A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere)(78)

Vesta regarded her godfather, wide-eyed. "You can't mean..."

"Yes. Woodcote Park is yours, my dear."

After a stunned moment, Vesta threw herself bodily into her godfather's arms. "Thank you!" She then squealed. "Oh, Hew! It's ours! Woodcote is all ours!"

Hew turned to his brother. "I am truly speechless, Vic."

DeVere flushed with apparent embarrassment. "It is my intent to now leave you newlyweds to explore it at your leisure."

"My thoughts exactly," Ned agreed. "Phoebe and I depart immediately after the wedding breakfast, although you must suffer through another one the first time you travel north again. Our neighbors would never forgive us otherwise."

"Within the month, Papa," Vesta promised, glancing eagerly to her husband.

"And you, Diana?" Ned asked. "Do you return with Phoebe and me?"

"Actually, I would prefer a short sojourn in London if the house is still available to me."

"Of course, my dear," Ned said. "Please consider it your own. Phoebe and I will have little use for it, and Vesta and Hew will be here at Woodcote for at least a fortnight. By all appearances, considerably longer," he added wryly.

"Shall we?" DeVere prompted toward the house where a sumptuous feast awaited. The bride and groom preceded everyone, followed by Ned and Phoebe. DeVere stayed Diana long enough to remark with a wicked curve of his lips. "Well done, my lady. I shall send for you anon."

"No, my lord." Diana turned on him. "I shall come to you as promised, but it shall be at my own leisure."

"Oh?" He quirked a brow. "As I recall, our agreement stated no conditions."

"While I nevertheless intend to conform to the spirit of the wager, since you proved yourself less than a gentleman, I insist that you indulge me in this one thing."

He inclined his head. "All right, Diana, I'll grant your short reprieve. But be aware that I am not known for my patience. Don't make me wait too long."





Chapter Twenty-five


Garbed in a simple gown in a mode worn by the better class of servants, Diana concealed her face behind a heavy veil and exited covertly through the mews where she hailed a hackney coach.

When she gave the driver the address, a notorious gentlemen's domain of King's Place, St. James, she noted an instantaneous shift in the driver's manner from respectful to familiarity bordering insolence. Refusing to acknowledge his lascivious leer, she closed the door in his face and directed her gaze out the opposite window. When the coach lurched forward, Diana suspected he meted out his vengeance by aiming for every pothole in the road.

When they finally arrived, she noted his hesitation to assist her down. He offered a black-toothed grin that made her skin crawl. "O' course, ye can always keep 'yer tuppence in exchange for a tup."

Careful to avoid his face, she retrieved the proper fare from her purse and dropped it wordlessly into his hand.

"Suit yerself," he grumbled, adding, "Uppity whore," at her departing back.

Already shaken, Diana was unsure what would greet her behind the massive portal of the infamous brothel, but the liveried footman who answered maintained the same wooden countenance as in any well-heeled establishment.

Her second surprise came upon entering the vestibule. She had expected cheap and tawdry, but what greeted her was plush opulence—marble floors, soaring ceilings, elaborate artworks adorning the walls, and expensive furnishings—an effect worthy of royalty. Compared to her surroundings and what she had seen of the exotic Salime, she felt gauche and self-conscious in her drab and inconspicuous clothing.

"Have you an appointment, madam?" the footman asked.

"I do not, but I wish to speak with one of your...er...residents. Her name is Salime."

"Your name, madam?" he asked.

"I wish to remain anonymous, but you may convey that I am an acquaintance of Lord DeVere. I believe he is a frequent patron here."

"He is a most honored guest at this establishment," the footman acknowledged. "If you will be pleased to follow me, I will inquire of the proprietress, Mrs. Hayes, whether Madam Salime is receiving." He led Diana into a small sitting room done in gilt and soft blue pastel. "Do you care for refreshment?" he asked.

"No, thank you," she replied nervously, clutching her handkerchief.

"Very well." He departed with a stiff bow.

After only a few minutes, Diana turned toward the swishing sound of silk. A painted and patched woman of middling years made her entrance with the confident hauteur of a duchess. "I am Mrs. Hayes, the proprietress of this establishment." She smiled, the white paint on her face accentuating the yellow of her teeth. "I understand you are an acquaintance of my Lord DeVere?"

"Yes," Diana replied.

"I am, of course, honored to receive any friend of my lord. Is there something special you seek? I have several strapping fellows in my employ who are both well-equipped and eager to satisfy the poor, neglected women of the ton."

"My business is with Madam Salime," Diana said.

Mrs. Hayes gaze narrowed with speculation. "So you are the one."

"Pardon me?"

"Our Jewel of the East had said there was one who had the potential to capture the elusive viscount. I wonder now what is hidden behind that veil of yours."