A Wild Night's Bride (The Devil DeVere #1)(13)

“What?”

“My name is Edward, not my lord. Sir Edward Chambers, although my friends call me Ned. And my wife is dead these past three years.”

Her eyes grew wide. Her expression softened. “Oh... I couldn’t know that. Forgive me,” she whispered.

He shrugged. “There’s nothing to forgive. In truth, you are right. I shouldn’t be here. It’s not a respectable place, and I am an eminently respectable man.” He gave a self-deprecating laugh.

She didn’t smile in return. She moved closer. Once more, he felt an almost overwhelming urge to take her into his arms but didn’t trust his power of restraint. If he even touched this woman he would be lost and buried in her to the hilt before she could blink. He feared he would become as a rabid animal if he gave in to his baser nature.

“But doesn’t even an eminently respectable gentleman get lonely?” she asked, idly caressing his sleeve, her blue eyes gently probing his.

“Yes,” he answered almost inaudibly.

“Then have you never thought of taking a mistress?” She moved her hands to his chest again, where she fingered the lace of his cravat. Her gaze beckoned to him, or perhaps it was his heightened lust playing tricks on him. “Most men do, you know. It is more or less expected.”

Once more, he fought the powerful urge to breathe her in, to devour her, but maintained his rigid self-restraint against her sensual onslaught. Though he’d never failed to be gentle with Annalee, he’d exercised little control over his libido. Generous and loving to a fault, she had indulged him, and now she was dead. Dead. Because he couldn’t keep his hands off her, or better said, his prick out of her. Grappling with his need for that long-ago rapture, Ned averted his gaze only to light upon a statue of Pan fornicating with the moon goddess, Selene. Not helpful. Not helpful at all.

“For better...or worse... I am not most men,” he said, grasping her hands and lowering them to her sides. “I do not live in town, neither do I follow fashionable habits. I live a quiet life in the country. Besides, I cannot afford to embroil myself in scandal. I have my daughter’s future to think of.” Yes. Think of Vesta instead of your bloody prick.

“You have a daughter?”

He laughed at her surprise, relieved for the change in topic. “I do. She is the light of my life and soon to be eighteen. It is time for her come-out, the reason why I have come to town, to arrange a house for the season.”

“Then how do you come to be here? In this of all places?”

“As I said, I am the guest of a friend and could hardly avoid it. DeVere insists that I am becoming a dull old man and is resolved to meddle in my life.”

“DeVere?” she asked, averting her gaze to the fountain.

“Aye. Ludovic, Viscount DeVere.”

“The one they call the devil?” Her voice sounded strangely flat.

“Aye.” Ned laughed. “Many would claim the devil and DeVere are one and the same. Perhaps they are right.”

“You know him well then?”

“Since university. I count him among my closest friends.”

***

“Do you, indeed?” Phoebe asked, realizing she had inadvertently struck gold. Here was the very one to help her achieve the meeting she sought. Yet now, she felt little enthusiasm for the pursuit. But I am looking for a protector.

“Might I impose upon you for an introduction?” she asked.

His mouth became a tight line. “You wish me to conduct you to DeVere?”

“If you would be so kind.”

“It would hardly be a kindness to do so this night, madam. I fear my friend might not be on his best behavior. Besides, I don’t even know your name.”

Her front teeth touched her lips and paused. “Kitty,” she said. “Kitty Willis, lately of Covent Garden Theatre.”

“Lately?”

“Yes. The theater has closed for renovations, thus, I find myself temporarily out of work.”

“Ah,” he said. “Might I ask if that circumstance has anything to do with your present quest?”

“It has everything to do with it. I am in danger of losing my livelihood. Hence, I seek a gentleman who might be inclined to provide for my needs and promote my career.”

“And you think DeVere might be so inclined?” His expression was unreadable, but his reluctance to make the introduction was obvious. Why, when he’d clearly stated he had no intention of taking a mistress for himself? Maybe he just doesn’t want you. The thought was a painful blow to her confidence. But you are Kitty.

“I have heard DeVere is generous...and in more ways than one.” Her gaze swept downward, her implication clear.

“I see.” His mouth hardened.

She didn’t know why she’d said what she had, but his rejection stung, regardless of his reasons. Did she subconsciously wish to alienate him now? Drive him completely away because he didn’t want her? She wondered if she had taken the act too far.

“If that is truly your wish, Miss Willis, far be it for me to deny you.” His manner, only moments ago warm and relaxed, shifted to stiff and cold, making her regret her words.

Phoebe accepted his arm again with a profound physical awareness of him, a feeling she’d never experienced before. He seemed so different from any other man of her acquaintance, and, certainly, the antithesis of the rake she had set her sights on. She had chosen DeVere as her best prospect, yet after only this short time in Ned’s company, she couldn’t help fervently wishing that he was DeVere. Though she believed he felt the same powerful magnetism between them as she did, when she had asked for an introduction to his friend, he had obliged, thus proving her feelings unrequited.