The Devil You Know (The Devil DeVere #3)(42)

He repositioned himself, as well, to face the foot of the bed feet, and moved in a worshipful caress down her body until reaching her mons.

Shifting also to his side, he wrapped her thighs over his shoulders and directed her head to his straining cock. “Now,” he said, his tongue thick with excitement and expectancy. “I’m going to love you with my mouth and drink in the proof of your passion even as you swallow my own.”

Shuddering at the sublime sensation of her lips enfolding him, he dipped his head into her mound, giving a long, lascivious stroke, parting her dewy folds with his tongue, licking and lapping her juices while she teased and suckled the head of his cock. He blazed a trail with his tongue to the tight slit of her sheath, following with his fingers. He plunged them into her, and she bucked wildly against his mouth while he worked the sensitive bud of her clit.

He wished he could immerse himself in her like this forever, but their time was too bloody short. There was only one answer to what faced them on the morrow, but he forced it from his mind, refusing to think of anything beyond the mindless ecstasy of mutual gratifi-cation and the explosive release already tightening his bollocks. Her wetness, her taste, her sounds of pleasure muffled by his cock in her mouth combined with the slick friction and sultry, sucking sounds was insanely erotic and sublime. With her first racking shudders came a powerful, vibrating moan from her mouth through his shaft…and he was lost.

Diana heard Polly enter ***

her bedchamber with a clatter of metal— her customary pot of chocolate on a silver tray, and Diana’s stomach roiled. She opened her eyes, momentarily disoriented to time and place. They felt bleary and heavy-lidded and her body unusually le-thargic.

Laudanum. She never should have taken it.

The dreams. The things she had envisaged—so vivid. So wicked.

Polly pulled back the bed curtains and regarded her, mouth agape. “Your night rail, my lady! What happened?” She retrieved the shredded cotton gown from the floor, and Diana felt heat steal into her cheeks. It couldn’t have been real. It was only a dream. She must have torn it herself. “It must have been the laudanum,” she said. “It causes such terrifying dreams. I thought I was being strangled!” She latched onto the nearest thing to the truth.

“My poor lady,” the maid cried. “Anyone would be afeared after all what’s passed with Johnson and Lord Reggie. But mayhap it was the pearls what made you feel strangled?”

“My pearls?” Diana’s hand flew to her throat and felt the warm, smooth strands. Dear God! It wasn’t a dream! He had come to her in the night, and she had welcomed him into her bed like some wanton whore.

“You found them at last, my lady? Peculiar you should have worn them to bed.”

“I found them last night,” she lied once more. “I feared losing them again. After all, they are the only jewels I have left. Forgive me, Polly, I am much distracted and have not been myself since before yesterday.”

“’Tis no wonder! It has, indeed, been a nightmare. I only wish t’were over milady, but Sir John Gooding has need to speak wi’ ye.

He asked if you was settled right enough to answer some questions.”

“Yes, Polly. Pray convey that I will speak with him.”

“Aye, my lady.”

“Now if you will only help me to dress, we can hope to bring this all to a swift conclusion. My only wish is to return ho—” The words froze in her throat when she realized she no longer knew where home was.

“You hav

***

e my heartfelt condolences, Baroness. Such a damnable end.” Sir John shook his head and then flushed in embarrassed realization of his double entendre. He cleared his throat and continued.

“Pray accept my pardon in advance for the indelicacy of this inquest, but there are a number of unanswered questions before we can confidently lay the matter to rest.” He helped himself to a glass of port. “I shall try to make this entire ordeal as easy on you as possible.”

Diana clutched her handkerchief, but her eyes were remarkably dry. Her entire being felt arid and devoid of emotion. She had expected to feel something once the initial shock wore off, but the only feeling she could summon was relief, a sentiment entirely inappropriate to the occasion. She cast her gaze about the gilded library, noting Edward and Dr. Stone. DeVere was present as well and the Duchess of Beauclerc, but she carefully avoided any eye contact with either.

Diana still didn’t know what to think or feel about DeVere after the duchess had sown her poisonous seeds last night. Deciding it her best course, Diana kept her eyes downcast and her handkerchief at the ready, a convincing prop, although the trembling hands that held it were no act at all. She was thankful for the glass of fortified wine and sympathetic hand squeeze from Annalee.

“When did you last see your husband, Lord Reginald?” Sir John asked.

“It was late yesterday morning just before the start of the first race. When his horse did not appear on the field, he went to the stables to inquire of his jockey.”

Sir John consulted his scribbled notes. “And that would be Johnson? The man who was found with Lord Reginald?”

“Yes. That is my understanding—that they were found together.”

“And this Johnson. What do we know of him? How long was he in your husband’s employ?”

Diana licked her lips, concentrating on the fine detail of her lace handkerchief. “Since before we were wed. Jemmy was a lad of fifteen or sixteen when he came to Palmerston Hall with Reggie.” Reggie had been both generous and oddly protective of Jemmy from the start. She now realized just how na?ve she had been regarding her husband’s relationship with the young groom.