A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere) (31 page)

"But if Sin was a prisoner, he should have been released nigh on a year ago upon the treaty signing."

"Apparently he was too ill to travel all the way to England. He only made it as far as Bermuda before he was struck with the bloody flux or some such ailment that required months of convalescence…the poor sod."

Their gazes met as silence engulfed them in a dark and sober cloud.

"He'll not be the same man," Ned finally voiced what they were both thinking.

"No. Likely never again," Ludovic agreed. "We must go to him, Ned. At once."

***

Diana bathed, dressed, and resolved to seek out her husband. She took great pains with her appearance in hope of inspiring at least a faint spark of interest from him, sensing that alone would set her troubled heart at ease. Although she still felt ungainly, she knew she at least looked her best, or as good as she could under present circumstances.

The gown she'd chosen was a soft silk damask of green and gold, shades most complimentary to her coloring and eyes. Both the colors and the scandalously low cut bore no small similarity to the one that had mesmerized Ludovic the night they had first met. Although it was over five years ago, every word and nuance from their first night together was burned indelibly into her brain. She wondered if he would recall it as well.

She hoped her generous showing of flesh would serve to jog his memory and incite his passion, that she would see
something
telling in his expression when she appeared; for it seemed to her a cruel and heartless jest of nature that her desire for him would have increased during this time, while his for her had only waned. Even in her ninth month of pregnancy, she still craved him with a desperate hunger.

Clasping the balustrade for better balance, she cautiously
descended the massive marble staircase, her mind racing for a means to discover and mend the breach between them. If he hadn't gone riding, Diana presumed he would be consulting with his man of business in either his private study or perhaps in the library. When she didn't discover him in the former, she sought him out in the latter. Finding the library door ajar, she gave a soft rap and entered.

"Darling, might we speak for a moment—" She paused at the threshold when
two
pairs of eyes darted to her. "I'm so sorry! I didn't realize you were occupied."

"Diana!" Ned took to his feet the moment he saw her.

"Why, hello, Edward!" she exclaimed with a smile of genuine pleasure. "What a delightful surprise! Are Phoebe and little Ned with you?"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but no. This was a very unexpected trip." Ned strode across the library to greet her with a kiss on the cheek. "How lovely you look, like a rose in full bloom."

Diana blushed. "
Lovely?
You mean how large! Blooming indeed! I'm as big as a
blooming
house."

He shook his head. "I would argue that breeding quite agrees with you."

"You can desist now, Ned," Ludovic interrupted with a peculiar look. Although she knew jealousy to be foreign to his nature, it was almost as if he resented the open display of affection between Diana and his best friend.

Ned's brow furrowed. "Desist what?"

"Flirting with my wife. It will go to her pretty head. Trust me when I say she does not want for attention. Indeed the proof is in the oven." Ludovic came to Diana's side and placed a possessive hand on her rather protuberant midsection.

With fire infusing her cheeks, Diana playfully slapped his hand away. "Don't be crass, darling."

His gaze raked over her, settling on her well-displayed breasts and then narrowed when it met hers. He chuckled and leaned into her as if to nuzzle her neck, but murmured darkly in her ear, his voice emerging with an uncharacteristic rasp. "Why do you torment me thusly?"

His words, proof positive, that her effort to regain his attention had not been in vain, sent a satisfied ripple down her spine. But her moment of triumph was cut short when he caressed her cheek and withdrew to arms’ length with a look of regret that left her befuddled.

"You needed me, Diana?" he asked after a moment.

More than you can imagine.
Her gaze flickered with uncertainty from Ludovic to Edward. But alas, it was not the time.
"It can wait, my love." She forced a smile and prevaricated. "'Twas only a minor question about the nursery."

"My, my, DeVere!" Ned lifted a brow with a chuckle. "You are now consulted about the nursery? It is my turn to be shocked at how domesticated you have grown. I never thought I would live to see a once feral tom cat so completely tamed."

"Cats?" Ludovic visibly shuddered. "Must you speak of cats?"

