The Trouble With Sin (Devilish Vignettes (the Devil DeVere) #2)(13)

"Even so, why would you wish to dirty your hands with something like this?"

"The answer is simple, Ned—I need the money."

"But you receive a more than adequate allowance."

"That he mostly squanders on women of easy virtue," DeVere drawled.

"Admittedly," Simon confessed, unabashed. "But now my father has reduced my quarterly and demands a full account of every ha'penny. I tell you, it is humiliating in the extreme! Unless I wish to live under such a yoke for the next three years— which I positively do not— I must make my own living. If I must travail for my bread, how better than by the fruits of my pen?"

"So you seek to combine your love of poetry and lewd women by writing poetry about lewd women?" Ned replied dryly.

Simon clapped Ned on the back. "Precisely! Don't you see the ironic beauty of it?"

"What do you suppose will happen when your dear, devout mama gets wind of this?" Ned asked.

"I have taken every precaution to ensure my anonymity." Simon retrieved the book from DeVere. "My contribution to this little work is, and shall forever remain, a well-kept secret."

"Speaking of secrets…I was waiting for the right moment…." Ned's gaze dropped to the contents of his tankard. "Hang it all."

"What the devil is it, Ned?" Simon asked.

"Out with it!" DeVere demanded.

Ned drew a great breath, then blurted, "Wish me happy, my friends—for I'm to be wed."

DeVere hissed. "The devil you say!"

"It's true," Ned replied. "I have been blessed with the hand of Miss Annalee Marsdale."

"Bloody Hell!" DeVere scrubbed his face. "I can't believe I'm even hearing this! The three of us were to go on the Grand Tour together. You would give that up? I have to question the judgment of any man who willingly subjects himself to such an affliction."

"Love is not a choice one makes, DeVere," Ned protested. "It is a force of nature and not of our will."

DeVere looked to Simon. "Mayhap you can interpret this poetic babble for surely I can't comprehend his language!"

Simon smirked. "You only scoff because you're a stonehearted rogue who has never experienced the rapture of true love's embrace."

DeVere opened his snuff box with a flip of his thumb. "Being the debauched creature that I am, I'd much prefer the magic of her mouth." He took a pinch. "That's precisely the cure for this affliction, Ned. Just tumble the chit and purge yourself."

Ned's jaw twitched dangerously. "She's a virtuous girl, DeVere, not some Covent Garden strumpet."

"There's much to be said for a good strumpet." Simon said.

"Indeed," DeVere agreed. "And I think our friend here might be sadly in need of a thorough strumping to re-order his mind."

"Enough!" Ned pounded a fist on the table. "It is done already. The first of the banns are to be called on Sunday. I only delayed my departure from town to tell you sods in person."

"Begad!" DeVere cried. "I still can't believe you're serious!"

"As I live and breathe." Ned rose to his feet with a thunderous look. "And I fear neither of you will remain living and breathing if I don't excuse myself."

DeVere held his silence until Ned was out of earshot. "We can't let him do it, Sin."

Simon shrugged and tossed back his drink. "Apart from locking him away, perhaps at Bedlam, I see little we can do to prevent it."

"That's it!" DeVere cried.

"What diabolical notion have you in mind?" Simon asked.

"All in due time, my friend, but the first order of business is to get the poor misguided fool foxed to the gills."

***



Simon awoke with the evil glare of sunlight striking his face and the throbbing awareness of an exploding head. Brigid, or was it Bronaugh, God love them both, lay blessedly naked on top of him. But weren't the twins supposed to have been with Ned?

Where the devil was Ned? Simon turned his head to discover a particularly ugly foot beside his left ear. It was attached to an equally unappealing and hairy leg. Dear God, how much royal punch had they consumed?

The plan, of course, had been to hinder Ned's departure long enough to convince him of his folly, but Ned had more than proven his head for drink. Simon and DeVere had raised so many cups extolling the various virtues of the bride-to-be that Simon feared he'd run out of lyrical allegories of her charms. He and DeVere had finally begun pouring their own glasses under the table for fear they'd pass out before getting Ned upstairs, where Brigid and Bronaugh awaited.

The twins had been easily conscripted into the game even before they got a vision of the strapping Ned Chambers. But the moment they'd got him into the chamber, the giant idiot had gone crashing to the floor like some great felled oak. At least they'd got him upstairs first.

The rest of the night was now a bit of a blur, but judging by the battered feeling of Simon's body and his exploding head, it must have involved a great deal of physical exertion…and noise.

As Simon deliberated how best to extricate himself from the octopus-like tangle of four sets of limbs, a great shadow came over him. He looked up with a grimace.