A DEVIL'S TOUCH (The Devil DeVere) Read online

  A DEVIL'S TOUCH

  A Devilish Vignette

  Victoria Vane

  A DEVIL'S TOUCH Copyright ©2012 Victoria Vane

  Edited by Tara Chevrestt

  Cover by Victoria Vane

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real.

  Acknowledgements

  The entire idea for my series of Devilish Vignettes originated from a suggestion from one of my Goodreads friends (and rabid DeVere fans), Karla Parks, who bespoke her desire for a glimpse into Diana and DeVere's married life. Thank you, Karla, for providing the inspiration.

  This story is for you!

  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Excerpt:A WILD NIGHT'S BRIDE

  Excerpt: THE DEVIL YOU KNOW

  Excerpt: THE DEVIL'S MATCH

  Excerpt: DEVIL IN THE MAKING

  Excerpt: THE TROUBLE WITH SIN (coming soon)

  Excerpt: JEWEL OF THE EAST (coming soon)

  THE DEVIL DEVERE SERIES IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER:

  AWARDS & ACCOLADES

  CONTACT

  Are Sun, Moon, or Stars by law forbidden

  To smile where they list, or lend away their light?

  Are birds divorced, or are they chidden

  If they leave their mate, or lie abroad a-night?

  Beasts do no jointures lose

  Though they new lovers choose,

  But we are made worse than those.

  Confined Love by John Donne

  Chapter One

  Medford Abbey, a stately home in Kent - February 10, 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 st
rongly 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."

  "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."