A Devil's Touch (7 page)

"My lord! You must come!"

At the maid's cry Ludovic lurched unsteadily to his feet. "Is it Diana?" he blurted.

Before the hapless girl could answer, he bolted past her to rush up the staircase where he froze in the doorway, his focus glued to the pale face and limp form lying in the bed. His vision blurred. The room began to spin until a piercing cry shattered his stunned state of consciousness.

"It's not what you think, my lord," Mrs. Abbott spoke up. "She only sleeps. She fainted away on the last push, but 'twas a good one," she added on a chuckle. "She had a difficult time, but all is well, my lord."

"Thank God!" He exhaled a prayer and for the first time noticed the bundle in the midwife's arms. He peered closer and felt his chest seized anew at the shriveled blue-tinged face. "Is it…is it deformed?" he asked with a feeling of dread.

Mrs. Abbott burst into laughter. "Nay, my lord! 'Tis quite a handsome young lad ye've sired."

He came closer to examine the tiny creature's features,, only to have them contort and let out a blood--curdling screech.

"My God! What's wrong with it?" he demanded.

Mrs. Abbot chortled. "'Tis naught a nice, plump teat won't fix."

"My son is hungry? Where's the bloody wet nurse?”

"Give him to me," a familiar voice whispered. Ludovic spun around to find Diana reaching out her arms. "I will not have my child at another woman's breast."

"But, my lady," Mrs. Abbott protested, "you are much weakened and need to rest."

"We will rest together
after
I have fed my child."

Still, the woman hesitated.

"You heard her!" Ludovic glowered.

The midwife advance to Diana but she held up a staying hand. "No," she said. "I want you to bring him to me, Ludovic."

"Me?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yes. You. Don't you want to hold your son?"

"But of course I do, my dear, but can't we work up to this by degrees?" He recoiled in horror when the midwife held out the fussing child.

"Coward."

He shook his head in disbelief. "The devil you say!"

"I do say. Ludovic Henri Montford DeVere,
you
are a spineless coward."

He felt himself puff up in affront. "Very well then. Give me the child." He added for the midwife with an undertone of panic, "But please let us do so closer to the bed." His entire body trembled, overcome with awe when he accepted the now firmly swaddled infant.

"May I see him now?" Diana asked.

"Please." He handed the babe off as briskly as he dared, watching in pure amazement as Diana silenced the cries with her breast. "He's a greedy one, like his father." She grinned.

He perched on the bed beside mother and child while the maids and midwife went about cleaning up the much soiled chamber. "Please," he addressed the servants, "will you give us a moment alone?"

"Aye, my lord," said Mrs. Abbott.

"Of course, my lord," Sally echoed, adding, "What a lovely Valentine's gift my lady has given ye."

"Valentine's gift?" he repeated.

"Aye." Sally grinned. "It be the fourteenth now, my lord. Sweetheart's Day."

"Is that so? Then I would be a most shabby creature had I not also a gift for
my
sweetheart." He disappeared into his dressing room and re-emerged a moment later with an elongated velvet-covered box.

"Open it for me?" Diana asked.

Ludovic flipped open the box and his wife gasped at her first vision of the fifty-carat heart-shaped Burmese ruby pendant, encircled by as many carats in diamonds. "I thought of you the moment I saw it, Diana."

"My God!" she exclaimed. "This must be worth a king's ransom!"

"Closer to a royal duke's ransom." He grinned.

"Whatever the cost, it's priceless to me," she said, her eyes gleaming. She then glanced down at her sleeping son. "It appears he has already exhausted himself."

"Let us hope, for his future wife, that his stamina for that activity improves with age."

"You are incorrigible!"

"Is that a complaint?"

"Never." She paused with a frown. "Although I wouldn't mind if we waited a few weeks… at the least."

Ludovic sighed. "Ford warned me. He said you might never let me touch you again after this ordeal."

"And have you seek your comfort elsewhere? I think not!"

Noticing her gaze drifting back to half mast, he quietly rose quietly, but then they snapped open again. "Darling, what will we call him?"

"Whatever you like, Diana. Just not Ludovic. I despise the name."

Her face fell. "But he is your heir."

"And may have his pick of any other name."

"Valentine."

"Gad, no!" He groaned. "You can't mean it!"

