The Devil's Match (The Devil DeVere #4)(28)

***

How the bloody hell can she be winning? Ludovic was nearly beside himself. A loss to a woman in a sidesaddle would surely be too much for his pride and reputation to bear! Hell, he’d have to leave the country for another ten years before this humiliation would die down! Let alone the fact that he had almost had her within his grasp. He was desperate to end the damnable itch once and for all, and a week in his bed f*cking her day and night in innumerable ways would surely have made the cure.

They were already ahead by a length, and he knew his horse was spent. Oh, he could whip and spur till the stallion’s flanks bled, but he knew damned well the effort would be pointless destruction of a fine animal. Better to bow out with grace, or he thought drily with his engorged “tail” firmly between his legs.

He was almost ready to concede when it happened. In the final yards to the finish, the mare’s right leg collapsed beneath her. Ludovic’s heart lodged in his airway when before his eyes, she pitched forward onto both knees. For an interminable, terrifying instant, he feared her momentum would send her into a somersault, but by some miracle, she recovered. Diana, however, was no longer seated in the saddle, but had slid onto the horse’s neck where she now clung helplessly. He pulled up abruptly, flinging himself to the ground before his own horse had even come to a halt. “My God, Diana! What a close call! Are you all right?”

The mare’s eyes were wide. Except for her trembling, she stood as a statue. Diana answered in an unsteady voice. “Yes. I am unharmed.”

“You are certain?”

“Aye. But the horse?”

“Pratt will see to her.” He inclined his head to the groom rushing toward them and then threw a leg up, vaulting effortlessly back into the saddle.

“Where are you going?” Diana asked.

He gave her a wicked grin. “To cross the finish line.”

She gave him a murderous glare. “You wouldn’t! A gentleman would never—”

He regarded her sitting on the horse’s neck with an amused gleam. “My dear, you know it is a wicked quirk of my nature to take advantage of the disadvantaged.” He added with a twisted smile. “Thus, I certainly would.”

***

The next two days passed in a blur with both Diana and DeVere forfeiting their entries in the Derby. Diana withdrew due to her mare’s injury, although Pratt was quick to relieve her mind that it was but a sprain that poultice wraps and stall rest would surely mend. DeVere, on the other hand, privately conceded that while he had, indeed, crossed the finish first, Titan had not proven himself worthy enough against the mare to try him among a whole field of top-notch contenders. Nevertheless, they all enjoyed the spectacle and the postrace celebrations.

Vesta and Hew exchanged their vows the next morning in a quiet ceremony in the private chapel at Woodcote, after which DeVere presented them a small, velvet box. Hew tented his brows in surprise when he retrieved a skeleton key wrought in silver from within its depths.

“The key to the castle, although it is merely symbolic.” DeVere grinned.

Vesta regarded her godfather, wide-eyed. “You can’t mean...”

“Yes. Woodcote Park is yours, my dear.”

After a stunned moment, Vesta threw herself bodily into her godfather’s arms. “Thank you!” She then squealed. “Oh, Hew! It’s ours! Woodcote is all ours!”

Hew turned to his brother. “I am truly speechless, Vic.”

DeVere flushed with apparent embarrassment. “It is my intent to now leave you newlyweds to explore it at your leisure.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Ned agreed. “Phoebe and I depart immediately after the wedding breakfast, although you must suffer through another one the first time you travel north again. Our neighbors would never forgive us otherwise.”

“Within the month, Papa,” Vesta promised, glancing eagerly to her husband.

“And you, Diana?” Ned asked. “Do you return with Phoebe and me?”

“Actually, I would prefer a short sojourn in London if the house is still available to me.”

“Of course, my dear,” Ned said. “Please consider it your own. Phoebe and I will have little use for it, and Vesta and Hew will be here at Woodcote for at least a fortnight. By all appearances, considerably longer,” he added wryly.

“Shall we?” DeVere prompted toward the house where a sumptuous feast awaited. The bride and groom preceded everyone, followed by Ned and Phoebe. DeVere stayed Diana long enough to remark with a wicked curve of his lips. “Well done, my lady. I shall send for you anon.”

“No, my lord.” Diana turned on him. “I shall come to you as promised, but it shall be at my own leisure.”

“Oh?” He quirked a brow. “As I recall, our agreement stated no conditions.”

“While I nevertheless intend to conform to the spirit of the wager, since you proved yourself less than a gentleman, I insist that you indulge me in this one thing.”

He inclined his head. “All right, Diana, I’ll grant your short reprieve. But be aware that I am not known for my patience. Don’t make me wait too long.”





Chapter Twelve





Garbed in a simple gown in a mode worn by the better class of servants, Diana concealed her face behind a heavy veil and exited covertly through the mews where she hailed a hackney coach.