The Devil's Match Page 9

  They had covered half a mile when he appeared at her side, flashing that dazzling smile meant to unnerve her. It wasn’t completely without effect. The underhanded bastard. Yet, refusing to be daunted, Diana and the mare held their own against the larger, stronger pair...until the three-quarter mile marker came into view.

  They were riding neck and neck now; she could see the red flare of Titan’s nostrils, the breath of both mounts now coming hard and fast like a bellows as their iron-shod hooves continued to tear up the verdant turf. She stole another glance at DeVere to discover with smug satisfaction that he was no longer smiling. His features were drawn taut with concentration.

  With a low clucking noise, Diana gave her mare another inch of rein. The ears flickered, and the body beneath her surged forward with a renewed effort that DeVere and Titan didn’t hesitate to match. Her mare’s neck was damp with sweat, but the bay stallion was coated with white foam at the mouth and chest. The extent of his exertion under the heavier rider was now showing. He was tiring quickly with a furlong still remaining to the finish.

  The stallion began slipping back, losing valuable ground. DeVere plied whip and spur to no avail. The post was within a hundred yards, and Diana could no longer glimpse them in the periphery of her vision. Her pulse sped up with rising confidence that the race had become theirs for the taking.

  ***

  How the bloody hell can she be winning? Ludovic was nearly beside himself. A loss to a woman in a sidesaddle would surely be too much for his pride and reputation to bear! Hell, he’d have to leave the country for another ten years before this humiliation would die down! Let alone the fact that he had almost had her within his grasp. He was desperate to end the damnable itch once and for all, and a week in his bed fucking her day and night in innumerable ways would surely have made the cure.

  They were already ahead by a length, and he knew his horse was spent. Oh, he could whip and spur till the stallion’s flanks bled, but he knew damned well the effort would be pointless destruction of a fine animal. Better to bow out with grace, or he thought drily with his engorged “tail” firmly between his legs.

  He was almost ready to concede when it happened. In the final yards to the finish, the mare’s right leg collapsed beneath her. Ludovic’s heart lodged in his airway when before his eyes, she pitched forward onto both knees. For an interminable, terrifying instant, he feared her momentum would send her into a somersault, but by some miracle, she recovered. Diana, however, was no longer seated in the saddle, but had slid onto the horse’s neck where she now clung helplessly. He pulled up abruptly, flinging himself to the ground before his own horse had even come to a halt. “My God, Diana! What a close call! Are you all right?”

  The mare’s eyes were wide. Except for her trembling, she stood as a statue. Diana answered in an unsteady voice. “Yes. I am unharmed.”

  “You are certain?”

  “Aye. But the horse?”

  “Pratt will see to her.” He inclined his head to the groom rushing toward them and then threw a leg up, vaulting effortlessly back into the saddle.

  “Where are you going?” Diana asked.

  He gave her a wicked grin. “To cross the finish line.”

  She gave him a murderous glare. “You wouldn’t! A gentleman would never—”

  He regarded her sitting on the horse’s neck with an amused gleam. “My dear, you know it is a wicked quirk of my nature to take advantage of the disadvantaged.” He added with a twisted smile. “Thus, I certainly would.”

  ***

  The next two days passed in a blur with both Diana and DeVere forfeiting their entries in the Derby. Diana withdrew due to her mare’s injury, although Pratt was quick to relieve her mind that it was but a sprain that poultice wraps and stall rest would surely mend. DeVere, on the other hand, privately conceded that while he had, indeed, crossed the finish first, Titan had not proven himself worthy enough against the mare to try him among a whole field of top-notch contenders. Nevertheless, they all enjoyed the spectacle and the postrace celebrations.

  Vesta and Hew exchanged their vows the next morning in a quiet ceremony in the private chapel at Woodcote, after which DeVere presented them a small, velvet box. Hew tented his brows in surprise when he retrieved a skeleton key wrought in silver from within its depths.

  “The key to the castle, although it is merely symbolic.” DeVere grinned.