"You said
any other name
." Her gaze narrowed. "I take you at your word."

"But, Diana, consider the taunting—"

"Very well then. Ludovic Valentine Montford DeVere. That's my final decision."

He heaved a sigh and raised his hands in surrender. "Pray let us shorten it to Val then. Val DeVere isn't quite so horrific."

His heart squeezed in his chest when Diana smiled a besotted smile at her babe in arms, murmuring, "Val DeVere… the devil's heir."

End

Excerpt:
A WILD NIGHT'S BRIDE

St. James, Westminster – 1783

"Ned, you must wake up." The frantic whisper and tickle of silky hair pleasantly penetrated the periphery of Sir Edward Chambers' drink-induced, sexually sated and fog-enshrouded consciousness. "Come Neddie," the soft voice implored. "You must wake or, there will be the devil to pay."

He groaned, rolling onto his side to the simultaneous awareness of a pounding head and the soft, warm presence beside him. He groped blindly, defining a shapely feminine backside that tauntingly wriggled against his groin, stirring quite another part of him to a wakeful and throbbing state. With a moan, he nuzzled her neck while his burgeoning erection sought the warmth betwixt her thighs. "Annalee, my sweet Annalee," he murmured into her hair.

The warm, welcoming body became cold stone. "Phoebe," the voice intoned.

Ned's bleary eyes popped open, his attention immediately riveted to the massive bed, the heavy velvet curtains of rich crimson and gold, and the towering hand-carved posts of mahogany. He jerked upright as if doused with ice water, his gaze settling on the voluptuous blue-eyed blonde lying amidst the tangle of luxurious linens. "Kitty?"

 "No.
Phoebe
," she answered. "My name. It's Pheo-be."

"Phoebe?" He frowned in puzzlement. His vision darted from his thoroughly tumbled bedfellow to the opulent room. He frantically scrubbed his face and looked wildly about the room, eager to light upon something,
anything
, to assure himself he wasn't going mad. The vision of his surroundings sent him scrambling to his knees, entangling him in the bed sheets, and tumbling him to the floor. Lying stunned on the thick Turkish carpet, his confused conscience absorbed the soaring twenty-foot shadow-boxed ceiling depicting classical heroes.

"Kitty, Phoebe, or whoever-the-devil-you-are," he hissed through his teeth, "This isn't Carleton House, is it?"

"No," she answered.

His heart beating apace, Ned willed himself first to breathe and then to modulate a tone verging on panic. "I was with DeVere last night.
Where
is DeVere?"     

"DeVere is locked safely in the linen closet." She hugged her breasts, her expression suddenly wary. "Don't you remember anything?"

He vigorously shook his pounding head only to bring forth a chaotic kaleidoscope of last night's events, and the impossible truth persisted to push its way to the surface.

His eyes glued to the bed, Ned made a mechanical backward retreat to the center of the room where he had a clearer prospect of its crowning glory. His vision rose to the top of the headboard, to the heraldic shield seated betwixt the carved figures of a lion and a unicorn. His gaze slid with dread to the engraved scroll beneath. ‘
Dieu Et Mon Driot,'
God and my right, the motto of the king. His chest seized. The room began to spin. He looked to Phoebe, aware that the blood was draining from his face, and that his voice emerged as a strangled sound. "May the same God save me…for I'm going to be hung, drawn, and quartered for spending last night rutting in the King of England's bed!"

Excerpt:
THE VIRGIN HUNTRESS

London's Hyde Park- 1783

While Vesta tried her best to keep her mare in step with Hew and Diana, she had to keep circling her horse that jigged and frothed with nervous energy. Laughing and chatting about some race Hew once rode with Diana's horse, they seemed to hardly take any heed of Vesta at all. How dare Aunt Di monopolize him like this!

            "Are you aright wi' the mare, miss?" Pratt asked her with solicitude not forthcoming from any
other
quarter.

            "I am fine, Mr. Pratt. It's just that she has been deprived of her normal gallop since leaving Yorkshire over a sennight ago. She is accustomed to frequent and vigorous exercise and can be a handful when denied."

            Although she could handle her mare just fine, she wondered how they all would feel if some horrible accident befell her. Vesta continued to fume. They would both be sorry then!

