A Devil Named DeVere (The Devil DeVere) (4 page)

"You don't mean to say he married a Turk?"

"Not one, dear Ned, but a half-dozen of them," DeVere corrected.

"The devil you say!" Ned exclaimed.

DeVere laughed. "I assure you 'tis true! He set up his own private seraglio."

"Seraglio?" Annalee turned to her husband. "What is a seraglio?"

Ned flushed. "It is a polygamous arrangement, my love, favored by many in the uncivilized world. Also known as a harem."

DeVere grinned. "Now perhaps you understand why this house is constructed with so many separate living apartments?"

Ned was incredulous. "You can't mean he kept a harem
here?
"

"I can, and he did," DeVere replied. "Though the tale grows more illicit still."

"How is that even possible?" asked Annalee.

"Apparently, even a half-dozen concubines were not enough to satisfy Baltimore's carnal appetite. He ordered the construction of another house in London to better accommodate his adopted lifestyle and then secured the services of a number
of...procuresses to keep him supplied with fresh conquests."

Diana was aghast. "It's illegal and immoral! I've never heard anything so shocking!"

"Because you live in the country." The duchess chuckled. "There is all manner of intrigue in London. It is a most diverting place. But polygamy and private prostitution? Flouting the law on such a grand scale? How deliciously dissolute. I marvel that he got away with it."

"Only for a time, my dear. For our bold Baron Baltimore became obsessed with a young woman he could not procure for any price, a comely Quakeress who reputedly kept a milliner's shop at Tower Hill." He paused in his narrative, his lips curving at his guests' rapt expressions.

"Finally, a bit of virtue enters into this sordid tale," Hew remarked.

"
ˈ
Though virtue and vice divide the world, vice has by far the better shar
eˈ
," quoted DeVere.

"None can argue that," said Ned dryly.

"Well, what happened to the girl?" demanded Annalee.

"He abducted her, of course," DeVere said.

"Impossible!" Edward scoffed. "This is melodrama worthy of the Drury Lane Stage. Surely you have fabricated this entire story just to entertain us."

"I wish I were making it up. But since you doubt me…" DeVere stood and strode from the room, leaving his guests with puzzled frowns. He returned a few minutes later, with a yellowed news journal in hand. He dropped it in front of Ned.

"Why I'll be…hung," his friend murmured at the headline dated March 1768. "So the devil was caught red-handed."

"He was tried for abducting and ravishing one Sarah Woodcock, but acquitted after less than two hours deliberation. It is all there in sordid detail in the
Gentleman's Magazine.
"

"What then happened to the girl?" Annalee asked.

"The jury believed she made no sincere effort to escape her captor. The broadsheets further claimed that while Baltimore was undoubtedly guilty, neither was she truly innocent."

"How horribly unfair for the victim to be painted with the same brush as the perpetrator of the crime!" exclaimed Annalee.

DeVere shrugged. "As I said, it is a man's world."

"I marvel that you have taken such a very keen interest in this Lord Baltimore," Diana remarked.

"I am so easily bored that you might say he has become my hobby," DeVere said. "His life has provided me endless entertainment. I have acquired his diaries and travel journals, and my agent even now seeks to purchase the notorious Bloomsbury House from the Duke of Bolton."

"Why on earth would you desire such a tainted thing?" Diana asked.

DeVere cocked a brow. "Must I have a
reason?
"

"But what happened to him in the end?" Annalee asked. "You said the scoundrel was acquitted. Was he never held to account for his crimes?"

"Can one ever truly escape one's sins?" DeVere asked, waxing philosophic. "No doubt you ladies and my entirely-too-upright brother will be relieved to hear that our hero did come to a bad end. Upon his acquittal, he found himself in dire financial straits. He sold off everything and left England with eight women, a physician, and two Negro servant—presumably eunuchs," he added in a laughing aside. "He travelled thusly for three years until his death in Italy. He was eight and thirty. And so ends our tale of woe."

"What a wasteful life!" Annalee declared.

"Indeed," said Hew. "It only serves to demonstrate how idleness can lead to a man's destruction. Speaking of which, might I remind you that we have a gentleman to rescue from the devil's own abode at Clay Hill?

"The devil's abode? What on earth do you mean?" said Annalee.

Hew's face flushed. "Mayhap I said more than I should have."

"Nevertheless, you must now explain," said Diana. "Is my husband in danger?"

"Only if he has a predilection for hard drinking, deep gaming, and low company," DeVere answered with a smirk.

"Dear God." Diana cast all three men an accusing look. "Why on earth have you waited so long to retrieve him?"

"Because he has already been there three days, madam," said DeVere. "I assure you the damage is already done. Besides, one must make allowance for a gentleman's dignity. To have appeared immediately upon your known arrival to fetch him here would have implied..."

"What?" she demanded.

His lips twitched in obvious amusement. "To put it politely...that he is less than master of his own domain."

Diana's met DeVere's mocking smile with a look of reproach. "And thus, does the devil look after his own."

"It appears our
Colonel is entertaining," Hew remarked. Though the hour was advanced, the scene was much as they had envisioned it would be when they arrived at O'Kelly's mansion. Grooms milled about, horse-drawn vehicles overflowed the courtyard, and every window was ablaze with the glow of candles.

