A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere)(71)

Diana now recalled her recent visit from the courtesan, Salime, and all that had revealed. Was it possible she'd misjudged him? Her chest constricted at the very notion. For if DeVere was only half the villain she believed him to be...wanted him to be...Diana's heart was in grave danger indeed.





Chapter Twenty-two


Long after the party ended, DeVere sprawled in the leather chair in Ned's study. His boots kicked off, coat and cravat discarded, he stared blankly into the empty hearth. "I want her, Ned," he said. "My bloody bollacks ache for want of her."

Ned poured them both a drink, replying without the least compassion, "If you refer to Diana, my friend, you waste your effort sniffing about her skirts. She won't have you. I've told you so before. She's a virtuous woman, not a plaything. I'd advise you to slake your lust elsewhere."

"But that's the damnable thing about it. Fucking is what I like best. It's what I do best, and yet I can't seem to summon any f*cking enthusiasm for it. What the devil is wrong with me?"

"When was the last time, DeVere?"

"Damned near three weeks ago. I feel like a monk."

Ned arched a brow. "Dare I ask about your state of health?"

"Hang you, Ned!" DeVere growled. "I don't have the bloody pox! You know I always take precautions. It's not that I can't, it's that I've lost the desire for any other woman. Yet the moment she walks into a room, I find myself nearing a full cockstand. I'm so full of my own unspent essence that I can't think straight."

"There's always the old way," Ned suggested with a grin.

"And I've bloody well blistered my palm frigging myself. It's to no avail. No, Ned. I will have her. One way or another."

"Take care, DeVere," Ned warned. "Diana has no husband, brother, or father to protect her, thus I willingly appoint myself to the role. She is a grown woman who can make her own decisions, for the better or worse. But if she won't have you, I advise you to let her be. I will not allow you to harass her."

DeVere smirked. "Is that a threat?"

Ned raised his glass and smiled back at him. "No, my dear friend. It's a promise. Speaking of which, I promised my darling wife I would not leave her alone in a cold bed."

DeVere glared. "I think you delight in rubbing salt in my wound."

"I do, indeed." Ned chuckled and stood. "What are your plans? Do you stay until the wedding? Or do you return for the sacrament?"

"Actually, you have timed the event poorly, for it coincides with the derby races at Epsom."

"You don't mean to say you would miss your only brother's wedding for a race?"

"It's not just any race, Ned. It's for two thousand guineas, and I have the winning horse. He proved himself nigh unbeatable in Doncaster this week. But no, I don't wish to miss the happy occasion. Instead, I have a proposition for you, one I think shall answer nicely. Why not hold the wedding at Woodcote Park? A great many of our mutual acquaintances will already be gathered there. Besides, I have decided to gift the estate to Hew and Vesta. What more opportune time to tell them?"

Ned's brows rose. "You are deeding them Woodcote Park?"

"That is my intention. Hew is very fond of the place while my own attachments to it has greatly waned. I am thinking now to establish my stables closer to Newmarket."

"That's exceedingly generous," Ned said. "And actually, DeVere, I think it a splendid idea. I think they would be delighted to wed there. We can always hold a traditional wedding breakfast for them here at a later date."

"Capital. Then I shall depart in the morning to make preparations. I shall expect you all in a fortnight."

"I have only one hesitation," Ned said.

DeVere cocked a brow.

"What of Diana? There was much unpleasantness the last time we were all gathered there—her husband's death was quite a shock. I fear it may be too much for her to return."

"You and I both know Diana is not so faint hearted. Besides," Ludovic added with rare reflection, "how better to exorcise the specters of the past?"

***

Diana rose intentionally late and ordered breakfast in her room in hope of avoiding Lord DeVere but soon learned she needn't have worried. Contrary to his custom, he had ridden out early that morning bound for Epsom. Indeed, she thought it unlikely he had ever gone to his bed at all. Unable to sleep, she'd heard Edward's footfalls softly creeping down the hall to the master bedchamber just before dawn, but no other had come after.

She told herself she was relieved not to have to face him after what had transpired on the terrace. She was glad to avoid the awkwardness and antipathy, for surely it could only be so after her poisonous invective. Yet unwanted thoughts of him lingered. His scandalously seductive suggestions had burned into her brain the same way his scorching mouth had marked her skin. It would be so very easy to give in, to take her pleasure with the same selfish greed others did, but then the emptiness would follow. She now understood the behavior of people like DeVere and Caroline, who passed from one lover to the next, persistently seeking meaning in the meaningless—for the same hollow ache now haunted her. She had endured it for the last four years.

No, she didn't want that, couldn't bear it again. She wished she knew why DeVere affected her so, and even more that she had some miraculous purgative to expunge him from her system. Diana had long determined she would have a whole man, one capable of giving her love and respect, or none at all...and the latter seemed a bleak, but real prospect.