A Wild Night's Bride (The Devil DeVere #1)(3)

At least this time, she stood to reap a tangible reward for her favors. What more did she really have to lose? “Yes, I will,” she whispered her life-changing decision. “I will make the most of any chance you give me.”

“Very well then.” Hull nodded to the wardrobe mistress who tossed her an elaborate silk gown with a feathered and bejeweled domino. Phoebe caught them with a racing heart. “Kitty’s masquerade costume? I have the part of Kitty?”

Hull gave a curt nod. “Apropos, don’t you think? If it is patronage you seek, a well-played Kitty shall surely deliver. I just pray you don’t squander the opportunity...as it could well be your last.”

“But it is a meager six lines.” Phoebe stared dismally after his departing back.

“E’s right enough, duckie,” Mrs. Andrews clucked. “’Tis not the lines but the delivery what counts. Every great actress knows when a part is well-played, the audience believes the player for the real person. Kitty is a shameless little baggage. If your six little lines are well-played, you will have gents queued at your dressing room door—that is if you have the pluck for the part. That, dearie, is the decision you must needs make.”

Accepting the role of the disreputable Kitty would certainly determine her path. With this truth staring her otherwise bleak-looking future right in the face, Phoebe lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and jutted her bosom with a hand placed saucily on her hip. “If that is so, Mrs. Andrews, I promise to be a Kitty they won’t soon forget.”





CHAPTER TWO




Boodles Club, St. James




Sir Edward Chambers ducked into the crowded public room, eagerly scanning the occupants. His gaze lighted upon the individual he sought, and a broad grin threatened to split his face as he elbowed his way to the familiar figure. “Hang me if it isn’t the devil’s agent!”

“Chambers? B’gad, it is that Dull Dog Ned!” Viscount Ludovic DeVere rose to clap his best friend heartily on the back. “I’d nigh forgotten what you looked like after all this time! What curse has kept you away for so long? We’ve what? Three years to catch up on?”

“Aye.” Ned sobered. “I quit coming to town when I lost Annalee. There seemed little purpose after that.”

“Three years is long enough to wear black,” DeVere said. “’Tis damn-nigh time you came back to the living, and I’ve a mind to be your bloody guide!” DeVere signaled the drawer. “Damme, but let’s make it a bowl of royal punch. By the bye, Ned, there’s a new nunnery in St. James—”

Ned raised a hand. “The effort is wasted on me, my friend. I’ve not your taste for tarts and even less yen to acquire the pox.”

Ludovic laughed. “Things have changed since you last came to town. The better houses make accommodation for a gentleman’s safety by providing cundums and such.”

“I truly have no interest, Vic.”

DeVere gave a knowing grin. “Then you’ve finally taken a mistress. I’ve an eye on a new one myself. She appeared out of nowhere closing night at Covent Garden Theatre. Quite a taking little thing and knows it too. The baggage turned them all away at the stage door which, of course, only added to her appeal. I’m determined to have her.” He gave his friend a cynical smile. “If she’s like all the rest, she’ll give herself to the highest bidder, but competition only makes the fruits of victory all the sweeter. Perhaps you should give her a go, ol’ chap. You are not without means and have a certain rustic charm.”

Ned shook his head in abashment. “I’ve no wish to use any woman in such a manner.”

DeVere looked first confounded and then guarded. “Don’t tell me you’ve acquired a penchant for buggery?”

“Gad, no!” Ned exclaimed with a shudder. “Is it impossible for you to comprehend that a man might choose to simply control his baser urges?”

“You mean celibacy?” DeVere regarded his comrade as if he had two heads.

“Indeed,” Ned said. “You needn’t look like I’m a freak of nature!”

The exchange was interrupted by the drawer returning with a large bowl of royal punch. DeVere filled two cups with a scowl, as if deliberating the most profound of philosophical questions. “Why the devil would any man choose to deny himself an essential element of life? Every man has needs, Ned. Indeed, medical science advocates the regular emission of the male essence to ensure good health. Damme, but I surely can’t fathom it!” He shook his head and emptied his cup in one long draught. “Then if it isn’t good, clean, plentiful quim that’s lured you to town, what has?”

Ned hesitated. “If you must know, it’s a delicate matter pertaining to my daughter.”

DeVere blinked. “You have a daughter?”

Ned made an exasperated noise. “Come now, DeVere! You know I do. You were at her christening and are, after all, her bloody godfather!”

“Was I sober at the time?” DeVere’s lips quirked into a mischievous smile. “Just how old is little Vesta now?”

“Little Vesta is no longer so little,” Ned said. “She’s past seventeen and coming into the full bedeviling bloom of womanhood. I hardly know her anymore.”

“Seventeen?” DeVere gave a low whistle. “Has it been so very long?”