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

“Don’t be absurd, dear Edward.” She emitted a brittle laugh. “I am delighted that you are so happy.” I just hope you don’t soon expire of a heart seizure out of zeal for your new husbandly duties.

“You are certain that this is what you wish, Diana? To leave Thornhill?”

She played with her gloves, refusing to meet his gaze. “I have long denied myself a trip to London. My gowns are all sadly outmoded, and I shall certainly relish the change in scenery after being buried in the country for so long.”

“Very well,” he said. “You will find the house comfortably furnished and fully staffed. I will, of course, provide a generous allowance for anything either of you should need. If anything unanticipated should transpire, you need only look to DeVere—”

“DeVere? Viscount DeVere?” Diana couldn’t help the twitch of distaste his name brought to her lips. It had been four years since she’d last seen him, and never would be too soon for her to encounter him again. “I assure you we shall need nothing from him. Indeed, I fear even the remotest association with that wastrel might bar Vesta from the better drawing rooms.” It was a plausible excuse and the one she would stand by.

Edward frowned. “Don’t you think that a bit harsh, Di? He is Vesta’s godfather, after all.”

She laughed. “I only wonder what my dear cousin Annalee was thinking to have ever allowed such a thing!”

His frown deepened to a full-blown scowl.

“Oh, don’t look so thunderous, Edward! I know he is your friend, but you know as well as I that his reputation is the lowest, and he revels in it. Vesta may be his godchild, but the less made of it the better.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear about him.”

“Lackaday! I only need believe half of it to be reviled. Besides, I do not base my opinions purely on hearsay. I have had sufficient dealings of my own with the man to have his full measure.” She almost bit her tongue on her poor choice of words. His full measure, indeed. The remembrance of it still shook her four years later.

“Surely you don’t still hold him to blame for—”

“For Reginald? Not completely.” Diana strolled to the window and gazed out at the vast expanse of park. She sighed long and deep. She chose her next words carefully in the knowledge that the truth of her past connection with the viscount would never be revealed. DeVere had, at least, promised her that much. “We both know Reginald had long made a habit of going for wool and coming home shorn. DeVere was merely the devil’s agent who accomplished the inevitable. Still, one cannot touch...excrement”—she looked to Ned with a meaningful curve of her lips—”and not be defiled. I’d much rather avoid any contact with DeVere.”

“Regardless of your low opinion of him, I would be remiss beyond redemption to allow two women alone in London without benefit of male protection. I would entrust my own life to DeVere and will notify him of your arrival.”

“But—” She spun around, but his darkening look squelched further protest.

“If you wish Vesta to accompany you, I won’t hear another word.”

Though she felt like she was sucking on a lemon, she forced a smile. “Very well. I see I have no choice. If in need, I will call upon DeVere.”

When pigs take flight...





CHAPTER TWO




Bloomsbury Square, London, 1783

“It is officially finished at last,” declared Captain Hewett DeVere with a sigh.

“What is finished?” asked the disembodied voice of Ludovic, Viscount DeVere, completely concealed behind the pages of Heber’s Racing Calendar.

“The war. They have signed the Treaty of Paris. Though I’m thankful for the cease of bloodshed, this also means I am now consigned to obscurity and idleness as a half-pay officer.”

A pair of cobalt-blue eyes peered over the racing periodical. “Perhaps you can clarify for me, dear brother, which part of that statement disturbs you most? The obscurity or the idleness?”

Hew gave a half smile. “The obscurity, of course. ‘Death or glory’ is the motto of the Seventeenth Dragoons, after all. Over half my troop achieved the dubious honor of the former at the Battle of Cowpens while I survived with little to show but a half-dozen scars and a limp.”

“And the men’s lives you saved?” Ludovic asked.

“Greatly exceeded by those fallen. And we failed, Vic. In the end, it was all for naught. We have lost the war.”

“Still, obscure idleness seems extraordinarily underrated when compared to a glorious death.”

“Surely our birth order was some cosmic mix up or a freak of nature,” Hew remarked with a shake of his head. He laid down The Gazetteer to sip his morning coffee and sift through the mail. “You’ve a letter from Ned.”

“Open it for me, will you?”

Hew broke the seal and scanned a few lines.

“Well, what does he say? Is he already harboring regrets? If so, there’s nothing for it now.”

“He says little. Only that his daughter, Vesta, will be coming for the season, chaperoned by a female relation. He sends his regrets that he and Phoebe will not arrive until a few weeks later. He also asks if you will stable a couple of horses for them.”

“Of course, and then we’ll be expected to dance attendance on them, walking the minuet and driving in the park with little Vesta and her dragon duenna.” Ludovic glowered. “Bloody fabulous.”