A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere) (30 page)

"Bloody, bloody hell!
" Ludovic bellowed. "What the devil am I to do now, Ned? It's been weeks! She won't see me and won't even accept a letter. I cannot lose her like this! She's carrying my child, for Christ's sake."

"Have you consulted a solicitor in the matter of your title?" Ned asked.

"Yes! And there's naught to be done. I would willingly give up everything for her, but if I were to renounce my title, it would simply go into abeyance until my death. Moreover, Hew and I would both lose all income from the properties, which does no one any good." He paced the room with long strides and spun around with a wild look.

"Do you know for a crazed moment I even considered declaring myself incompetent in order to confer the title directly to Hew? It is, after all, how I gained the bloody thing in my predecessor's lifetime. Two physician's statements and a private petition to parliament and voila, I became the sixth Viscount DeVere. I daresay there are any number of people who doubt my sanity of late." He gave a self-deprecating laugh. "In truth, I'm
surely bound for Bedlam anyway if I don't get her back." He poured and downed a brandy in one draught. "Did you ever think you would see it, Ned? Ludovic, 'The Devil' DeVere brought to his knees by a woman?"

"This is nonsensical, Vic. You must tell Hew. He would never want this, certainly not under these circumstances."

"Tell Hew what?" asked the voice of Captain Hewett DeVere.

"Hew!" DeVere rose unsteadily to his feet. "When did you come to town?"

"I just arrived. I left the very moment Vesta told me about you and Diana. What is all this nonsense about?" Hew gave his brother a thunderous look. "And why the devil have you not married her already?"

"I've asked him the same thing, Hew," said Ned. "It seems your brother has a rather distorted notion of honor."

"I would be inclined to agree if he would suffer a gently bred woman to bear his child out of wedlock. Pray pour me a drink as well, big brother. I must surely hear this tale from your own lips."

DeVere gave a frustrated groan. "What's the point? You already know the crux of it. Diana is carrying my child, and I cannot wed her without breaking my vow to you."

Hew appeared stunned. "What the devil have I got to do with it?"

"I declared you my sole heir. That the title and all it entails is to be yours. It's the very reason you wed, after all."

"Rein back again, Vic!" Hew raised both hands in vehement protest. "Let me disabuse you of
that
notion right now! You did
not
coerce me to wed. When I returned from America, I wanted nothing more than to settle down with a wife at some small, country estate. You simply expedited my plan by providing a generous settlement. Now there is no man more content, for I have more than I ever dreamed of. And as far as the wretched title is concerned, I never recall at any time in my life expressing the least desire for it."

"Yet you didn't decline it," DeVere said.

"No. What choice did I have when you were so bloody opposed to ensuring the continuity of it? I simply acquiesced to your wishes. If matters have now changed, there is no man more delighted than me; so please, let me be the first to say get off your bloody arse and wed the woman!"

***

My Dearest Lord DeVere,

It seems now as if our time together was little more than a foolish, romantic idyll, a temporary
reprieve from reality, which has now come to its inevitable conclusion. And while I cannot condemn your actions as a man of honor, I can neither accept raising our child under the stigma of bastardy.

For this reason, I am leaving London immediately to seek a new residence, somewhere quiet where I intend to raise our child alone and in respectable obscurity. To this end, I ask that you adhere to your promise that we shall never be in want and only request that a living allowance be provided to cover our basic needs. I would also request that a trust be established to ensure the proper education of your son or daughter.

Please do not attempt to contact me as I am resolute in my decision that this course of action is truly in the best interest of our child. This will be my only correspondence with you as all communication henceforth must perforce occur through our respective solicitors

Diana paused to wipe the tears that blurred her eyes, spilled onto the page, and smeared the wet ink. She rose from her escritoire, crumpled the foolscap with a cry of frustration, and cursed herself again for being ten kinds of fool. Of course, it was the logical action to take, to divorce her mind and distance her body from him. Yet, every night she awoke fevered with yearning for his lips on hers, for the musky scent of his body, for the dull and steady thump of his heartbeat under her cheek.

