I was drugged and cut by an unknown rival, taken far across the city away from Topkapi Palace, and left in the street. I had no money and no way to find my way back even if they would have taken me back in. Worse, I had no protection. I was discovered by a slave trader who raped me before taking me to a brothel to sell me into prostitution. Efendi saw me there.”

  “Efendi?”

  “Lord DeVere. He had seen me dance at Topkapi. He arranged to buy me instead. This was no small thing, Khanum.”

  “To buy a slave? I daresay he could afford a thousand of them.”

  “You do not understand. In my country infidels may not buy slaves. There is a severe penalty. Only those of my faith may do so.”

  “Then how did this come about?” Diana asked.

  “Efendi, my lord, had to profess the true faith and sacrifice his own flesh to the knife.”

  “I don’t follow your meaning,” Diana said.

  “He had to convert to Islam and be purified by circumcision, Khanum,” Salime explained.

  Diana’s mouth formed a silent O. She studied Salime for a long, incredulous moment and then scoffed. “He bought you for his own selfish pleasure.”

  “He did not! He bought me and then freed me out of nothing more than pity. You cannot tell me my lord has no feeling, no integrity. It is a lie.”

  “But are you
not a woman of pleasure, Salime?”

  “Yes,” she said proudly. “But it is now my choice to be so.”

  “But why?” Diana asked. “Why would any woman choose such a thing?”

  “I was already ruined and had no dowry to wed. Thus, I could only hope to make my living by dancing or by prostitution. Scarred as I am, I would have been among the lowest of the low in my country. Here I can remain partially veiled and am considered an exotic flower to command a premium price. I have much money saved. I shall not work long. Maybe one more year, and then I retire a wealthy woman. Perhaps I open my own house, or mayhap I shall go to France or Italy. I have freedom that I never knew in my country.”

  “Are you not his mistress?” Diana asked.

  “Not in any sense you would understand, Khanum. I massage him. I dance for him. He allows me to serve him this way because I desire to do so, but he does not demand from me. He does not take. He has never spent his seed inside my body. It is only you he wants, and so I will do all in my power to ensure that you will please him well.”

  “This has been a most enlightening conversation, but I fear once more that you are misled. I have no interest in Lord DeVere—to be his mistress, his odalisque, or anything else.”

  Salime exhaled an exasperated sound. “What woman would not wish such a man? It is not you, but he who would soon be enslaved, heart and soul—prostrate at your feet! You are a fool to refuse what I freely offer, Khanum, so I waste no more of my precious time. Should you, however, come to your senses, I may be found at King’s Place. But do not wait too long, for perhaps my services will then not be so cheap.”

  Salime rose with jangling bracelets and tinkling bells and departed without another word, her giant eunuch trailing, and her words echoing long after her. He is also a fool to care for one who does not even know him... It is he who would soon be enslaved, heart and soul—prostrate at your feet.

  Chapter Seven

  Thornhill Park, South Yorkshire, two weeks later

  Be-gowned in apricot silk moiré trimmed with peach bows and blonde lace, Lady Vesta Chambers descended the stairs on her father’s arm. The color combination of her dress was both striking and innocent, complimenting her flawless complexion and enhancing the natural blush in Vesta’s cheeks. With her mahogany ringlets elegantly coifed atop her head, appearing as regal as a queen surveying her domain, Vesta paused to gaze upon the crowd of well-wishers that packed the ballroom. Her countenance luminous with happiness, Diana thought she had never appeared more lovely and radiant.

  Although always considered uncommonly handsome, Diana knew she paled in comparison to the younger woman. This night was a stark reminder of the ephemeral quality of youth, and that her own had been wasted. At two-and-thirty, the first blush was long off the rose, and her reflection had begun to show faint lines worn by unhappy years. Although delighted for Vesta, who would soon begin a new life as Captain Hewett DeVere’s wife, Diana wondered dismally what her own future would hold.

  “What a beautiful bride she makes,” Lady Phoebe Chambers gushed, appearing at Diana’s side.

  “She looks so much like her mother,” Diana remarked with a hint of sadness.

  “Annalee was your cousin, was she not?” Phoebe asked.

  “Yes,” Diana replied. “But we were much more like sisters.”

  “I can imagine how difficult all of this must be for you,” Phoebe said. “My marriage to Ned, Vesta’s engagement to Hew; the suddenness of it must have been quite a shock, but I never intended to come between any of you, you know. Ned is very hurt that our marriage may have alienated you.”

  Diana studied the woman she had once believed her nemesis. She had, indeed, despised Phoebe, casting all culpability on the pert and pretty former actress for disrupting her neatly ordered life, but she realized now how selfish and self-absorbed she had been to do so. Ned had grieved the loss of Annalee for over three years. Eschewing all pleasurable pursuits, he had dedicated the last few years to managing his estate and raising his daughter, but now Vesta was grown, and Ned, of all people, deserved to be happy again. Besides, upon further acquaintance, Phoebe had shown herself to be a lady of good breeding and not the stage strumpet Diana had in her prejudice supposed her to be.

  “Please, my lady,” Phoebe said, “I would never presume to replace Annalee in anyone’s affections, but if we could only be friends, it would mean so very much to Ned...and to me.” Phoebe regarded her with earnest blue eyes that could not hide her wistfulness. Softening, Diana vowed in that moment to be more civil.

