The Virgin Huntress (The Devil DeVere #2)(17)

He had startled her, certainly, but he feared it was much more than that. The monstrosity of hair she had worn earlier had fallen in wild curls about her face, her lips were parted, pink, and kiss-swollen. Her plump, white breasts that he’d never realized existed rose and fell with her quickened breaths. She looked...tumbled. It filled him with both horror and a sense of dread.

“Dear God, Vesta!” he cried. “What the devil has happened? Did I accost you?”

“N-no,” she stammered. “You have not touched me at all! That is not until...” Her cheeks colored. Her fingers pressed against her lips.

The world lurched suddenly, and Hew realized the rolling sensation he had only a moment ago mistaken for vertigo was the motion of the sea. The cloud began lifting from his muzzy brain. “What the devil am I doing on a ship?” he demanded. “Have I been taken by a press gang?” He shook away the remaining cobwebs and scanned the room, noting the familiar layout and nautical appointments. It was DeVere’s private yacht. “The Sylph,” he said. “What am I doing on my brother’s vessel? And what the devil are you doing here with me?”

Vesta bit her lower lip. “You are sailing?”

Hew willed himself to moderate tone and temper. “And why am I sailing?”

“Because I had to get you away,” she answered matter-of-factly.

“Away? Away from what?”

“Away from certain...distractions,” she replied.

With the vagueness of her answers, Hew found his ire increasing by the second. “My brother has arranged this little undertaking as some kind of joke? Or a wager, mayhap? If so, I fail to see any humor in it. Where is Ludovic?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

“You are quite mistaken, Captain Hew. This was my own doing, and it is no jest. I assure you, I am in complete earnest,” Vesta said.

“But this is his ship.”

“I have only borrowed it.”

“You borrowed a yacht?”

“Yes,” she said. “I intend to return it.”

“Then DeVere does know of this?”

“Not exactly,” she said, with infuriating evasiveness. “But he did tell Winchester to grant whatever I asked.”

Hew clawed a hand through his hair. “And you thought that included appropriating a ship?”

“He never said it precluded a ship,” she argued.

“This is inconceivable!” Hew erupted in a loud and mirthless laugh. “The valiant war hero, Captain Hewett DeVere, abducted by a school miss!”

“I am not a school miss!” Vesta stomped her foot.

He gave her a disbelieving scowl, whereby she immediately looked chagrinned. “How long ago did we sail?” Hew demanded.

“About thirteen hours ago,” she said. “You are quite a heavy sleeper.”

“I was bloody drugged!” he shouted. “What the devil did you give me?”

“Just a small sleeping draught.”

“Tincture of opium, perhaps?”

Vesta nodded mutely. “That’s why I had to add all the lemon and honey—to disguise the bitterness.”

“You planned to abduct me all along? What the deuce for?”

“So you would not marry Diana,” she said.

“You silly child! You kidnapped me because you feared I would take your aunt away, just as Phoebe took your father?”

“Of course not! I am a grown woman! I didn’t want you to wed her because you belong with me!”

Hew’s jaw dropped. “I can’t possibly have heard that right. What did you say?”

“It’s you own fault, you know. I was forced to take drastic measures because you can’t see what’s under your very nose. But it will all be made right very soon,” said Vesta. “We only have three days, after all.”

His head was spinning again, and it had nothing to do with the ship. “How is that?”

“We will be at sea together and in this very cabin for the next three days.”

“The devil we will! We will be turning back at once!”

“No, we won’t.” Vesta crossed her arms over her chest. “We will not return unless I am convinced that you don’t love me.”

“Then we can resolve that question right now! I don’t love you, Vesta!”

“But you will!” she insisted. “You only need time to know it.”

Hew rose. “Where are my clothes?”

“I had them taken away.”

“You conniving creature! How can you possibly think I could ever love such a spoiled, petulant, self-absorbed, and scheming little wretch?”

Her eyes misted; her lower lip quivered. “But you don’t understand at all! You could never have been truly happy with her, Hew, when you were meant for me! It was fated, don’t you see? I knew it from the moment I saw you, just as Mama knew she loved Papa.”

“Foolish chit! What can you possibly know of love?” He scoffed. “You’re barely out of the schoolroom, have been coddled and pampered your entire life. You’ve seen nothing of the world, yet seem to think you can control and order others’ lives like some imperious little martinet! Moreover, you know absolutely nothing about me!”

“But I do,” she insisted. “I know all about you from Pratt. I know where you grew up and that you like to hunt and fish. I do too, you know. I can shoot a fowling piece as good as Papa and even know how to tickle a trout.”