Diana looked to Ned, who then explained, "He has had a powerful aversion to felines ever since our school days."

"Why is that?" Diana asked.

"It involves a certain escapade with a lion," Ned replied.

"
A lion
?" Diana laughed. "Whatever were you doing with a lion?"

He and Ned exchanged conspiratorial looks. "'Tis a long story for another day," Ludovic said.

"Men!" Diana rolled her eyes but noted that
his
had never left her. Although their entire exchange was light and playful, his gaze was not. It slid over her again, slowly, heatedly, inciting quivers low in her belly and warmth between her thighs.

"I'll leave you both be. Perhaps you could come upstairs when you are finished?" she suggested, feeling a bit breathless with anticipation.

He cocked a brow. "To discuss the nursery?"

"Yes. Of course." She licked her lips.

"I'm sorry, my pet," he replied with a pained look. "It may have to wait a few days, as it seems I must make an unexpected journey to town."

"Oh?" Diana bit her quivering lip. "Why must it be
now
?"

"Because it must." He caressed her cheek. "I promise, Diana, not to be gone a moment longer than my business requires. I know you are growing anxious about your confinement, but the physician said it is weeks away yet."

She knew he meant to reassure her, but the words echoed a hollow peal in her head. Why did he have to leave when she felt so fragile, so filled with insecurity and doubt?

"Very well." She averted her gaze. "I'm sure a few days in town will do you a world of good. I know I've been poor company for you of late. It seems the days are growing more exhausting as my time draws nearer."

"So I am told by the accoucheur," Ludovic stated dryly.

"It will be so until the last week," Ned interjected. "And then
you may feel a sudden burst of energy."

"Oh? Is that so?" Diana asked, feigning an interest she didn't feel.

"Yes. Annalee and Phoebe both experienced it at the end of their confinements."

Ludovic made an impatient noise. "If you are quite finished playing midwife now, Ned, I should like to discover the current whereabouts of one Captain Simon Singleton."

"Captain Singleton?" Diana asked. "Is he an acquaintance of Hew?"

"No," Ludovic replied. "He was one my closest friends, second only to Ned, and is the reason for my abrupt departure. His father shipped him off to the colonies before the rebellion. He has been gone these dozen years or more. We had believed him killed. Ned now informs me that he lives."

"Oh my!" Diana exclaimed. "What a shock this must be. Is he safely home then?"

"I don't know, but I shan't waste any time finding out. If he is, I daresay he'll be in dire need of his old friends." He and Ned exchanged a significant look. "God knows how we will find him physically…or otherwise."

"Heaven knows indeed," Diana echoed sadly. "Do whatever you must, my love. I understand your haste and shall be fine."

***

An hour later, Ludovic had kissed her goodbye, leaving behind a hollow feeling in her chest. Though fatigue had once more set in, Diana avoided her bedchamber for fear of dampening her pillow with tears of self-pity. Instead, she moped about the empty house until returning to the library. Thinking a book might serve as a distraction, she searched amongst the vast collection of leather-bound spines for something to help her pass the time until her husband's return.

She pulled her beloved volume of John Donne's poetry from the shelf but then returned it for fear of the memories it surely would invoke. It was after reading
The Dream
that she had first fantasized of going to DeVere's bed. When she had eventually and inevitability succumbed to him, the reality had far exceeded her naïve fantasies of what could be between a woman and a man. He had loved her body and shown her pleasure in myriad manifestations, the memories of which even now filled her with longing for what had been and incited an ache deep within her.

Diana worried that she would never again experience such passion, that it was already spent—a mere three months into their marriage. Perhaps she was making too much of matters and
all would return to normal after her lying in? Still she vowed, upon Ludovic's return, to do whatever she needed to do to reclaim him before his jaded eye wandered to another.

She paused her perusal of the bookshelves to rub the small of her back with a woeful sigh before finally settling on the latest novel penned by Fannie Burney—the adventures of a young heiress named Cecelia. She retrieved the book from the shelf, but by now her feet and back ached so badly, she dreaded the thought of climbing the stairs to her private apartments.

