The Devil's Match (The Devil DeVere #4)(41)

“Pratt?” Diana exclaimed upon recognizing DeVere’s head groom dressed in only his nightshirt. Polly flushed crimson. The groom and maid exchanged guilty glances. The candle flickered in the maid’s trembling hand. Diana took it from her and set it on the mantle.

Freed now of candle and poker, Polly wrung her hands. “It’s just...you said...we was not expecting ye for some days yet, my lady.”

“Please, my lady.” Pratt stepped forward protectively and took Polly’s hand. “’Tisn’t quite what it appears. I’ve every intention to make an honest woman o’ her.”

“You do?” Polly cried, appearing as if she would burst into tears.

“Then I suppose that gives me one less thing to worry about,” Diana said with a wry smile.

“What do you mean?” Polly asked.

“There’s been a change of plans,” Diana said. “I’m leaving London immediately. There is a carriage awaiting me in the mews. I will need you to help me pack.”

“Now, my lady?” Polly cast a wistful gaze to her incongruous lover. “Do you mean for us to return so soon to Yorkshire?”

“No, Polly. I suppose under the circumstances it would be best to send you to Epsom to wait upon Lady Vesta. I shall also provide you with a generous severance, but I’m certain she would be delighted to take you into her employ. I presume under the circumstances that Mr. Pratt will have no objection to escorting you there?”

“Nay, indeed.” The groom tugged his forelock and offered a cheeky grin.

“But what of you, my lady? What has happened that you would depart so abruptly? It’s him again, isn’t it?”

Diana arched a brow. “I don’t wish to discuss this at present. Suffice to say that with Sir Edward and Vesta both wed, there is little for me to return to. I have need of a change, Polly, and have decided to go abroad for a time. I will write later and explain everything, but for now, I wish no further delay.”

***

Diana stared sightlessly out the carriage window, lost in deep abstraction. Though she never could have anticipated it, everything in her life had changed, and there truly was no going back, no retreat. Diana didn’t know what the future would hold, but she had already experienced the emptiness of her past. Thus, she had resolved to brazen forth to meet her fate head-on with a bold audacity she hadn’t even known she possessed.

After what seemed like interminable hours travelling in the unavoidable fits and starts of London’s morning traffic, she finally arrived at her destination. The driver opened her door and let down the steps. She alighted to be greeted with a burst of damp, ocean-scented air. “Which is it?” she asked the coachman.

“The first one, my lady. The Sylphe.”

No sooner had he answered than DeVere himself appeared, advancing toward her in long, purposeful strides, a look of immense relief replacing the strain that had briefly etched his face. He pulled her into an impassioned embrace, kissing her long and deep. “I had the greatest fear you had changed your mind,” he said.

“No, my love. I’m so sorry to have caused you any distress. It was only the traffic that kept me. I have had no second thoughts,” she assured him. “But what of you?”

“None. Indeed, I have never felt happier. I’m damned-near giddy.”

“Giddy?” she repeated dubiously.

“Yes. Positively drunk with bliss. You have charmed and enslaved me, my dearest.”

“Have I, indeed?”

“Yes. You have,” he said, all humor evaporating. They stood thus for an endless moment, searching one another’s eyes. DeVere broke the silence. He gestured to the elegant yacht moored in the harbor. “Our vessel awaits, and I promise all has been prepared for your comfort, my love.”

“Do you know, I’ve never been on a sea voyage, Ludovic? I’ve never been out of the country.”

He took her arm with a brilliant smile. “Then adventure awaits, and once more, I’m delighted to be your guide.”

“But where will we go?” she asked.

“My dearest Diana,” he kissed her tenderly, “where ever your heart desires.”





Chapter Seventeen





Tuscany, fourteen months later





Diana opened her eyes to the sun blazing into the Tuscan villa through the open terrace doors. She gave a lazy, feline stretch before a flash of white caught her eye. Throwing on her wrapper, she padded barefoot to find Ludovic perusing some letters over his coffee. He was dressed in only breeches and shirtsleeves, his collar open at the throat. He glanced up at her and instantly smiled, his teeth gleaming brilliantly white and his eyes startlingly blue in his handsome, sun-bronzed face. A mere flick of his finger saw a cup of frothy, steaming brew and a basket of sweet rolls and cake placed under her nose.

“You’ve been sleeping unusually late,” he remarked. She noted the curious flicker in his gaze.

“Yes, I fear it’s become an atrociously bad habit with me, but it seems I get very little rest at night.” She fought to control the tug at her lips.

He tented his brows at her. “Is that a complaint?”

“Not at all, my lord,” she reassured him with a grin.

“That’s a good thing then, for I’ve no intention of moderating my nocturnal activities.”