She paced the room, wondering what it might have been like had he cared enough for her to sacrifice his damnable honor but then realized the selfishness of her thoughts. She knew he was miserable too, yet he was adamant in regard to his word once given. DeVere surely had his own peculiar code, but it spoke much of any man to sacrifice his own desires to keep his bond. Thoughts like these continued to wreak havoc on her peace, for as much as she wanted to despise him, Diana could not.

Instead, she wallowed in
what ifs
and self-pity, the prospect of motherhood being the only light that shined into her present darkness. Diana knew it would take time for her torn heart to mend, but surely the birth of this life inside her would palliate the pain. If only
he
would stay away, she could learn to be content, but how could she ever deny the man if he desired to acknowledge his own child? These questions only served to reopen the wound.

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 any more 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."

Medford Abbey, Kent -  February 1784

Enfolded in a
snug cocoon of silken bedcoverings, Diana slowly opened her eyes…to discover herself alone. She anxiously scanned the room, finding the only proof that Ludovic had ever joined her in bed was the indentation of his head on the pillow beside her. This evidence—that he had come and gone again without even waking her—incited an anxious pang deep within her chest.

With the exception of the two agonizing months they had spent apart immediately before their marriage, ne're a day had passed without Diana waking up to Ludovic's big warm hands caressing her body, his bristled jaw nuzzling her neck, and his eager cock nestling between her thighs. Since they had first run away together eighteen months before, they had greeted each and every new day thusly—with a lazy and languorous bout of lovemaking. It was a ritual she had readily adopted, but now for the eighth consecutive day, she awoke to find him already risen
from their shared bed. He was once more gone without a word—a circumstance that made her bleary eyes burn.

They were barely three months into a marriage that had begun on rather shaky ground. Was it possible that for him, the novelty of it had already worn off? This had always been Diana's greatest fear, for Ludovic was a man with a voracious sensual appetite, one he had honed with years of endless variety and constant, unrestrained indulgence. Diana, on the contrary, had known only one true lover—this same perplexing man who was now her husband—the one who had made her heavy with his child…and now left her alone in a cold bed.

Fighting back tears, Diana tossed aside the bedcovers and heaved herself up, wondering if the changes in her body— the enlarged blue-veined breasts and a belly far too protuberant to hide—had put him off at last. Now that she considered it, he had seemed unusually preoccupied of late and uncharacteristically restless…even edgy.

Although Ludovic had seemed perfectly willing to retire with her to the country for her confinement, now she worried he had already wearied of domesticity, or worse, if he was simply bored…with her. Maybe he had come to regret married life? The more she thought about it, the more distressed she became. The
soft rap upon her bedchamber door interrupted her disturbing ruminations.

"Come in," Diana said in a husky voice, her pulse racing in hope it might be him. But the door opened to her maid instead, and her heart sank.

"Good morning, my lady." The girl bobbed. "I trust you had a restful night?"

"Yes. Thank you, Sally." Diana pasted a cheerful smile on her face. "Perchance is his lordship about?"

"I don't rightly know, my lady." Sally drew open the heavy drapes to reveal a morning far more advanced than Diana had expected. "I saw him go to breakfast, but that was nigh on three hours ago."

"Is it truly so late?" Diana asked.

"Nearly eleven, my lady. I asked his lordship if I should wake you for breakfast with him, but he insisted that you not be disturbed. Right solicitous is my lord." The maid grinned. "Would you care for chocolate or tea, my lady?"

"Neither, Sally. I would much prefer to bathe and dress. Do you think you could find any of my better gowns that still fit? If not, I'll have to send for the
sempstress again. I may be breeding, but I refuse to be a dowd."

"I'm sure we can find something."

"And my hair, Sally." Diana fingered her long braid. Even if she did feel less than herself of late, she was determined not to let her appearance give that away. "I've been lax of late in wearing it loosely dressed. I shan't wear a cap today. Could you please put it up?"

The girl smiled. "Of course, madam."