Instead, her gaze settled on her husband's highly comfortable and recently vacated chair. Alighting in the plush over-stuffed chair, Diana released a soft moan of contentment. Ensconced in the faint and wonderful scents of leather and Ludovic, a renewed calm settled over her. Giving in to the most unladylike urge to prop her feet on the desk, Diana took up a stack of papers to clear a spot, but a particular sheet of foolscap conspicuously penned in a most delicate and elaborate style of calligraphy caught her eye. It was definitely
not
a man's hand.

Curious, she picked up the letter. The wax seal had already been broken, revealing a terse note of only a few lines. She hesitated with a pang of guilt, knowing she should not proceed, but her current state of anxiety overcame her initial qualms.

Most honored Efendi,

It is with the greatest humility that I appeal to he who once safeguarded my life. It is with exceeding distress that I must entreat you once more, being much in need of a friend and protector. Your most devoted and obedient servant,

Salime

Diana clutched the missive to her breast with quivering lips.
An old friend indeed!
Was it truly a
man
named Simon he went so urgently to meet…or an erstwhile
lover
named Salime?

With the temperature
dropping and foul weather threatening, Ludovic and Ned departed Kent by coach. They spent the first couple of hours in laughter and fond reminiscing about their youthful days when they—with Simon—had wreaked havoc upon Westminster School. After then catching up on family matters, a companionable silence settled between them, allowing each to drift into solitary thought.

While Ludovic tried to maintain focus on Simon, the purpose of their trip, he couldn't quite lay aside his concerns about Diana. Although he had never been known for self-restraint, he was determined to keep her needs above his own and his hands off her—even if it killed him. Still, he had little trust in physicians and wondered if Ned had suffered the same extended period of sexual abstinence. "Ned," he finally ventured, "there is a matter plaguing me."

"Oh?" Ned's brows rose.

"Yes. One in which you are vastly more knowledgeable than I."

Ned looked bemused. "That's quite a confession, DeVere. I can't imagine what it might be."

"Breeding women," Ludovic replied.

"Ah." Ned nodded in understanding. "I am no expert, by any means. I doubt that any man is—but I agree they can be a trial. Happy one moment, crying the next. A man must exercise a great deal of patience with a pregnant wife."

"As you well know, patience has never been my strong suit."

Ned chuckled. "No indeed. But you must be tolerant with her changing moods."

"That's not quite the kind of patience I mean."

"Oh?" Ned gave a knowing smile. "I thought I detected a note of edginess. You must be referring to—"

"Yes. Damn it! How long must I wait? The damnable
accoucheur has all but forbidden me to touch her."

"Is she that far advanced?"

"He says her time will arrive by month's end."

"Still weeks away then. So Diana has put you off?"

"Diana? No. Not precisely, but she's very fatigued. Retires early. Sleeps late."

"And she wants none of you in between?"

DeVere glowered. "I have not approached her."

Ned laughed. "Your mistake then, ole chum. Although
women vary considerably in these matters, I found that unlike my frail Annalee, dear Phoebe, God bless her, was exceedingly amorous until the very end."

"What are you saying, Ned? That you fucked your wife until her delivery?"

"Crude as ever, DeVere, but yes. Indeed the very same day she gave birth to little Ned. The midwife even encouraged it, telling Phoebe that conjugal relations would relax her passage and ease the delivery."

"Bloody hell! That is completely contrary to what I was told by the man considered the foremost authority. I brought down James Ford, the bloody physician extraordinary to the Westminster Lying-In hospital, to examine Diana."

Ned shrugged. "Nevertheless, nature is oftimes superior to science."

Ludovic growled. "I'll string that sodding quack up by the bollacks when I next see him!"

"I do pity the man," Ned replied with martyr's sigh. "But not as much as myself at the moment."

"What the devil does that mean?" Ludovic snapped.

