A Wild Night's Bride (The Devil DeVere #1)(28)

She turned away to locate the scattered pieces of discarded clothing that littered the room. His eyes tracked her every movement, especially her round, shapely arse. As she bent to retrieve her discarded shift and stays, the vision jolted his brain and stiffened his prick with an amazing ferocity.

“Here, let me help you.” Ned snatched up her gown along with his breeches and shirt, embarrassed by his nudity and even more by his erection, but her sidelong glance said she was already well-aware. He handed her the gown, opened his mouth to speak, and shut it again, clueless as to the proper protocol following a night of wild abandon in a stranger’s arms.

Ignoring him altogether, Phoebe took the gown, yanked it over her head, and began stuffing her errant tangle of pale blond hair into the white cap. He watched her mechanical movements as she pulled the soiled sheet from the bed, stuffed it into a pillowcase, and threw the bedcovers back into place. The black gown. The mobcap. His brain jolted again.

“A maid? I’ve ravished a chambermaid?” He was astounded by the depths of sheer depravity to which he’d sunk.

Phoebe turned to face him with a full-bodied chortle of mirth. “You truly don’t remember a thing!”

Heat suffused his face. “No, damn it all! Only bits and pieces that make no sense. Except for the part where we—you and I...” He gesticulated wildly to the bed and grappled with the jumbled events in his head. The night had begun in the brothel. He remembered that much. And the kava kava too. His stomach roiled anew at the remembrance of the foul brew. “There was a masked woman.” His gaze flew to Phoebe’s face. “Who are you?”

All trace of humor disappeared from her face. “Are you daft? I’ve already told you thrice! I’m Phoebe.”

A rapid click of footfalls and clattering sounds in the outer passage interrupted his confused ramblings, followed by a key rattling in the lock of the antechamber. The tumblers turned. Ned froze.

“Away with you! Under the bed!” Phoebe urged in a frantic whisper. Ned dove underneath with a muffled cry as a shoe she kicked after him hit him squarely in the head.

***

“You!” cried the shrill voice from last night. The large ring of keys dangling about her waist identified the wizened woman as the palace housekeeper. She pierced Phoebe with steely gray, close-set eyes. “Who the devil are you? And what are you doing here?”

Phoebe dropped her gaze and bobbed. “Betsy, mum. Sent by the laundress to air the sheets.”

“Air the sheets? But these are fresh sheets. The king has not slept here in a for’night.” She advanced with a menacing look. Phoebe cried out as the housekeeper grabbed her by the ear. “You don’t fool me for a minute! I knew there was sommat amiss here last night! You can confess now, or I’ll see you flayed!”

“Please, mum,” Phoebe whimpered. “’Twasn’t me! ‘Tis the new footman.”

“What? Who? Tell me!” the termagant demanded with a yank.

“Have pity, mum!” Phoebe cried.

“What footman? Where is the scoundrel?”

“Through the dressing room. Passed out in the closet. I found him when I got the fresh sheets. I’ve already called for the Yeoman.”

The housekeeper released Phoebe with a shove and barreled into the adjoining chamber. “Quick! Out the door,” Phoebe whispered. “I’ll see what can be done with DeVere.”

“The devil you will,” Ned said, straightening his tunic and donning his hat. “I’m the Yeoman, aren’t I?” He smiled a devious smile. “I’ll take care of DeVere.”

Her brows furrowed with uncertainty, Phoebe, nevertheless, followed Ned into the dressing room. They arrived just in time to witness the housekeeper unleashing her invective on the unwary and gaping victim.

“So, here you are at last, you ill-begotten rogue! Caught in the very act! Not only did you filch the king’s brandy, but I now find you trespassing in his private quarters? You are not only dismissed, you vile and feckless scoundrel, but I’ll see you in Newgate!”

DeVere gave a thunderous look, first to the housekeeper, then to Phoebe and Ned whose broad shoulders filled the doorway behind the two women. He opened his mouth to speak, but Ned stifled him with a warning look.

“So here be the blackguard!” Ned declared. “Stand you back, ladies.” Entering the closet with a much-exaggerated swagger, he hauled DeVere unceremoniously to his feet. The would-be footman swayed unsteadily. His face blanched. His lids fluttered, and then his knees buckled. Ned caught him just in time. “Looks like ‘e’s yet to sleep it all off.”

“Sleep? Devil take him first!” the housekeeper roared. “Convey him to the stable yard at once!”

With a grunt, Ned heaved DeVere over his shoulder.

DeVere groaned. “What the bloody hell are you doing? Put me down, you damnable lout!” The air nearly turned blue with the rest of his muffled curses.

“Now. Now. You’d best be watching your tongue. There be ladies present.” Ned winked at Phoebe. While DeVere continued in impotent protest, Ned and Phoebe followed the enraged housekeeper through the Royal Apartments, down the servants’ stairs, through the west courtyard, and into the stable yard.

“There!” She pointed. “That’ll wake ‘im, sure enough!”

“The hell you do!” DeVere cried.