Diana told herself she was just being fanciful, that any number of things could be occupying her husband's mind. Perhaps even concern for the impending birth? After all, it was only weeks away and their close friend Edward had lost dear Annalee in childbirth. Although Diana had her own fears in that regard, she refused to dwell on what was well beyond her control. Her marriage, however, was another matter altogether.

***

Restless, agitated, and most definitely frustrated, Ludovic had once more risen with the sun. It was not a customary practice for a man who had spent the better part of his seven and thirty years carousing until the wee hours and sleeping well past noon. But his bed had ceased to be a pleasurable refuge after Diana's last examination by the accoucheur eight bloody days ago.

It was immediately afterward in the privacy of his study that Ludovic had asked Dr. Ford the question plaguing his mind—whether it was safe to continue conjugal relations with his
very gravid
wife.

"I should not advise it, my lord." The physician shook his head. "There is a risk of precipitating the event, you understand."

Ludovic scowled. It was what he had expected but still not what he wanted to hear. "But what about…er…non-conventional means?"

The doctor's gray brows rose. "I would strongly discourage
any
stimulation of the female sexual organs, my lord, as this alone could incite early uterine contractions. Besides," he chided, "do you not think that this close to her term, Lady DeVere might be permitted to shirk her conjugal duties? I daresay it grows exceedingly uncomfortable for her."

"Do you think so?" Ludovic asked with true concern. "She has implied nothing of the sort." The notion had never occurred to him that Diana might not be enjoying their lovemaking, but then again, he doubted his dutiful wife would ever speak up for fear of disappointing him. She had tolerated a full decade of mistreatment under her first husband, after all.

Dr. Ford replied as if reading his thoughts, "A dutiful wife would not, my lord. You must also consider that she should rest as much as possible in preparation for the big event. From this time forward, until eight weeks after her lying in, I would strongly advise a period of forbearance." The physician gave him a meaningful look.

"Forbearance? Do you mean
abstinence
?"

"Yes. At least where Lady DeVere is concerned."

"Bloody hell. You are talking about three months!"

The
accoucheur chuckled. "If you are
fortunate
, my lord."

"Fortunate? What is that supposed to mean?" Ludovic demanded.

"Depending on the difficulty of her experience, it is not unusual for a woman to begrudge the granting of her favors for quite some time after birth."

"I see." Ludovic’s scowl deepened at this revelation.

Three bloody months without sex? No way in hell! He honestly didn't believe he could bear it. Yet, for Diana's sake….he had vowed to endure. It had been precisely eight days and six hours since he'd touched her, and he was already as edgy as a convict awaiting the noose. He still had seventy-six more days of celibacy to bear and felt so full of his own unspent essence that he thought he would burst. He'd already broken his fast following a hell-for-leather ride and now sat in his study staring at the clock…fighting the urge to grind his teeth.

That very morning he had lain awake for hours, nearly overcome with the need to stroke, touch, and taste her. He had considered prevailing upon her to ease his suffering and had little doubt she would willingly have gratified his request, but realized what an insensitive cad he was  even to think it. His unslaked lust had finally sent him fleeing their bed to seek the soothing influence of brandy instead.

Perhaps this was his penance for his former life—for the years he had spent indulging his every whim, gratifying his sexual urges with countless women, while giving nothing back in return—all of which had changed with Diana. He had never before known sex could transcend bodily pleasure to encompass the soul. Only with Diana had he ever experienced this intense feeling of intimacy, and he had reciprocated by worshipping her with his entire being.

Now he had no desire to go back. Damn it all! He gulped down his brandy with the acceptance that he'd soon have little choice but to toss himself off like some randy school boy. He resolved to postpone that inevitability by occupying his mind with estate matters, and his body with preparations for the
upcoming racing season. With the last thought in mind, he took up the newest copy of the
Racing Calendar,
opening the pages with an impatient snap.

A sharp rap soon sounded on the door. Ludovic glanced up from his periodical to the  entrance of a liveried footman. "A message for you, my lord." The servant offered the wax-sealed missive on a silver salver.