"It means we should stop for a drink along the way. I shall undoubtedly need something to help me bear your insufferable temper until you return to Diana's bed."

***

Diana paced and fretted for two entire days. The sheet of foolscap she carried about in her pocket had nearly disintegrated from the number of times she had read and crumpled it. At one point she had even thought to consign it to the flames. She had tossed it into the hearth, but then rescued it at the very last second. The letter was the source of her greatest pain, but also the source of her strength, for without it as evidence, she would never be able to confront him. She would hear only what she wanted to hear from his lips, allowing her heart to deny the bald truth that stared at her in delicate strokes of black ink.

She had tried to banish all misgivings when she entered her marriage, but fragments lingered. Ludovic was restless and easily bored by nature. His temperament, unlike hers, was not well suited to domesticity. He had confessed as much many times before their marriage. Diana had accepted she could never change his nature, yet had hoped that out of her love for him, he would come to feel a certain fulfillment in his new role of husband and father. Perhaps she had been a fool to think it.

At first she had believed Ludovic reluctant to leave her for London, had imagined a certain wistful look upon their parting, but now she wondered if it was only her wishful fancy. The more she considered it, the more convinced she was, for had he not departed within two hours of Edward's arrival? Still, there remained a singular piece she could not puzzle out—Edward.

Had Edward truly brought tidings of a former comrade or had he delivered the letter from Salime? No. That was inconceivable. He was like a brother to Diana and never would be a willing party to any act of duplicity or a conspirator to infidelity. But why in all this time had she never even heard the name of Simon Singleton? Was it simply reticence on their part to speak of a man they presumed dead?

And the letter from Salime? Could its delivery have been purely coincidence? Of all people, of all Salime’s lovers, why in the world had she
written to
DeVere?
Was this the first correspondence, or had she written before? Salime had never made any secret of her love for him, feelings Diana had believed unrequited…until now.

Was Salime truly in need, or could it be a clever ploy to draw him away from his wife at a propitious time? A time when he would be supremely vulnerable to her exotic wiles? Knowing how Salime felt about her husband, Diana could not trust the woman. She only prayed that if he had indeed gone to her, the honorable
side of his nature, the one he had oftimes suppressed, would ultimately prevail.

***

DeVere House, Bloomsbury Square, the same night

It was very late when Ludovic arrived at DeVere House. He and Ned had required several drinks after seeing Simon—the poor wretched sod. Six years in captivity! Ludovic shook his head. Bloody hell. It was enough to destroy any man, let alone one like Simon—a man with a poet's heart.

He had no sooner handed hat and coat off to the lone servant keeping the empty house then Salime rushed to kneel before him in the vestibule, kissing his hand. "
Effendi!
You have come at last!"

"But of course," he replied, raising her to her feet. "You must know I would never deny you my aid." In truth, he had nearly forgotten her in his morose musings about Simon.

"But I feared with your marriage…that
khanum
…" She bit her lip.

DeVere felt a peculiar twinge at the mention of his wife. It was not as if he had purposely kept this interview from Diana. He had simply overlooked the matter in his hasty departure. "As I do not have a complete understanding of it myself, I have yet to
explain your situation to Diana, but I am certain she would not have me turn my back on you. "Come, Salime." He took her gently by the elbow. "We will retire to share the hookah. Then you will tell me what is troubling you…and how I might assist."

For close to an hour Salime sat cross-legged at his feet, tending the pipe, while he reclined on a divan, smoking and slowly drawing the story from her. "In the end, you will see it is all for the best, my dear." He blew purple-cast smoke rings in the air. "You deserve much better than to be a mere plaything to rich and idle men."

"But it is what I was trained for
, Effendi
, to serve a man's pleasure. It is all I know, and I am not ashamed in this. Where I come from, such skills are not only a woman's sole means to achieve a measure of comfort, but to please the sultan and to be raised to the place of favorite mistress or
haseki
is the greatest of honors—only exceeded by becoming a
kadin
."

