A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere)(51)

"It's my brother, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" she snapped.

"I know about the leasehold, but the rest was mere speculation until you opened his dispatch. Don't deny it, Diana. Your reaction betrayed you, and your disquiet disturbs me."

"As you well know, my husband's death occurred at your brother's estate. It was all a most unpleasant episode that I have no desire to resurrect."

"Please know it is not my desire to unsettle you, yet as a gentleman, there is one more thing I must ask—did my brother at any time importune you?"

Diana felt her hackles raise. "There is nothing between me and Lord DeVere."

"I see," he replied. And she feared he really did. "Pray pardon my impertinence."

"Hew, you are all that is good and honorable. You have my greatest respect and admiration, but I have no wish to wed. I would never do so again unless I could give my heart. I cannot. And you deserve much more."

"That is your final word?"

"I'm a woman who knows my own mind."

"Very well then," he said with a fleeting smile. "We will speak no more of it."

***

"Vesta!" Diana nearly ran to the girl when she entered the vestibule. "Where on earth have you been?" She clasped the girl's shoulders with a stern reproach. "Don't you know we were worried sick about you?"

"But why?" Vesta asked as she removed her bonnet and gloves. "I was with my godfather."

Diana led her into the drawing room. "But how was I to know that? Moreover, how came you to be with him in the first place?"

Vesta bit her lip. "Did I not say? He invited me for a drive."

"No! You didn't say!" Diana retorted.

"I'm so sorry to have worried you, Aunt Di, but I was so eager to see my godfather, and he has yet to pay a call."

"I would strongly discourage him from doing so."

"But why?"

"Because you are in my charge and should do as I ask," Diana replied in a fruitless attempt to squelch the subject.

"But he has a box at the Theatre Royal for us, Aunt Di!" Vesta protested. "It's for The Maid of The Oaks. By the by, I've invited Uncle Vic and Captain Hew for afternoon tea tomorrow."

"Tell me you did not!" Diana retorted, her outrage mixed with dismay.

"But I just told you I did! Why should I not? I am excessively fond of my godfather. This is my father's house, after all. Besides, you appear to have no objection to entertaining Captain Hew."

"That is my own business, young lady." Diana sniffed. "Besides, they may be brothers, but I assure you the two are cut from distinctly different cloth."

"You are unfair, Aunt Di!"

"I have my reasons to be, Vesta. You may entertain him if you like, but I feel a megrim coming on and just may feel the need to spend tomorrow abed. I pray you will make my excuses to Lord DeVere."

***

"A missive from the miss, my lord," said Pratt with a grin.

"And how are you getting by with the little rogue?" DeVere asked as he broke the wax seal. He scanned the contents and shook his head with a laugh. He then rang for his majordomo.

"She sure be a taking little thing, my lord," said Pratt.

"So she's won you over too, eh? Taking, indeed! But the question still remains whether Hew will take her."

Pratt's grin broadened. "Wi' all due respect to the cap'n, my lord, do ye truly think he will have much say in't?"

DeVere roared with mirth. "By the look of things, I'd say highly unlikely!"

When Winchester promptly appeared, DeVere handed him the billet with the command, "See all of it done at once."





Chapter Sixteen


DeVere House, Bloomsbury

Viscount Ludovic DeVere sprawled indolently on his Turkish divan, pulling on a hookah while a voluptuous redhead serviced him with her decadent mouth. Eyes at half-mast, he lazily surveyed the scene of oriental decadence that could have been stolen from an Ottoman sultan's seraglio—the myriad hues of silk draping the walls and ceiling, the vivid Turkish rugs and cushions that scattered the floor, the writhing shadows created by the luminous glow of brass lanterns.

Through the purple-blue haze of smoke and incense, his boon companions engaged in various and sundry acts of pleasure with the half-dozen women he'd engaged for an evening of debauchery, and Ludovic realized he was bored out of his senses. He'd been this way for days—restive, edgy, and irritable—as if his life had become suddenly unbalanced. He also recognized with even greater self-annoyance that the marks of his discontent had commenced upon a certain person's arrival in London, a circumstance that aggravated him beyond measure.

Although he'd successfully avoided any encounter with Diana in the past sennight, Hew's apparent interest in her had eaten away at him, a circumstance that had both spurred Ludovic to assist in Vesta's abduction scheme, as well as subconsciously inciting him to host tonight's fest of carnal indulgence. Deep down, he still carried the obstinate belief that with sensory repletion, the yearning for something more would go away. Unfortunately, neither the drink, the opium, nor the sex, had sufficed to fill the yen that the knowledge of her nearby presence had created. Yet, paradoxically, he still wished to avoid her at all costs.