The Devil's Match (The Devil DeVere #4)(21)

“What the devil do you want from me?” Ludovic cried in a growing agony born of mounting frustration.

“Absolutely nothing, my lord. I don’t love or even respect you. I find you arrogant, selfish, immoral, and altogether lacking in character.”

He flinched as if she’d slapped him. “Me? Lacking character?”

“Yes,” she replied, “and of the two of you, Hew is by far the better man. Now pray unhand me.”

And in his speechless amazement, Ludovic did just that.

***

With the terrace door locked, Diana fled through the gardens and around to the servants’ entrance. Seeking the solace of her bedchamber, she wended her way through the army of surprised maids and footmen who tended the party, too rattled to do more than nod. She took the backstairs to her room, knowing her absence would soon be noted but desperate for time alone to recompose her jangled nerves.

She strode to her dressing table to repair at least the superficial damage wrought by the amorous encounter. Diana pinned up stray strands of hair with trembling fingers.

Four years. It had been four years since she’d felt a man’s touch, a lover’s lips. In the beginning, the craving had been a persistent ache deep in her belly, but over time, it had mercifully dulled until almost imperceptible, only evincing itself again with a ferocity the day she walked in on Edward and Phoebe. They had just wed, and she’d barged into his study with only a perfunctory knock to find them with clothing askew, locked in an impassioned embrace. The sight of them, disheveled and flushing, had reawakened the yearning for physical intimacy with a vengeance.

She had thought to escape the constant reminder and the awkwardness of the situation by taking Vesta to London. Her only qualm had been the prospect of encountering DeVere, her one and only lover, the man who had opened the door to paradise only to abruptly disappear from her life with no explanation. She had despised him for that—for giving her what she most craved only to take it away. But now pieces of the puzzle had begun to come together.

She knew Caroline had wanted him back. The duchess had made no secret of it. She had also been in league with Reggie. Caroline had known things no one else was privy to. Was it possible she’d tried to blackmail DeVere?

He had confessed tonight that he’d left to protect Diana’s good name, but she had believed the very worst of him all this time, had even briefly suspected him of murdering Reggie. Then tonight, she had added insult to injury by impugning his manhood, his honor. He’d not been unaffected by her verbal assault. Indeed, he’d looked almost stricken. It gave her pause.

Diana now recalled her recent visit from the courtesan, Salime, and all that had revealed. Was it possible she’d misjudged him? Her chest constricted at the very notion. For if DeVere was only half the villain she believed him to be...wanted him to be...Diana’s heart was in grave danger indeed.





Chapter Nine





Long after the party ended, DeVere sprawled in the leather chair in Ned’s study. His boots kicked off, coat and cravat discarded, he stared blankly into the empty hearth. “I want her, Ned,” he said. “My bloody bollacks ache for want of her.”

Ned poured them both a drink, replying without the least compassion, “If you refer to Diana, my friend, you waste your effort sniffing about her skirts. She won’t have you. I’ve told you so before. She’s a virtuous woman, not a plaything. I’d advise you to slake your lust elsewhere.”

“But that’s the damnable thing about it. Fucking is what I like best. It’s what I do best, and yet I can’t seem to summon any f*cking enthusiasm for it. What the devil is wrong with me?”

“When was the last time, DeVere?”

“Damned near three weeks ago. I feel like a monk.”

Ned arched a brow. “Dare I ask about your state of health?”

“Hang you, Ned!” DeVere growled. “I don’t have the bloody pox! You know I always take precautions. It’s not that I can’t, it’s that I’ve lost the desire for any other woman. Yet the moment she walks into a room, I find myself nearing a full cockstand. I’m so full of my own unspent essence that I can’t think straight.”

“There’s always the old way,” Ned suggested with a grin.

“And I’ve bloody well blistered my palm frigging myself. It’s to no avail. No, Ned. I will have her. One way or another.”

“Take care, DeVere,” Ned warned. “Diana has no husband, brother, or father to protect her, thus I willingly appoint myself to the role. She is a grown woman who can make her own decisions, for the better or worse. But if she won’t have you, I advise you to let her be. I will not allow you to harass her.”

DeVere smirked. “Is that a threat?”

Ned raised his glass and smiled back at him. “No, my dear friend. It’s a promise. Speaking of which, I promised my darling wife I would not leave her alone in a cold bed.”

DeVere glared. “I think you delight in rubbing salt in my wound.”

“I do, indeed.” Ned chuckled and stood. “What are your plans? Do you stay until the wedding? Or do you return for the sacrament?”

“Actually, you have timed the event poorly, for it coincides with the derby races at Epsom.”

“You don’t mean to say you would miss your only brother’s wedding for a race?”