A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere)(55)

"You need not worry yourself about it, my dear. I shall deal with Ned upon his arrival."

"I rather think Edward shall deal summarily with you!" she shot back.

DeVere flinched at her reminder of Ned's last show of temper that had rendered him unconscious for nearly a day. He drained his glass and rose. "If you have no further questions?"

Diana rang for the footman to lead him out. "No further questions, but I insist upon speaking with each of them before any nuptials proceed. I am certain that Edward would not have Vesta wed under coercion. Swear to me that I will have such opportunity."

He inclined his head. "On my word of honor, I will personally deliver them to your door as soon as they appear. Now if that is all, I shall take my leave. There are several matters wanting my attention."

"Indeed?" She arched a brow. "We wouldn't want to keep your concubines waiting now, would we?"

He smirked. "You ill disguise it, you know."

"What?" she demanded.

"Your jealousy. There is really no need. I would be delighted to take you back into my bed, Diana. Indeed, I shall eschew them all upon your command."

"How generous to let me have you all to myself," she remarked drily. "But your mind must be disordered if you think I still want you. Then again," she continued in her acerbic tone, "given your adopted lifestyle, it's only to be expected you would eventually suffer the same affliction as your fa—"

"Don't!" He growled. "Don't ever presume to judge me or aspects of my private life you can know nothing about. The sooner you understand that, my dear, the better."

His body tensed, and his hands clenched by his sides, yet Diana refused to be cowed by his intimidating shift in demeanor. She lifted her chin. "And the sooner you understand I have no interest in further dealings with you, the better."

DeVere took his departure with a mocking chuckle. "Methinks the lady doth protest too much."





Chapter Eighteen


DeVere House, Bloomsbury, three days later



Though he knew it must be near noon by the hideous blaze of light that slashed across his face when his valet drew back the heavy, velvet bed curtains, Ludovic nonetheless cursed a blue streak at being roused. Truth be told, he'd been in a damnable temper for the past several days—since he'd seen Diana. She'd aroused a fierce desire such as he'd not experienced in a very long time, and then she'd spurned him. Oh, he'd earned her scorn, all right, just as he'd made a life's work out of tempting the devil. It was a game he oftimes played with himself, pushing away that which he most yearned for just to make the later attainment of it all the sweeter.

DeVere groaned and scrubbed his face, inadvertently brushing his bruised and swollen lower lip, a tender memento of his recent encounter with the she-dragon. Ah yes, that had come as a surprise! He grimaced. Although he'd expected at least a showing of reticence on her part, he'd not anticipated the sting of a viper. Bedding Diana might not prove as easy as he'd thought. But then again, her newfound venom rather excited him.

For this reason he'd chosen to dull his senses with drink, rather than slaking his fevered lust with another. Now he found the heavy drinking he'd turned to as a temporary palliative had backfired with a vengeance the moment he awoke, inducing him to further indulgence in order to alleviate his damnably excruciating headache. It was a vicious cycle, but one he'd become accustomed to—living large only to pay the piper. Still, he determined to lay off the Arrack punch for a while in favor of claret.

"You wished to be informed the moment Captain Hewett returned," the wooden-faced servant replied after having his ears singed by his lordship's hangover-induced invective.

"Is he, indeed?" Along with his swollen lip, Ludovic's tongue felt thick in his mouth, making coherent speech an effort. "And the girl, Lady Vesta?" he asked, taking care not to lisp.

"She is arrived as well, my lord."

"And how do you perceive the situation on that front?" Ludovic inquired of his beleaguered servant.

"What do you mean, my lord?" the valet asked.

"How would you gauge my brother's humor at present?"

"I would say he appears in exceedingly high spirits, my lord. Several of the staff have remarked that he seems almost as he was before the war."

"Does he now? Then the little virago must have succeeded," Ludovic murmured with a self-satisfied smile. He rose from his bed and groaned, ignoring the proffered dressing gown, and half staggered behind the Chinese screen to relieve himself in the chamber pot. "Ensure the girl is attended to," he called over his shoulder, "and then convey to my brother that I will see him at once."

"In your dressing room, my lord?"

"Where else?" Ludovic snapped and then clutched his pounding head between both hands. "And bring coffee when you return, Masters. I require a great deal of coffee."

"Might I suggest a hair of the dog?" his servant suggested. "Mayhap a touch of brandy?"

DeVere's stomach lurched. "You'd best bring the whole damn bottle."

***

"Good afternoon, brother mine. You look like hell," Hew declared.

Ignoring the remark, Ludovic waved Hew to a chair and took a sip of coffee. He scowled at the cup and then sloshed some brandy into it with a trembling hand. He emptied it in one draught before returning the cup to the saucer.