  Vesta regarded her godfather, wide-eyed. “You can’t mean...”

  “Yes. Woodcote Park is yours, my dear.”

  After a stunned moment, Vesta threw herself bodily into her godfather’s arms. “Thank you!” She then squealed. “Oh, Hew! It’s ours! Woodcote is all ours!”

  Hew turned to his brother. “I am truly speechless, Vic.”

  DeVere flushed with apparent embarrassment. “It is my intent to now leave you newlyweds to explore it at your leisure.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Ned agreed. “Phoebe and I depart immediately after the wedding breakfast, although you must suffer through another one the first time you travel north again. Our neighbors would never forgive us otherwise.”

  “Within the month, Papa,” Vesta promised, glancing eagerly to her husband.

  “And you, Diana?” Ned asked. “Do you return with Phoebe and me?”

  “Actually, I would prefer a short sojourn in London if the house is still available to me.”

  “Of course, my dear,” Ned said. “Please consider it your own. Phoebe and I will have little use for it, and Vesta and Hew will be here at Woodcote for at least a fortnight. By all appearances, considerably longer,” he added wryly.

  “Shall we?” DeVere prompted toward the house where a sumptuous feast awaited. The bride and groom preceded everyone, followed by Ned and Phoebe. DeVere stayed Diana long enough to remark with a wicked curve of his lips. “Well done, my lady. I shall send for you anon.”

  “No, my lord.” Diana turned on him. “I shall come to you as promised, but it shall be at my own leisure.”

  “Oh?” He quirked a brow. “As I recall, our agreement stated no conditions.”

  “While I nevertheless intend to conform to the spirit of the wager, since you proved yourself less than a gentleman, I insist that you indulge me in this one thing.”

  He inclined his head. “All right, Diana, I’ll grant your short reprieve. But be aware that I am not known for my patience. Don’t make me wait too long.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Garbed in a simple gown in a mode worn by the better class of servants, Diana concealed her face behind a heavy veil and exited covertly through the mews where she hailed a hackney coach.

  When she gave the driver the address, a notorious gentlemen’s domain of King’s Place, St. James, she noted an instantaneous shift in the driver’s manner from respectful to familiarity bordering insolence. Refusing to acknowledge his lascivious leer, she closed the door in his face and directed her gaze out the opposite window. When the coach lurched forward, Diana suspected he meted out his vengeance by aiming for every pothole in the road.

  When they finally arrived, she noted his hesitation to assist her down. He offered a black-toothed grin that made her skin crawl. “O’ course, ye can always keep ‘yer tuppence in exchange for a tup.”

  Careful to avoid his face, she retrieved the proper fare from her purse and dropped it wordlessly into his hand.

  “Suit yerself,” he grumbled, adding, “Uppity whore,” at her departing back.

  Already shaken, Diana was unsure what would greet her behind the massive portal of the infamous brothel, but the liveried footman who answered maintained the same wooden countenance as in any well-heeled establishment.

  Her second surprise came upon entering the vestibule. She had expected cheap and tawdry, but what greeted her was plush opulence—marble floors, soaring ceilings, elaborate artworks adorning the walls, and expensive furnishings—an effect worthy of royalty. Compared to her surroundings and what she had seen of the exotic Salime, she felt gauche and
self-conscious in her drab and inconspicuous clothing.

  “Have you an appointment, madam?” the footman asked.

  “I do not, but I wish to speak with one of your...er...residents. Her name is Salime.”

  “Your name, madam?” he asked.

  “I wish to remain anonymous, but you may convey that I am an acquaintance of Lord DeVere. I believe he is a frequent patron here.”

  “He is a most honored guest at this establishment,” the footman acknowledged. “If you will be pleased to follow me, I will inquire of the proprietress, Mrs. Hayes, whether Madam Salime is receiving.” He led Diana into a small sitting room done in gilt and soft blue pastel. “Do you care for refreshment?” he asked.

  “No, thank you,” she replied nervously, clutching her handkerchief.