  “Please accept my apologies for my reserve, Lady Chambers—”

  “Just Phoebe,” the other woman insisted.

  “Phoebe. You are right. There have been many abrupt changes, and I have blamed you unfairly, but I suppose life must go on.”

  They both turned their attention to the bottom of the grand staircase, where with a rapt expression, Captain Hewett received his bride-to-be. A footman offered champagne to all, and Phoebe accepted two glasses. “To new beginnings?” she prompted, handing one to Diana. Diana inclined her head with a smile.

  “What a lovely engagement party, Papa!” Vesta declared in a voice breathy with excitement as she, Hew, and Edward joined the two women. “Look, Hew!” Vesta pointed to the string quartet. “The musicians are preparing to play. We must form up for the dancing soon.” Her excited gaze darted about the room. “But where is Uncle Vic?”

  “I have yet to see him,” Hew replied with a frown. “He was supposed to have arrived two days ago with some horses he intended to race at Doncaster, but I haven’t heard from him. I sent Pratt to locate him hours ago.”

  Vesta’s joyful countenance crumpled.

  “Don’t take it to heart,” Edward said. “DeVere has a strong aversion to all things matrimonial.”

  “But he would never miss our engagement party! Would he?” Vesta asked.

  Ned shrugged, but Hew’s expression hardened. “I know he despises all the social niceties, but he will surely live to regret it, my love, if he does not show.”

  “But he must! He is the best man and the highest-ranking guest. The rules of precedence dictate that he begins the dancing.”

  “Dancing? My brother?” Hew laughed. “I fear you may expect too much, Vesta. I can’t recall the last time Ludovic graced a dance floor. Can you, Sir Edward?”

  “I believe it may have been at my own wedding to Annalee. Caroline Capheaton somehow managed to coerce him.”

  “Caroline? The duchess?” Diana asked. “One need not stretch the imagination to guess what inducement she must have used.”

  Edward’s brows shot up, and Diana wished she had held her tongue.

  Vesta’s gaze narrowed. “Well, he will do it for me, Hew. I swear he will. I will not let anything spoil the happiest night of my life.” She shot him a sidelong glance, adding with a coquettish smile, “Well, maybe the second happiest night.”

  Edward glowered, and Hew colored magenta. “Perhaps you could delay the orchestra for a bit while I try to locate my errant brother?” Hew suggested to his soon-to-be father-in-law.

  He turned on his heel to do precisely that when Vesta laid a staying hand on his arm. “Wait, Hew. There he is.”

  All eyes turned to the door where DeVere paused, doffed his hat to bride and groom, and made a sweeping bow. He continued toward them, sporting a glazed look and a somewhat unsteady gait.

  “What the devil!” Hew exclaimed. “Is he drunk?”

  “By all appearances...” Edward shrugged. “I suppose it was to be expected. He told me he strongly preferred a quiet civil ceremony, rather than all the hullabaloo. At least he deigned to make an appearance.”

  “Perhaps I’d rather he hadn’t. My apologies, dearest,” Hew said to Vesta. “Do you wish me to ask him to leave?”

  “Lackaday, Hew!” Vesta exclaimed. “He is your brother!”

  “Still, I won’t have him embarrass you.” Hew looked to Sir Edward.

  “I am long accustomed to De
Vere’s caprice. He may do as he wishes...as long as he remains clothed.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Diana asked.

  “The night Annalee and I were engaged, he took a naked dip in the ornamental fountain. Luckily, the rose petals concealed...you know.”

  Diana was aghast. “Has he no sense of propriety?”

  “None,” Hew answered. “A word of warning, Diana, the less made of it, the better. Should you dare criticize, he will only delight in flouting you all the more.”

  “Dear brother. Dear sister.” Bride and groom regarded him with uncertainty as DeVere embraced each with a kiss on the cheek. Diana was assailed with the pungent smell of brandy even from where she stood behind them. She also noted with distaste that he was rumpled, unshaven, his velvet coat was covered with dust, and mud clung to the soles of his normally glossy black boots. “Why the long faces?” he asked.

  Hew gave him a scathing look. “What did you do? Come straight from the races?”

  “It was either that or ne’er at all.” DeVere filched a glass of champagne from a passing footman. He raised it in a silent salute and then downed the contents in one draught. “Music!” he cried. “Let the festivities begin.” He commanded the orchestra with an imperious wave of his hand. He turned back to Hew and patted his coat pocket with a sloppy smile. “I was obliged to stay until the last race, but at least I am arrived plump enough in the purse to open the Faro bank.”

  “The Faro bank?” Vesta’s gaze flitted from DeVere to Hew with dismay. “But you can’t do it, Uncle Vic! It would ruin the party if you commence gaming, for there will not be a single gentleman left for the dancing. Besides, you must be the first to commence.”

  Ludovic turned to the tiny termagant with an intimidating arch of his brow. “You expect me to dance?”

  “Indeed, you must,” Vesta insisted. “By tradition, the highest-ranking couple always opens the dancing with a minuet, and you are a viscount, after all.”

  “A minuet?” he said. “Bloody hell. It only gets worse. Do you really think to have me tripping about the dance floor like some Frenchified fop in front of a hundred people?”