A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere)(17)

"But hasn't Lord Reginald already entered a horse to race?"

"He has, but there is another...a mare. I want to run her."

"There can only be one entry per owner."

"But I am the owner," she said. "The mare is mine. We had brought her to Epsom for breeding, but now I wish her to race."

He looked puzzled. "You would wager against your own husband?"

"Yes. My mare is the better horse."

His brows shot up. "That's quite an extraordinary claim."

"She is an extraordinary mare. I raised this horse, my lord, bottle-fed her when her dam rejected her. She was such a puny thing, we never thought she'd survive, let alone race, but she's fleet as a gazelle. In truth, I was glad to hear of the subscription race for mares."

"Ah, but you do not perceive my modus operandi."

"What do you mean?"

"I purchased this property to expand my racing stud and am in need of superior broodmares. How better to find the best than to see them run?"

"Devious, indeed!" She laughed. "But won't winning mares come at a premium price?"

"Price is little object when I want something." He gave her a meaningful smile. "But there is one thing I don't understand. If what you say is true, why did your husband not enter this horse?"

"Because my husband seems to have very fixed notions about the inferiority of females."

"Following the general principles of nature, I would have to agree with him. However, one does upon occasion discover some most remarkable specimens among your gender." His gaze swept slowly over her, creating a wave of heat in its wake. "You are aware the entry fee is two hundred fifty pounds?"

"Yes," she said. It was a small fortune, yet a much larger one awaited the winner. "That is why I have come to you privately. I would like to keep this matter quiet. Just between us." Reaching behind her neck with trembling hands, Diana fumbled to unclasp the double strand of pearls. The action thrust her breasts upward. DeVere's eyes were fixed on her motions the entire time, an appreciative smile hovering over his mouth. His pupils flared with greater interest when the pearls suddenly released and dropped into her bodice.

His lips twitched. "I don't suppose you require any assistance?"

Her stomach fluttered and she felt the heat of color suffuse her cheeks. "No, my lord. I can manage, thank you." She retrieved the necklace and held the warm pearls in her hand for a long moment, gauging their weight against her decision. At length, she dropped them in her lap in front of him. "They are a family heirloom," she said. "The clasp is diamond. I don't have an appraisal, but I assure you they are worth at least half the subscription fee."

"And the other half?"

"My mare, Cartimandua. She carries premium racing blood, and you've just said you wish to improve your racing stud." Diana prayed she would not have to make that sacrifice.

DeVere stared down at the pearls with a confounded frown. "A necklace and a horse? Do you take me for a pawnbroker, madam?"

"No," she said. "I take you for a gentleman. One who might be inclined to assist a lady in need."

"You appeal to my sense of chivalry?" DeVere laughed. "How droll to imagine anyone thinks I have one!"

"I know you are aware of my tenuous circumstances. My husband has us on the brink of ruin."

DeVere frowned, neither confirming nor denying the statement. "And how came you by this information?"

"I have no desire to discuss it." She evaded his question. "But the way I see it, this race is my only hope of recovery. Of keeping what is rightly mine."

DeVere took up the necklace, lacing the pearls between his fingers as if admiring their luminescence. He looked into her face with an intense and assessing expression, a combination of interest and calculation that sent a scintillating shiver of awareness through her.

"Your only hope?" he murmured. "Surely not. You lack imagination, my dear."

"I don't understand," she said. But perhaps I really do.

Her breath seized when DeVere's hand left the back of the settle. He trailed his fingers gently over her skin from her bared shoulder to her nape where he toyed with a loose curl. He maneuvered behind her, pearls in hand. "Oh, but I'm sure you do."

The light touch of his fingers whispering over her skin as he replaced the pearls sent flares of sensation plummeting to a place deep in her belly. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed with acute awareness of his all-too-masculine and too-close presence and his spicy sandalwood and male scent, but at the same time wanting nothing more than to drink him in. Her body tensed at his warm breath caressing her neck as softly as the words he murmured against her hair. "There is no need to be coy. There is at least one other, far better option for you to consider…and all you have to do is whisper one simple, little word."

One simple, little word. It was as if she'd fallen into her own erotic dream. You only have to say yes, and I will lay paradise at your feet.

She quivered inside as he fastened the clasp. His lips scorched her nape, firing an agonizing ache in her womb and a descent of hot, wet heat that dampened her thighs. She dared not open her eyes. She dared not even breathe for fear of breaking the seductive spell woven by her satyr's words, his caress, and the brush of his lips. His hand was metaphorically outstretched, and Diana felt the word taking shape in her mind, flowing outward, and forming itself on the tip of her tongue.