  “Very well.” He departed with a stiff bow.

  After only a few minutes, Diana turned toward the swishing sound of silk. A painted and patched woman of middling years made her entrance with the confident hauteur of a duchess. “I am Mrs. Hayes, the proprietress of this establishment.” She smiled, the white paint on her face accentuating the yellow of her teeth. “I understand you are an acquaintance of my Lord DeVere?”

  “Yes,” Diana replied.

  “I am, of course, honored to receive any friend of my lord. Is there something special you seek? I have several strapping fellows in my employ who are both well-equipped and eager to satisfy the poor, neglected women of the Ton.”

  “My business is with Madam Salime,” Diana said.

  Mrs. Hayes gaze narrowed with speculation. “So you are the one.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “Our Jewel of the East had said there was one who had the potential to capture the elusive viscount. I wonder now what is hidden behind that veil of yours.”

  “You may wonder all you like, but my identity is not your concern.”

  “Ah, but you seek something from me, do you not? This is a house of both business and pleasure, you understand. Perhaps we can come to an arrangement?”

  “You wish me to pay you just to speak to her?”

  “One hundred guineas per hour for Salime,” the bawd said with an avaricious gleam in her eye.

  “But I only need a moment,” Diana protested.

  “Salime’s time is exceedingly valuable.”

  “So she said,” Diana replied wryly, wondering if she even had enough coin to procure the brief interview she sought. “I have but ten guineas.” She opened her purse.

  “That will buy you precisely seven minutes, my dear.”

  “Seven minutes?” Diana sighed. “So be it then.” She gave the madam the ten gold coins, and Mrs. Hayes promptly beckoned to the footman. “Jenkins, take her to Salime.”

  ***

  The footman opened the door to a large and exotic room much like DeVere’s private apartments, only in this case, a scantily clad woman reclined on the divan, the stem of a hookah between her teeth. She took a slow pull before casting a lazy gaze toward Diana.

  “So you come at last.” Her lip curled with insolence.

  “Yes. I have come regarding your proposal,” Diana said stiffly.

  “Come.” Salime gestured her to the divan. “You will smoke with me.”

  “I don’t smoke,” Diana said. “What is it?”

  “Opium,” Salime replied. “It relaxes the body and opens the mind.” She offered Diana the pipe. “You are sadly in need of both.”

  Diana scowled.

  “You will smoke if you wish to speak with me,” Salime insisted.

  “Very well,” Diana snapped, taking in a brisk and choking puff that made her lungs burn and her eyes sting. She threw down the pipe with a glower.

  Salime gave her a glassy-eyed smirk. “You must learn patience and to wait for instruction.” She offered the stem to Diana once more. “Slowly, gently, draw it into your lungs as if you inhale the fragrance of a delicate flower.”

  When Diana repeated her attempt, she choked less violently. Within minutes, a peculiar languor settled over her.

  “Much better,” Salime remarked, settling herself back on the silk cushions. “Now we talk.”

  “Several weeks ago, you made me an offer—”

  “One you snubbed with your English arrogance.”

  “It was with no disrespect to you, madam.”

  “No?” Salime looked dubious.

  “You don’t understand how it is between he and I. We have a history, one that ended badly.”

  “For both of you, I think. Yet he still desires you, Khunam.”

  “Yes,” Diana replied. “He has made it clear, but it’s only a matter of vanity, because I snub him.”

  “I think not,” Salime said. “For Efendi is a man of great pride, but this reaches deeper. But now you change your mind?”

  “Perhaps,” Diana answered. “You said you could teach me things. You said ‘it is he who would soon be enslaved, heart and soul—prostrate at your feet!’ I wish to learn what you meant by this.”

  Salime gifted her with a secretive smile. “You wish to make him wet clay in your hands?”

  “Yes. I agreed to a wager and lost. I now must go to him, but I want it to be on my terms. Do you understand that?”

  “I understand very well, Khunam. But did you not agree to give yourself to him completely?”

  “Without condition or constraint,” Diana confessed.

