The Devil You Know (The Devil DeVere #3)(35)

“There’s really no question, Ned. Although the mare’s a superior specimen of her gender, she’s no match for the stallion.”

“Don’t let Diana hear you say so! She’s convinced the prize money is already in her pocket.”

“Is she now?” DeVere smiled at the unintentional segue to his subject of most interest. “And just where is the proud owner? I should like to offer my congratulations.”

“She and Annalee went up to refresh before nuncheon.”

“I think I’ll do the same.” He turned to his brother. “Hew, pray fill in for me. I’ll return shortly.”

“Right-oh, brother mine. You might, indeed, need to rest that de-crepit body before we meet on the field.”

“Decrepit, my arse,” DeVere replied. “I’ll trounce you as usual, insolent whelp!”

“We’ll see about that, Vic. I have powerful yen for those colors you promised me.” Hew grinned and swaggered off.

“He would do the dragoons justice, you know,” Ned remarked.

“They’d be damned lucky to have him,” Ludovic agreed. “But he’s my heir, and the war is going badly. If anything should happen to him...”

“You surprise me with your protective streak, but Hew needs to be his own man now.”

“I know,” Ludovic said. “That’s why I’ll eventually concede, but I don’t intend to make it easy for him.”

“No, I don’t imagine you would!” Ned laughed.

***

“The footman brought a message for you, my lady,” Polly said.

“Thank you.” Diana accepted the foolscap. Noting nothing to identify the sender, she broke the plain, wax seal.

My private study –D.

Her hands trembled slightly as she refolded the note and slid it into the pocket of her petticoat.

“Is sommat amiss?” Polly asked at her mistress’s frown.

“No, nothing of import,” Diana replied with a blithe smile. “But I won’t be changing my gown quite yet. I have a small matter to attend to first.”

Diana closed the study ***

door with a quiet click and turned to find DeVere looming over her, his blue eyes glittering dangerously. Without a word, he spun her back to the door, bracing one arm beside her head and reaching for the key with the other. She heard the tumblers turning in the lock, and then there was nothing but DeVere. Her world retracted to his mouth devouring hers, his hard thigh pressing against her and his hand inching up her skirts.

Diana’s head was spinning, her thoughts scattering like leaves before a tempest. The combined assault of warm, hard, musky male and her own urgent desire overpowered her stymied senses. She clutched his hair and pulled away from him only long enough to gasp out.

“There’s something you need to know.”

“I only need to know my cock is buried inside you,” he growled back, his clever fingers freeing a breast from her stays. He closed his mouth over it, his hand sliding between her bare thighs. He groaned as his fingers entered her slick sheath, and she was lost to all brain activity beyond the unadulterated need to join with him.

Diana’s frenzied hands moved to his breeches, caressing, squeezing, fumbling, and finally freeing his engorged staff. Both his hands were now under her skirts cupping her buttocks, his arms sliding beneath her thighs.

He tore his mouth away, his arms supporting her legs, guiding them about his waist. “Hands on my shoulders,” he grunted and lifted her against the wooden door panel. He slid home in one solid thrust, pinning her to the portal. His tight buttocks began pumping a furious rhythm, and her conscious reduced to the most primal instincts. She squeezed her thighs tight, meeting each driving plunge with her own grinding hips as he pounded into her, hammering her to the door in a coupling that was both feral and sublime. Her orgasm came upon her fierce, frantic, and forceful. Tears were streaming down her face when he caught her cry in his mouth. She swallowed his own shuddering groan as he withdrew and spent between her thighs before they both collapsed to the floor.

***

Ludovic was in exceedingly good humor upon rejoining his guests after the brief but torrid interlude with Diana, but his revelry was curtailed by the interruption of his head groom.

“Pardon yer lordship, but ‘tis a matter most urgent.” The ashen-faced jockey nervously twisted his cap.

“What the devil is it, Pratt?” DeVere demanded. “I’ve fifty some guests at present. Are you certain it cannot wait?”

“I fear not,” Pratt answered his master with a grim face. “Mayhap it be best you come to the stables, milord. ‘Tis sommat you must see for yourself.”

DeVere made an irritated sound. “All right, then. Hew, pray see to the guests. I’ll return as soon as I’m able.”

Pratt led his master down to the stable block housing his guests’

horses.

“Now what has my unflappable Pratt in such a lather?” DeVere demanded.

“Here, my lord,” Pratt said, stopping in front of the oversized box which had earlier housed Lord Reggie’s stallion.

DeVere frowned. “Where is the horse? And why did he not run this morning?”

“The poor beast was in a great agitation when we found him, my lord. Horses have an innate fear of death.”