The Devil's Match (The Devil DeVere #4)(44)

A light knock on her chamber door served as a welcome interruption. Phoebe entered with a soft and tentative step, her infant son in her arms, concern etching her face. “He’s here again to see you, Diana.”

“You must tell him again that I won’t receive him.”

“I have tried, but he won’t be denied this time. He only asks for a moment.” Phoebe’s soft eyes pleaded along with her voice.

Diana felt the burn behind her own but refused to shed anymore tears. “I can’t, don’t you see?”

“But surely the father of your babe deserves this one last concession,” Phoebe gently insisted and gazed down at her own son, unaware that the gesture hit Diana as a near-lethal blow.

“But don’t you understand? I haven’t the strength to resist him,” Diana whispered, knowing that one look, one touch, from him would be enough to crumble her and her shaky resolve into a thousand wretched pieces.

“Then don’t,” answered a soft baritone.

Diana gazed up in horror to find him standing in the doorway. His eyes were red rimmed, his face gaunt, his hair and clothing disheveled. Phoebe murmured a vague apology and made her hasty exit.

“Don’t come any closer,” Diana warned. “Whatever it is, please say it from there and then leave.”

“Diana.” DeVere raised his hands in a plaintive gesture. “Please forgive me.”

“For what?” she answered in an unsteady voice. “For keeping your word to your brother?”

“For being a well-meaning but misguided ass!”

He advanced three paces toward her, and she took as many in retreat and found her back to the bed. Her breathing had accelerated the moment she laid eyes on him, and her heart hammered an erratic beat against her breastbone. She closed her eyes on a brief payer. Dear God, please don’t let him touch me.

“Please, Diana. I’ve never known such desolation, and I cannot believe this is what you want either.”

She felt his presence only an arms-breadth away and dared not open her eyes. “What I want?” she murmured. “When did that begin to matter to you?”

“Bloody hell!” he cried. “How can you say that? Making you happy has been all that has signified this past eighteen months! For the first time in my life, fulfilling my own desires came secondary to another, and perversely, I have never been more content.”

“And yet you are willing to sacrifice your child’s future? How can I ever reconcile that?”

She opened her eyes only to become lost in his. He cupped her cheek. She tried to turn away, but he held her fast. “No, my love. You will hear me out at last.” His brandy-scented breath heated her face and filled her with a longing she fought to tamp down.

“I was a fool,” he said. “I was a smug, selfish, arrogant ass when I made that agreement with Hew. I saw it as the easiest way to avoid my obligation, but I’m not that man any longer. You have made me a new creature. Can you understand that? I wish nothing more now than to embrace my responsibility and obligation. It is the desire of my heart to protect and provide for you, Diana. For you and our child.”

“But to curse your child with illegitimacy?”

“Have you heard nothing I’ve said? I love you, damn it! And I want to marry you! You’ve only to say yes, Diana, to give our child a name.”

“But what of the title? What of Hew?”

He gave a deprecating laugh. “What he said to me does not bear repeating in genteel company.”

“You mean this? It’s what you want?” she asked, fear and doubt still clouding her mind.

“There was never a question of what I wanted, my love.” He traced her trembling lips with his thumb. “Until this moment, I had thought it a cruel and profound jest that the Deity had placed everything I most desired within my sight, but still beyond my grasp. But here you are, Diana, within my grasp. And I have no intention to let you go.” His arms came around her, and he slanted his head as if to kiss her but paused only inches from her mouth. “You have yet to give me your answer.”

She closed the gap, breathing against his lips. “Yes, Ludovic. God help me, I will have you.”





Epilogue





Medford Abbey, The DeVere Seat in Kent, 1794





“Bloody hell!” Ludovic’s shaking hands sloshed a puddle of amber liquid onto his new boots as he topped off his tumbler of brandy.

“Damme, with as much practice as you’ve had, one would think you’d become accustomed to this by now, Vic,” Ned said.

“Hang me if it ever gets any easier.” DeVere raised his glass but suspended the motion in midair. “It’s quiet,” he remarked. “Too quiet.”

“All of our children are outside with the nursemaids,” Hew said. “Vesta thought it best to keep them occupied.”

“No. Something’s gone wrong.” Ludovic felt the blood leaching from his face. He slammed down his glass and raced upstairs, taking the steps by two.

“My lord, you mustn’t!” cried Polly.

“The hell you say!” He pushed past the maid without apology and burst into Diana’s chamber. Her face was drawn and deathly pale, her russet hair damp and clinging to her face and pillow. She looked up at him with glazed eyes and a wan smile.