  “Do you not understand what this means? He desires much more from you than just to be a bedmate. You must seek his pleasure in all things.”

  Diana bridled. “I may agree to go to his bed, but I shall not become his slave!”

  “But what woman would have agreed to such a wager unless she secretly desired to lose it?”

  “I assure you I intended no such thing!” Even as she spoke it, Diana wondered at the truth of her own protest.

  “It is a dangerous game you wish to play, Khunam, for Efendi is not without secrets of his own.”

  “But you will help me?”

  Salime nodded.

  Diana didn’t fully understand why Salime wished to teach her, but she was avowed not to refuse knowledge she could come by in no other way. While she had foolishly wagered and lost, she now had a plan to ensure she would not be the true loser in the end. Four years ago, she had been innocent in the ways of passion. DeVere had beguiled and seduced her with his dark charm and erotic arts, but now Diana sought the secrets to seduce him in kind.

  “I suggest we begin at once,” Salime said. “My mornings are my own. Thus you must return tomorrow at nine o’clock. I will speak to Madam Hayes. When she understands for whom this service, your tutelage, is performed, she shall not oppose it, but my services for your tuition in these ways of love shall be procured at no small expense.”

  The footman rapped upon the door to indicate her time was finished.

  “How much?” Diana asked, taking stock of her empty purse.

  “I do not speak of gold, Khanum, but of something far more valuable that you are sure to lose in this bargain”

  “And what, pray, is that?” Diana demanded.

  Salime gave her a knowing smile. “Your heart, Khanum.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Diana had left Salime the day before feeling empowered by her plan, but in returning to the brothel, she approached a crisis of confidence. Should she really go through with this? Did she truly have the fortitude for it? The questions filled her with a mixture of trepidation and excitement—for the exotic and the erotic together held such a powerful allure.

  While the same wooden-faced footman tended the door, this time, Mrs. Hayes greeted her with cloying sweetness. “My dear,” she said, “you do not know how very fortunate you are! I have begged, pleaded, and cajoled my most-prized gem, Salime, to share her secrets with her sisters in pleasure, but she has been unmoving in her refusal...until you.”

  “I am honored by her condescension,” Diana replied.

  “You must play close heed, for should you master
the arts of the East, you could command such a pretty price.” The bawd’s eyes gleamed.

  “You think I wish to profit from it?”

  “What woman would not? There would always be a place for you here, my dear. You should consider it.”

  “I fear you misunderstand. I am here for a sole purpose, a personal one.”

  “But, my dear, every man’s interest eventually wanes. You would do well to remember that.”

  “I shall,” Diana said tightly. “And while I appreciate your generous offer, I have no interest.”

  “The offer will stand,” Mrs. Hayes answered with a smugness that Diana chose to ignore.

  “I pray you will excuse me now, madam, for I would hate to keep Salime waiting.”

  ***

  Diana entered Salime’s apartments to find her without the hookah. “Efendi enjoys many traditions of the East, Khanum,” she explained without prelude. “The hookah, as you know, is one of these; the Oriental dance and the hammam are two others.”

  “Hammam?” Diana regarded her blankly.

  “The Turkish bath.”

  “And why are his hygiene habits relevant?”

  Salime made an exasperated noise. “Have you no understanding? The hammam is a ritual, a purification of body and spirit.”

  “Why is this important?”

  “Because you will attend him there. You will cleanse and massage his body and give him pleasure.”

  “In the bath? Is that not a job for a manservant? I told you I have no wish to be his slave.”

  “How can you be so ignorant of the ways of the flesh? The massage I would teach you, it is not only to relax the body, but to arouse. If done correctly, you have the power to bring Enfendi to the very pinnacle of rapture, a release like no other.”

  “You have done this before? To him?”

  Salime smiled. “I often attend him in the hammam.”

  Diana wished she hadn’t asked. The image of this woman so intimately touching him, pleasuring him, burned into her brain and made her seethe with an irrational jealousy that was hard to shake off.