The Devil's Match (The Devil DeVere #4)(18)

Choosing to meet her fate with quiet dignity, Diana raised her chin and advanced to the center of the room on DeVere’s arm. She watched with amazement as with a mere inclination of his head, the crowd divided, moving in a giant wave toward the outer walls, as if he were Moses parting the Red Sea. With a hundred or more pairs of eyes riveted on their every move, Diana felt her face would burst into flames. He gave her another mocking smile, and she wondered if the evening could possibly get any worse.

Upon DeVere’s command, the musicians launched into an airy piece she recognized as a Bach minuet. Determined not to give him any more fodder for ridicule, Diana turned to their audience, dipping into the deep curtsey, the formal show of reverence that began the courtly minuet. She kept her eyes lowered on her silk petticoats sweeping the floor, then turned to offer the same homage to her partner, refusing to meet DeVere’s gaze even as she rose to face him. She couldn’t mask her nervous tremble when he reached for her hand to begin the dance.

She stared, flabbergasted when he remarked, “Just concentrate on the pattern, Diana, and I’ll ensure you don’t make a spectacle of us.”

“Me? I’m not the one reeling with drink!” Diana couldn’t determine if he had meant to reassure or ridicule, but he had certainly succeeded in discomposing her. Thenceforth, it took all her concentration to keep track of the intricate steps. They had already proceeded halfway across the floor when Diana realized rather than stumbling and staggering through the dance as she had anticipated, DeVere rose and dipped in perfect time with the music, every movement executed flawlessly.

“But you don’t even dance!” she hissed.

He flashed her a dazzling smile that rattled her to the point of faltering. DeVere broke the pattern to take her in hand and lead her back into the dance. “I despise it,” he murmured back through his show of brilliant white teeth. “But I never said I couldn’t. One can hardly avoid the tedious obligation of it when spending half a year in Paris.”

They executed the first turn and parted for the z-figure. When they came together again, DeVere remarked, “It’s the main reason I left Paris for Venice—to escape the execrable French obsession with dancing.” They parted once more for the left turn. “There is, however, one form of dance of which I am highly enamored,” he said as the figure brought them back together again.

“And what is that?” she asked.

“There is a fascinating dance practiced among the Turks and Egyptians.”

“Really?” Diana remarked, intrigued despite herself. “How is it different?”

DeVere gave her a wicked smile. “It is highly erotic in nature. But if the subject truly interests you, I would be delighted to find you some instruction in Oriental dance.”

“You are beyond the pale.” Diana glared. DeVere laughed.

She was still trembling when the final notes sounded at the end of the dance but now from a completely different cause. She could neither comprehend nor control the effect this man had over her. Her pulse raced; her breathing was short. She repeated her obeisance to partner and onlookers in a daze wrought of conflicting emotions. Suddenly feeling as if she was suffocating, Diana turned in a swish of silk skirts to flee the stifling ballroom.





Chapter Eight





“Just look at them, Hew,” Vesta gushed as Diana and DeVere departed the dance floor. “Have you ever seen a more handsome couple? Who would ever have thought?”

“Couple? I see no couple,” said Hew, remarking Diana’s flight. “She has left my brother standing there gaping. To all appearances, she could not leave him fast enough.”

“She’s in love with him, you know,” Vesta declared.

Hew sputtered on his drink. “Diana and my brother? Impossible! I mean, there may have been something between them in the distant past, but anyone can see how much she despises him.”

“Poor darling,” she cooed, “you know so little of women. She only wants to despise him. That’s quite another thing, you know.”

“Oh, no! I have come to recognize that devious gleam, Vesta. Do not meddle with my brother and Diana. I assure you, Ludovic is not a man to be crossed, and there is already some history between them we know nothing about.”

“But don’t you see it’s for their own good? They only need time alone together, Hew, and I am certain they will come to feel quite differently about one another.” She beamed up at him. “Just as we did.”

“Just because your scheming worked once does not mean I’ll condone it again.”

“But we don’t actually have to do anything, Hew. That’s beauty of it. All they need is the opportunity for nature to take its course. And I know just the thing.”

Before Hew could even think to stop her, Vesta was already tripping across the ballroom toward the French doors.

***

Bursting onto the terrace, Diana gasped in a great breath, only to discover DeVere had trailed after her. Although she had given him no encouragement, she still wasn’t surprised by his dogged pursuit. Once he set his sights on a goal, he was ruthless in obtaining it. He would wear her down until she had no strength left to resist him. She wished she had never re-crossed his path.

“Why?” She spun on him. “Why do you continue to importune me when I have made my repugnance clear?”