A Devil's Touch (The Devil DeVere #4.5)(17)

His eyes glued to the bed, Ned made a mechanical backward retreat to the center of the room where he had a clearer prospect of its crowning glory. His vision rose to the top of the headboard, to the heraldic shield seated betwixt the carved figures of a lion and a unicorn. His gaze slid with dread to the engraved scroll beneath. ‘Dieu Et Mon Driot,' God and my right, the motto of the king. His chest seized. The room began to spin. He looked to Phoebe, aware that the blood was draining from his face, and that his voice emerged as a strangled sound. "May the same God save me…for I'm going to be hung, drawn, and quartered for spending last night rutting in the King of England's bed!"





Excerpt: THE VIRGIN HUNTRESS



London's Hyde Park-1783

While Vesta tried her best to keep her mare in step with Hew and Diana, she had to keep circling her horse that jigged and frothed with nervous energy. Laughing and chatting about some race Hew once rode with Diana's horse, they seemed to hardly take any heed of Vesta at all. How dare Aunt Di monopolize him like this!

"Are you aright wi' the mare, miss?" Pratt asked her with solicitude not forthcoming from any other quarter.

"I am fine, Mr. Pratt. It's just that she has been deprived of her normal gallop since leaving Yorkshire over a sennight ago. She is accustomed to frequent and vigorous exercise and can be a handful when denied."

Although she could handle her mare just fine, she wondered how they all would feel if some horrible accident befell her. Vesta continued to fume. They would both be sorry then!

That was it! Vesta couldn't believe the answer was right before her eyes. It only wanted the proper timing and a distraction for Pratt. Determined to put her plan into action, Vesta held back, letting the others ride further ahead. When Pratt's head was turned, she saw her chance.

Whispering a prayer of supplication to her Mama, her ever-diligent guardian angel, Vesta plucked out her hat pin and tossed the riding cap to the ground. "Oh dear, Mr. Pratt," she exclaimed. "I've lost my favorite hat!"

"Ne'er fret, my lady," the elder jockey said, dropping to the ground with surprising agility. In that precious desperate moment when his back was turned, Vesta dropped her reins and spurred her mare. Artemis, who never needed strong incentive to begin with, took off down Rotten Row like a bolt of dappled grey lightning. Vesta hung over her mare's neck clutching the mane as if fearing for her very life but all the while whispering sweet endearments to her most cooperative conspirator. She knew it would be a mistake to look back. Instead, she urged and cooed and waited for the sound of thunder, for her knight in that lovely crimson crested helmet to come to her rescue and prayed fervently that her savior would not be the grizzled little Pratt.

When she saw Captain Hew's big bay stallion gaining on the right, Vesta once more thanked her watchful Mama. Knowing he would try to grab the bridle to bring her horse to a halt, Vesta nudged the mare, urging more speed, with the cue of her left heel concealed by her voluminous and billowing petticoats. Her hair had fallen in a wind-whipped tangle about her face and neck; she felt the flush in her cheeks and her blood roaring with excitement. It was the most gloriously wild ride she'd ever had, and it was all she could do not to laugh aloud!

"Can you reach the reins," Captain Hew cried, coming upon her.

"No. I'm afraid!" Vesta whimpered.

They approached the entrance to Kensington Gardens with its myriad hedgerows. "Hell and the devil!" he exclaimed, surging forth, but still unable to claim the bridle. "Trust me Vesta," he demanded. "Let go of the horse!"

Trust him? He was a god among mortals. She would trust him if he said she could fly!

And that's exactly what she felt when he swept her off her horse and onto his own. Throwing her arms about him, Vesta burrowed into his neck and simply breathed in the heavenly essence of Captain Hewett DeVere.





Excerpt: THE DEVIL YOU KNOW

Epsom, Surrey - 1779

He was sprawled on his back, arms outstretched in the confident repose of a king or some other invincible being. A sheet draped up over a thigh and half his torso left the other half of him bare to her ravenous gaze. She devoured the vision of lean and sculpted muscled that closely resembled a god manifested in all his masculine splendor.

"'Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best, Not to dream all my dream, let's act the rest.' You are called forth from my dream," he whispered. "I knew you would come."

She stepped back with a gasp. "But how could you know that?"

"Because this is ineludible, you and I. You can't escape it." He reached out a hand, his voice husky with desire. "Come to me now, my magnificent Huntress."

The words were an irresistible magnetic lure that drew her to him. She licked her lips, the wicked promise of unknown delights filling her with a sharp-edge hunger. Untying the sash at her waist, the silk wrapper slithered from her shoulders to pool softly at her feet.

His pupils flared beneath his sleep-heavy lids as she stood before him, unabashed in her nakedness. She let him look his fill, his lazy inspection sending mixed anticipation and trepidation washing over her in tiny waves. He peeled back the sheet and sat up, her gaze riveting at once to the blatant proof of his arousal.

He drew her into his arms and the game began, a hungry breath-stealing match of capture and release that heated her blood and sent blazing jolts to her belly. Their mouths meeting and melding, his tongue darting over her lips, his teeth grazing them lightly, pulling on the lower, urging her to open. Their tongues met in a simulated lovers' dance that became an explosion of sublime sensation, sending a hot pool of moisture between her thighs.