A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere)(63)

"Have you never considered remarriage?" Vesta asked. "Don't you miss"—she gave Diana a sly smile—"you know what?"

"I am sure I don't know what!"

"Come now, Aunt Di," Vesta cajoled. "Won't you tell me? I found it positively lovely. In truth, I don't know how I will endure it until Hew and I can be together that way again."

"Vesta! A young lady should never confess such things!" Diana scolded.

"What? That we did it? Or that I liked it?" Vesta grinned.

"Neither! Both! Botheration! It's never a proper topic of conversation for a young lady."

"Did you not like it too, Aunt Di? Being one with a man? Please, tell me the truth," she begged. "I have no mother to discuss these things with."

Retrieving one of the miscellaneous fans that littered the room, Diana attempted to cool her heated face. "Yes," she confessed with a great sigh, knowing that with Vesta, the sooner answered, the less need be said. "There was, indeed, a time, very briefly, in my life that I thought the joining of a man and woman was the most wondrous thing in all creation. But a relationship between a man and a woman must rise above the physical realm to endure, Vesta. A marriage should be based on more than passion and animal lust."

Four years ago, in the depths of desolation, Diana had abandoned all caution and good sense by seeking comfort in the devil's own arms. Giving herself up to a frenzy of passion, DeVere had taken her to unimaginable heights. She had experienced an intimacy of body and soul she had never known with another and had thought it a beginning of something more. But he had broken it off with callous indifference, incinerating her unspoken hopes to ashes.

"Wedlock should be founded on mutual respect and genuine affection. It is also helpful if you share each other's likes and dislikes or at the least understand them." All of which had been lacking with DeVere. She neither liked, trusted, understood, nor respected him, but still he had charmed and seduced her, body and soul.

"I respect and admire Hew immensely," Vesta said. "And we have a surprising number of likes in common. There is much we will enjoy together—horses, hunting, hounds, and especially, you know what." Vesta giggled.

"But do you respect him enough to obey him, Vesta? For when a woman weds, she is no longer a person in her own right. As Hew's wife, you must permit him to guide you in all things. By law and nature, you will belong to him."

"Hew would never be unreasonable," Vesta said.

"How can you know that? You may have quite different opinions on what is reasonable—your manner of courtship, for example. I wonder, did Hew think drugging and kidnapping him perfectly reasonable?"

Vesta pouted. "The circumstances required drastic measures. He has since agreed that the ends justified the means."

"How surprisingly conciliatory," Diana remarked with a dry smile. "I'm simply pointing out that if you wed, you must allow him to govern you, or you will both be miserable."

"But surely you did not always agree with Lord Reggie."

"In over ten years of marriage, I deferred to him in all things...until his actions brought us to the brink of ruin. It was only then, when I knew all was lost, that I chose to make my own decisions. My dear, are you certain this is what you want?"

"Yes, Aunt Di. Above all things. Papa has agreed as long as we call the banns, and he even promised not to mortally harm Hew when he departed." Vesta knelt beside Diana and clasped both of her godmother's hands in a plaintive gesture. "Please, won't you give your blessing, as well? Don't you think Mama would have done so?"

"Yes, Vesta," Diana reluctantly agreed. "Your mother was inordinately fond of Hew, and I am certain she would have been the most delighted of all. Of course, you both have my blessing."

"Oh, Aunt Di!" Vesta threw her arms around Diana's neck. "Then you must be my matron of honor! Uncle Vic will, of course, be Hew's best man. To have both my godparents stand up with us will be a dream come true."

Diana's heart sank. The prospect of reuniting with DeVere in such intimate circumstances might be Vesta's dream, but it was Diana's worst nightmare.

***

"There is a female creature wishing to see you, my lady." Polly gave a sniff of disdain.

"Oh?" Diana raised a finely arched brow. "Have you a name or a calling card for this so-called creature?"

"She says she's a salmon, an acquaintance of Lord DeVere. I say she looks right fishy, indeed."

"You say Lord DeVere has sent her?"

"She ain't the least respectable, my lady—paint on her eyes and lips and wearing some outlandish, heathenish dress. Shall I turn her away?"

"Is she alone?"

"Nay, but her footman's equally queer—a behemoth beturbaned blackamoor!"

Diana frowned. "That's peculiar indeed. No, Polly. Tell her I am at home, and please show her to the drawing room."

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.