A Devil's Touch (The Devil DeVere #4.5)(5)

She paused her perusal of the bookshelves to rub the small of her back with a woeful sigh before finally settling on the latest novel penned by Fannie Burney—the adventures of a young heiress named Cecelia. She retrieved the book from the shelf, but by now her feet and back ached so badly, she dreaded the thought of climbing the stairs to her private apartments.

Instead, her gaze settled on her husband's highly comfortable and recently vacated chair. Alighting in the plush over-stuffed chair, Diana released a soft moan of contentment. Ensconced in the faint and wonderful scents of leather and Ludovic, a renewed calm settled over her. Giving in to the most unladylike urge to prop her feet on the desk, Diana took up a stack of papers to clear a spot, but a particular sheet of foolscap conspicuously penned in a most delicate and elaborate style of calligraphy caught her eye. It was definitely not a man's hand.

Curious, she picked up the letter. The wax seal had already been broken, revealing a terse note of only a few lines. She hesitated with a pang of guilt, knowing she should not proceed, but her current state of anxiety overcame her initial qualms.

Most honored Efendi,

It is with the greatest humility that I appeal to he who once safeguarded my life. It is with exceeding distress that I must entreat you once more, being much in need of a friend and protector. Your most devoted and obedient servant,

Salime

Diana clutched the missive to her breast with quivering lips. An old friend indeed! Was it truly a man named Simon he went so urgently to meet…or an erstwhile lover named Salime?





Chapter Two


With the temperature dropping and foul weather threatening, Ludovic and Ned departed Kent by coach. They spent the first couple of hours in laughter and fond reminiscing about their youthful days when they—with Simon—had wreaked havoc upon Westminster School. After then catching up on family matters, a companionable silence settled between them, allowing each to drift into solitary thought.

While Ludovic tried to maintain focus on Simon, the purpose of their trip, he couldn't quite lay aside his concerns about Diana. Although he had never been known for self-restraint, he was determined to keep her needs above his own and his hands off her—even if it killed him. Still, he had little trust in physicians and wondered if Ned had suffered the same extended period of sexual abstinence. "Ned," he finally ventured, "there is a matter plaguing me."

"Oh?" Ned's brows rose.

"Yes. One in which you are vastly more knowledgeable than I."

Ned looked bemused. "That's quite a confession, DeVere. I can't imagine what it might be."

"Breeding women," Ludovic replied.

"Ah." Ned nodded in understanding. "I am no expert, by any means. I doubt that any man is—but I agree they can be a trial. Happy one moment, crying the next. A man must exercise a great deal of patience with a pregnant wife."

"As you well know, patience has never been my strong suit."

Ned chuckled. "No indeed. But you must be tolerant with her changing moods."

"That's not quite the kind of patience I mean."

"Oh?" Ned gave a knowing smile. "I thought I detected a note of edginess. You must be referring to—"

"Yes. Damn it! How long must I wait? The damnable accoucheur has all but forbidden me to touch her."

"Is she that far advanced?"

"He says her time will arrive by month's end."

"Still weeks away then. So Diana has put you off?"

"Diana? No. Not precisely, but she's very fatigued. Retires early. Sleeps late."

"And she wants none of you in between?"

DeVere glowered. "I have not approached her."

Ned laughed. "Your mistake then, ole chum. Although women vary considerably in these matters, I found that unlike my frail Annalee, dear Phoebe, God bless her, was exceedingly amorous until the very end."

"What are you saying, Ned? That you f*cked your wife until her delivery?"

"Crude as ever, DeVere, but yes. Indeed the very same day she gave birth to little Ned. The midwife even encouraged it, telling Phoebe that conjugal relations would relax her passage and ease the delivery."

"Bloody hell! That is completely contrary to what I was told by the man considered the foremost authority. I brought down James Ford, the bloody physician extraordinary to the Westminster Lying-In hospital, to examine Diana."

Ned shrugged. "Nevertheless, nature is oftimes superior to science."

Ludovic growled. "I'll string that sodding quack up by the bollacks when I next see him!"

"I do pity the man," Ned replied with martyr's sigh. "But not as much as myself at the moment."

"What the devil does that mean?" Ludovic snapped.

"It means we should stop for a drink along the way. I shall undoubtedly need something to help me bear your insufferable temper until you return to Diana's bed."

***

Diana paced and fretted for two entire days. The sheet of foolscap she carried about in her pocket had nearly disintegrated from the number of times she had read and crumpled it. At one point she had even thought to consign it to the flames. She had tossed it into the hearth, but then rescued it at the very last second. The letter was the source of her greatest pain, but also the source of her strength, for without it as evidence, she would never be able to confront him. She would hear only what she wanted to hear from his lips, allowing her heart to deny the bald truth that stared at her in delicate strokes of black ink.