A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere)(7)

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Diana and Annalee were swiftly and efficiently settled in separate en-suite apartments in the west wing. Diana could hardly contain her awe at accommodations that were commodious and breathtaking in opulence, with furnishings of damask and gilt, and elaborately plaster-worked ceilings complete with silk coverings on the wainscoted walls. She noted with particular pleasure the French doors opening to a balcony overlooking a magnificent parterre garden and ornamental fountain.

Edward was right. If this was only Viscount DeVere's retreat, he certainly suffered from no dearth of fortune. For no particular reason, Diana found herself overcome with curiosity about the man. He must be about thirty and had never married; that much she knew from Annalee. And who was this duchess? Her instincts already told her there was a story even before DeVere had cut Annalee off. She tried to shake it off as none of her business, and yet...

A soft knock sounded on the door before Diana's abigail peered inside. "Is there aught that you need, my lady? Do you wish to refresh yourself?"

"At present, I wish more than anything to escape the blasted confines of my stays!" Diana said. "I'd also love a brief repose followed by a hip bath, if that can be easily managed."

"There is one already prepared in the adjoining dressing chamber, milady, and hot water on the way. The lady duchess desires to take particular care of his lordship's guests."

"Does she? Then I shall take particular care to thank Her Grace."

The maid, already at work unlacing her gown, paused. "Have you met the duchess before, my lady?"

"No. I have not. Although I understand that Lady Annalee has some acquaintance with her." Diana's curiosity was roused by the maid's manner. "Is there a particular reason you ask, Polly?"

Helping to strip away the layers of bodice and petticoats, the maid replied in a conspiratorial whisper. "Word from the servants here, milady, is that the duchess is no better than she ought to be. She arrived two days hence and has not slept in her own chamber. The staff says she conducts herself as if she were already mistress of the house. 'Twould seem to me she's another kind of mistress altogether and no fit company for my lady!" Polly added in affront.

Diana's forehead furrowed. In having briefly met his lordship, Diana presumed the maid's suspicions were correct. This thought was followed by indignation. Not that Diana ever would have entertained his presumed proposition. Still, she was piqued that he would even have insinuated such a thing with a woman already under his roof.

"While I share your sentiments, Polly, it is the viscount's home, and he can do whatever he wishes. The duchess is a widow, and the viscount is unwed. Thus, it is their business alone," she spoke the mild reprimand, wishing neither to encourage the girl's impertinence nor squelch it completely. "We can only hope they conduct themselves with proper circumspection."

"Yes, my lady." The maid flushed rose. "Shall I unlace you now?"

"Please."

A moment later, Polly deftly released Diana's generous breasts from a prison of tightly stitched linen and whalebone. Diana breathed a great sigh and stretched. "I'm going to indulge in an hour's repose, Polly, but then I shall need you to press my gown while I bathe and then redress my hair."

"Which gown shall it be?"

While not normally afflicted by excessive vanity, DeVere's abrupt dismissal of her stirred something devilish within. "The new emerald-and-gold damask in the Polonaise fashion is quite lovely, don't you think?"

"And most becoming to your eyes and figure too, my lady," the maid countered with a wink.

The latest mode from Paris, the gown had a devastatingly low, square-cut bodice accentuated with the tiniest bit of sheer, gold trim that barely concealed a hint of dusky nipple. If the viscount appreciated her well-endowed bosom, what harm in teasing from afar that which he could never touch? Deeming it naught but a bit of harmless flirtation with a charming rogue, Diana paid little heed to the fleeting notion that she might actually be playing with fire.





Chapter Three


Two hours later, another soft rap sounded upon Diana's door. "We thought you might desire our escort to supper. But how lovely you look!" Annalee exclaimed in admiration as Diana joined them in the hall. "I knew that gown would be perfect for you. I could never carry off a style so bold even if I had my slender figure back." She laid a hand on her expanded waistline with a look of dismay.

Elegantly attired in bottle-green velvet and crisp, white linen, Edward gave a formal bow over Diana's hand. "You are indeed…dashing," he said as if struggling for the right word. Noting the spots of color in his cheekbones, Diana knew a moment's regret for her daring décolletage. She fought the impulse to fetch a fichu, but remembering a certain vivid blue gaze that had fixed upon her breasts, she determined to sally forth with boldness.

"Is there still no word of Reginald?" Diana asked.

"Hew was some considerable assistance in the matter. He said Reggie arrived at Epsom several days hence."

With no further elaboration forthcoming, Diana prompted, "Where do you suppose he has been all this time?"

"I am given to understand he has been a guest at Clay Hill."

"Clay Hill? Do you suppose he was uncomfortable arriving ahead of our party and chose to stay with another acquaintance? Who owns the place? Do you know, Edward?"