A Wild Night's Bride (The Devil DeVere #1)(4)

“Aye. Eighteen years next month since Annalee and I married. We still miss her terribly and would both have been lost long ago without the redoubtable Diana.”

“Diana?” A strange look passed fleetingly over the viscount’s face.

“Yes. Annalee’s cousin, Lady Diana Palmerston-Wriothesley. I can’t believe you could have forgotten her.”

“Palmerston-Wriothesley? Yes, I do remember now. She’s the relict of the feckless baron who gamed away his entire fortune?”

“Might I remind you of your slight culpability in the matter?”

“Surely you don’t hold me to blame for his demise?” DeVere flipped open his snuffbox and offered it to Ned. “The man heedlessly wagered more than he could afford, and he lost.”

“You did little enough to intervene.” Ned waved away the offer and retrieved a clay pipe from his pocket instead.

DeVere rocked back in his chair. “You should know any attempt to shame me is wasted breath. I carry no guilt. He was fully culpable for his own actions. He didn’t know when to quit. Just as a dog returns to his vomit, so does a fool repeat his folly.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Ned looked up from packing his pipe.

“That he didn’t accept his losses with grace and walk away.”

Ned pointed an accusatory finger. “But you did exploit his weakness.”

DeVere shrugged. “It’s not as if I held a pistol to his head.”

“No, you did not pull the trigger. He did that himself.” Ned pierced DeVere with a reproving look as he went to work with flint and steel with expert hands.

“How was I to know the blighter would blow his head off?”

“He was ruined beyond redemption,” Ned replied. A single spark ignited the char cloth to a glow sufficient to light his tobacco. “I suppose he felt it was his only honorable recourse.”

“The man had no honor, Ned. In truth, he was a bloody cheat.” DeVere’s mouth was a grim line. “There is much more to the story than you know.”

“What do you mean?” Ned drew his brows together and took three long puffs.

“While I did, indeed, liquidate the stables, I never claimed the entirety of my winnings.”

“No?”

“In learning of his self-murder, I didn’t take the estate. I had the deed but returned it to his widow.”

“You did?” Ned was incredulous.

“Yes, I did. It was never my intention to leave her destitute.”

“As I recall, you had quite other intentions in that direction.”

“Yes, I quite clearly recall what you said.”

“That she wouldn’t touch you with gloves? True enough, wasn’t it my friend? Yet, I had no idea—”

“That the milk of human kindness courseth through my veins?” DeVere gave a mocking laugh.

Ned ignored the sarcasm. “It was a good thing you did, you know. Diana is a fine woman. She has been as a mother to Vesta.”

“Ah,” DeVere said with pointed look. “It all becomes clear now. Perhaps not so celibate, after all, dear Ned?”

“Hang you, DeVere! She’s a close friend, nothing more.” He furrowed his brow once again. “Though I do fear of late that she entertains some...expectations.”

“You think the young widow may aspire to quite another surrogate role? They all do, ol’ chap. Expectations and demands—titles, money, time, attention. The female half of the species are little better than vampires, sucking away one’s very lifeblood. Thankfully, I learned my own lesson early.” He emptied his tankard and refilled it.

“Come now, DeVere! You talk a pretty speech, but there is one you would have taken as surely as I breathe.” Ned declined another drink to concentrate on blowing perfectly formed, translucent, blue-gray smoke rings.

“And to her credit, she chose the better man.” DeVere raised his drink to Ned in a mock salute.

Ned broke the awkward silence that followed. “I daresay your heart was no more than bruised by Annalee, for I recall your subsequent eager pursuit of a certain Caroline Capheaton.”

“Ah, Caroline.” Grinning ear to ear, DeVere offered another toast. “To sweet Caroline, the lushest mouth in London. I learned as much the night we were to be engaged, you know. We’d meandered the Lover’s Walk at Vauxhall until the melodious strains of the orchestra grew fainter, the lamps sparser, and the tree-lined pathway narrowed to the privacy of the deepest wooded recess. She took me in her mouth, Ned, and then, not two hours later, threw me over for the Duke of Beauclerc.” DeVere laughed, a low, raucous sound.

“It was undoubtedly no less than you deserved. Try as I may, I can’t envision you settled down with one woman.”

“Neither can I,” he said. “Don’t know what possessed me unless it was a case of melancholia in losing my best friend to a life of dull and bucolic domesticity.” DeVere took another pinch of snuff.

“To each his own, DeVere.” Ned inclined his head at the snuffbox and took another long drag on his pipe.

“We digress,” DeVere said. “At the time, I wanted nothing more than to remove the smug smirk of triumph from Beauclerc’s face, but I soon perceived it was only my injured pride. With reflection, I realized my passion never surfaced because I never loved the baggage. She excited me for a while. Nothing more. In the end, the duke did me a great service.”