"It was delivered by a most…unusual…courier," the footman finished with a sniff of disdain.

"Indeed? Do tell," Lord DeVere replied in a bored drawl.

"'Tis a behemoth blackamoor, my lord."

"Mustafa? What the devil?" Ludovic threw down his periodical and snatched up the missive with a frown.

"He awaits in the kitchen. Insufferable rude creature he be. Just stands all akimbo. Refuses to speak or to depart without an answer from your lordship."

"The man cannot speak. He has no tongue. They took it when they castrated the poor devil."

The footman's eyes bulged. He involuntarily crossed his legs.

Ludovic broke the seal and scanned the contents with a deepening scowl. "Tell him I shall be in touch with his mistress
shortly…and that she should notify me at once should her circumstances become any more…distressed."

"Aye, my lord." The much-chagrinned footman departed.

Ludovic read the cryptic note once more. Salime in want of a protector? What a sticky situation
that
created. At first he wondered why she had appealed to him, but then again, there were few people she truly trusted. Given their shared history, he would never deny her his aid. Besides, it was Salime who was most instrumental in helping him achieve his present state of conjugal bliss. For that alone he owed her his undying gratitude.

Still, he was flummoxed. Salime had never been in want since coming to London. For five years she had reigned supreme. He wondered what could be behind her request but abandoned both letter and the dilemma the moment another came bursting into his library. It was surely a day of surprises.

"Ned?" Ludovic leaped up to greet his best friend. "What the devil has brought you all the way from Yorkshire to Kent?"

"I have most portentous news, DeVere," Ned sputtered with excitement. "News I could hardly relay by messenger. Thus, I came down myself."

"What kind of news? Out with it, Chambers," Ludovic commanded.

"Mayhap you should pour us a drink first."

Ludovic lifted a sardonic brow. "A drink? Not so urgent after all?"

"'Tis fortification you'll need for the shock you are about to receive."

"Shock? Me? You know I am not easily shocked, Ned." Ludovic paused with his hand on the brandy decanter and a slight frown marring his face. "Come to think of it, I'm damned if I can recall a single occasion that has wrought from me such a profound reaction as
shock
."

Ned flung himself into Ludovic's favorite chair. "There's a first for everything, DeVere. Now that drink?"

Ludovic sloshed amber liquid into two glasses, handing one to the would-be herald, who downed it in one draught. Ludovic quirked a brow.

"It was a devilish long ride," Ned explained.

"All to deliver this
shocking
report of yours?" Ludovic perched a hip on the corner of his mahogany desk.

"Yes! It's Lazarus all over again!"

"Lazarus, you say? Am I to surmise that someone has been miraculously raised from the dead?"

"Actually, he might as well have been," Ned declared. "I can
hardly countenance it after all this time."

"You are trying my patience, Ned."

"It's Simon returned."

"Good God!" The glass slipped from his hand to shatter at Ludovic's feet. "You can't mean Sin is
alive
? He was pronounced killed in action six years ago."

"I mean exactly that!" Ned exclaimed. "I have the news straight from Baron Singleton. He is indeed alive and may even be in London as we speak. His ship was expected to arrive several days ago."

"Why am I only hearing of this
now
? I see the bloody Singleton regularly at Parliament."

"Probably because the good baron doesn't like you, DeVere. He believes you were an abominable influence on his son."

"Then he would be right." Ludovic smirked and then stared at the shattered glass at his feet.

"Looking a bit white there, my friend. This is known as shock."

"Admittedly, I am incredulous. How can this be? Where the devil has he been?"

"Interned as a prisoner of war for the greater part of six years."

"
Six years
imprisonment? In all that time there were no exchanges?"

"Very few. The colonials refused to give up ours when they claimed their men were only released on the point of starvation and death, the poor sods. I daresay 'tis no exaggeration, for I've seen a number of reports on the deplorably inhumane conditions of our prison hulks. Indeed it's said that the colonials set fire to the
Whitby
, choosing to go down in flames, rather than die of starvation and disease." Ned shook his head. "What a hellish business war is."