That was it!
Vesta couldn't believe the answer was right before her eyes. It only wanted the proper timing and a distraction for Pratt. Determined to put her plan into action, Vesta held back, letting the others ride further ahead. When Pratt's head was turned, she saw her chance.

Whispering a prayer of supplication to her Mama, her ever-diligent guardian angel, Vesta plucked out her hat pin and tossed the riding cap to the ground. "Oh dear, Mr. Pratt," she exclaimed. "I've lost my favorite hat!"

            "Ne'er fret, my lady," the elder jockey said, dropping to the ground with surprising agility. In that precious desperate moment when his back was turned, Vesta dropped her reins and spurred her mare.        Artemis, who never needed strong incentive to begin with, took off down Rotten Row like a bolt of dappled grey lightning. Vesta hung over her mare's neck clutching the mane as if fearing for her very life but all the while whispering sweet endearments to her most cooperative conspirator. She knew it would be a mistake to look back. Instead, she urged and cooed and waited for the sound of thunder, for her knight in that lovely crimson crested helmet to come to her rescue and prayed fervently that her savior would not be the grizzled little Pratt.

            When she saw Captain Hew's big bay stallion gaining on the right, Vesta once more thanked her watchful Mama. Knowing he would try to grab the bridle to bring her horse to a halt, Vesta nudged the mare, urging more speed, with the cue of her left heel concealed by her voluminous and billowing petticoats. Her hair had fallen in a wind- whipped tangle about her face and neck; she felt the flush in her cheeks and her blood roaring with excitement. It was the most gloriously wild ride she'd ever had, and it was all she could do not to laugh aloud!

            "Can you reach the reins," Captain Hew cried, coming upon her.

            "No. I'm afraid!" Vesta whimpered.

            They approached the entrance to Kensington Gardens with its myriad hedgerows. "Hell and the devil!" he exclaimed, surging forth, but still unable to claim the bridle. "Trust me Vesta," he demanded. "Let go of the horse!"

            Trust him?
He was a god among mortals. She would trust him if he said she could fly!

And that's exactly what she felt when he swept her off her horse and onto his own. Throwing her arms about him, Vesta burrowed into his neck and simply breathed in the heavenly essence of Captain Hewett DeVere.

Excerpt:
THE DEVIL YOU KNOW

Epsom, Surrey - 1779

He was sprawled on his back, arms outstretched in the confident repose of a king or some other invincible being. A sheet draped up over a thigh and half his torso left the other half of him bare to her ravenous gaze. She devoured the vision of lean and sculpted muscled that closely resembled a god manifested in all his masculine splendor.

            "'Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best, Not to dream all my dream, let's act the rest.' You are called forth from my dream," he whispered. "I knew you would come."

            She stepped back with a gasp. "But how could you know that?"

            "Because this is ineludible, you and I. You can't escape it." He reached out a hand, his voice husky with desire. "Come to me now, my magnificent Huntress."

             The words were an irresistible magnetic lure that drew her to him. She licked her lips, the wicked promise of unknown delights filling her with a sharp-edge hunger. Untying the sash at her waist, the silk wrapper slithered from her shoulders to pool softly at her feet.

            His pupils flared beneath his sleep-heavy lids as she stood before him, unabashed in her nakedness. She let him look his fill, his lazy inspection sending mixed anticipation and trepidation washing over her in tiny waves. He peeled back the sheet and sat up, her gaze riveting at once to the blatant proof of his arousal.        

            He drew her into his arms and the game began, a hungry breath- stealing match of capture and release that heated her blood and sent blazing jolts to her belly. Their mouths meeting and melding, his tongue darting over her lips, his teeth grazing them lightly, pulling on the lower, urging her to open. Their tongues met in a simulated lovers' dance that became an explosion of sublime sensation, sending a hot pool of moisture between her thighs.

            He cupped her breast, teasing her nipple with his thumb. His mouth broke away from hers to ply hot open kisses to her throat that left her gasping. Of their own volition, her hands engaged in a tactile exploration of his body, reveling in the erotic abrasiveness of his coarse hair against her own smooth skin. She roamed his hard chest, the rigid plain of his stomach, the powerful thigh muscles that now encased her hips, pulling her closer, tighter, and anchoring her against him until she could feel the hot pulse of his jutting manhood against her most private place.