"A wife," he said, musing now of Diana–alone in their bed—and wanting her fiercely.

"One of four wives," Salime corrected. "In my country, to serve the sultan, whether as mistress or wife, is to ensure a lifetime of ease and security, but the English ways are different. Here a mistress has no security and is as readily cast aside as a worn slipper."

"I wish I could argue the truth of it, but even a shoe can be re-soled before it's cast aside."

"Such is true if one has a protector to pay the debt to the cobbler. I did not."

"What will you do now?" he asked.

"I do not yet know,
Effendi
. I had hoped…" She gazed up at him longingly.

Fearing she would voice what clearly shone in her eyes, he quickly shook his head. "I'm sorry, my dear." He stroked her cheek to lessen the blow. "The English ways
are
different in regard to mistresses and wives."

She arched a brow. "Not so very different,
Effendi.
Many men have mistresses and lovers. Why else would such as King's Place exist?"

"Point taken," he said with a tight smile.

Struggling to suppress his own needs— needs that he knew she would enthusiastically gratify— he avoided her direct gaze, concentrating instead on the colorful silk wall coverings, the low burning brass lamps. "What I meant is that not
all
wives accept a man's philandering ways. There are some who expect, nay,
demand
, exclusivity…fidelity."

Ever demure, she looked down at her hands. "
Khanum
, the fiery one. She is such a wife?"

"Aye, Salime. And I have sworn my lasting fidelity. I would not break my vow to her even if I wanted to—
which I do not
. My desire is
only
for Diana." He took another long draw on the hookah.

"She is the most fortunate of women,
Effendi,
to merit such devotion."

"My so-called devotion is perhaps a two-edged sword." He chuckled, but then grew sober at her frown. "Given a choice, Salime, would you not also prefer only
one
man?"

"You know that choice was taken from me,
Effendi,
" she said sadly. "No man would willingly look daily upon this face." She traced the scar she kept hidden from the world. "Even
you
who I thought might…"

He scowled. "Your scar has nothing to do with my decision to forego a mistress, Salime. I think you already know that. But surely there is another man who can see the true jewel that you are—"

"There is none!" she cried. "Only a
woman
has eyes to see the beauty beneath the skin."

He grimaced and handed her the stem. "You believe all men
to be so shallow?"

She returned a sad smile and then drew again from the pipe.

Although surrounded by a haze of smoke, in that moment a cloud lifted from his formerly muddled mind. The answer was so perfect. So clear. Ludovic had to tamp down a chuckle at his own brilliance. "But what if there
was
such a man, Salime? One capable of perceiving the greater beauty within?"

Salime snorted again. "What if camels could fly,
Effendi?
"

"Salime, I would ask a boon of you."

She responded without hesitation, "You know I would do anything for you,
Effendi.
"

"Thank you, my dear. But perhaps you would hear me out first?"

"As you wish."

"I have a friend, a very dear friend, with a grave dilemma. It is an affliction which requires a unique kind of healing."

"He is in need of a physician?"

"No. The quacks can do nothing for him. Although he physically suffers, it is not truly a physical ailment."

"You mean he is touched in the head,
Effendi
?"

"No." Ludovic paused, struggling to explain what he himself did not fully comprehend. "He may believe himself so, for he
experienced a great deal of torment that lasted a number of years, but, I don't think it's as bad as all that. "

"I am no healer. I do not understand what you would ask of me."

"I only wish for you to be his companion, Salime. He is in great want of one who understands a man's deepest needs. I am of the belief that
you alone
could relieve his distress."

"Me? You have such confidence,
Effendi?"

"I have
every
confidence in you, my dear. Simon means a great deal to me. Should you accept this proposition, I would be exceedingly pleased. Moreover, I would provide you most generous compensation."

"It is not for the money that I accept," Salime said. "It is for
you
,
Effendi.
You have asked this of me, so how can I refuse?"

He returned a soft smile. "I pray, Salime, that one day you meet a man who will prove himself worthy of such devotion."