"His house is always full when he comes down for the races," said DeVere. "He and his consort, Mrs. Hayes, are a notoriously cunning pair of adventurers who use such lavish entertainment to gain the confidence of their guests." He lowered his voice. "While Madam Hayes provides the carnal delights of her
filles de joies
straight from her London brothels, our good Colonel, who keeps as deep a cellar as my own, plies his intended dupes with drink. When the time is right, the dice boxes and faro tables appear."

"But I'm confounded how Reginald fell in with them," said Ned with a frown.

"Perhaps I can enlighten you on that score," Hew said. "A few days ago, when I came in from a training run on the downs, I encountered three gentlemen—and I use the term generously—one of whom I recognized as our neighbor, O'Kelly. I gathered from snippets of conversation that the fellows were previously acquainted with one another and had met up quite by happenstance at a tavern in Ewell. While there was some talk of breeding one of the mares to our Snap stallion, the Colonel convinced the chap that he would be better to look at Eclipse instead. I now have no doubt in my mind that O'Kelly accompanied Lord Reginald as a convenient excuse to spy upon his competition."

"They paid me no heed at all, likely presuming I was the stable master, and unaware that one of the three was your expected guest Lord Reginald, I was not inclined to undeceive them. The three shortly departed, presumably to Clay Hill."

"And thus did our good neighbor prime his pigeon for the plucking," remarked DeVere.

"I wish I had spoken of this earlier," said Hew with a frown.

"Don't blame yourself," said Ned. "You are not the man's keeper. And if they were previously acquainted as you say, there is nothing you could have done without insulting O'Kelly."

When the trio rapped at the door, the footman only had to glance at their rich dress before shepherding them straight into
the main reception room, hazy with pipe smoke, redolent of the free-flowing liquor, and resounding with raucous laughter and the rattle of dice boxes.

Ned heaved a great sigh as his gaze skirted the room. "I must say my sympathy is with Diana. All we can do now is serve her best interests by extracting the hapless sheep from the wolf's den."

Ned and Hew circulated the rooms in search of Lord Reginald while DeVere sought out the master of the house. He found his quarry, O'Kelly, presiding over the hazard table. He sketched the shallowest of bows. "A private word with you, sir?"

"By
Jaysus," O'Kelly exclaimed, slapping his thigh. "If isn't his
eminence
the viscount himself paying a call on his lowly neighbor!"

DeVere ignored the sarcasm. "If I have been negligent, sir, I meant no slight. I am only just come down from London and have been much occupied with guests of my own, one of whom appears to have gone astray."

"Astray? An interesting choice of words, your lardship."

DeVere's gaze casually tracked the room."Perhaps we could speak of it in a less public sphere?"

"Why, anything to oblige my
neighbor,
" said O'Kelly with obsequious joviality. "Like any fine jontlemen, I have a study to conduct my business affairs."

"Then pray, let us repair to it."

Nodding to the groom-porter, O'Kelly gave up the dice box and beckoned DeVere to follow. They entered the man's private study. "Perhaps you would care to have a drink with me, Lard DeVere? I'll brook no refusal, you know. What will it be? Brandy? Port? Madeira? I have only the finest in my cellar."

"So I hear," DeVere stroked the Irishman's self-conceit. While impatient to be about his business, he knew he had to handle the adventurer with considerable tact. "A good brandy would not go astray." Lounging in a large, leather chair, he accepted the glass and took an appreciative sip. "Fine brandy, indeed."

O'Kelly nodded and with a grunt settled his considerable bulk into a chair opposite. "You came searching for someone?"

"Just so. And while I ascribe to the philosophy of letting each man go to the devil his own way, I tend to take exception when I must play host to said gentleman's fretful wife."

"Ah! A shrew-wife! It all becomes clear now. No wonder the man sought escape."

"Is he here then? The Baron Palmerston-Wriothesley?"

"Aye, but I fear Lard Reggie has already wearied of my hospitality."

"Wearied, you say? Mayhap it's the exhaustion of his pockets that's to blame?" DeVere remarked with a knowing smile.

O'Kelly returned a conspiratorial look and a great gap-toothed laugh. "It costs a great deal to keep such a great house and fine stables as these."

"Indeed, it does," DeVere agreed. "How much, O'Kelly?" he asked, the smile lingering on his mouth but disappearing from his eyes.

O'Kelly's gaze took on a hard, calculating look. "
That
is a private matter between jontlemen, yer lardship."

"I am sensitive to your honorable discretion in the matter, but the gentleman in question is kinsman to my closest friend. Thus, I only endeavor to save embarrassment to all. Perhaps you might permit me to buy his vowels?"

"A fine and generous offer, but perhaps your lardship might wish to know the
amount
of the debt before making such a pledge?"

DeVere steepled his fingers. "It is so extensive?"

"I fear the jontlemen has no luck at all with the dice. Three thousand guineas lost at Hazard. Had to send to his banker. Some business about a deed as surety on the debt." O'Kelly waved his fleshy hand in a dismissive gesture as if the money meant little. DeVere knew better.

"Then I ask what would you require by way of
incentive
to allow me to buy the paper? Would ten percent suffice?"

"I raise my glass to you, my lard. It's not often I find such like-mindedness in the nobility. I think we can do business for twenty."

"While I am eager to assist my friends, sir, I don't readily accept extortion. Twelve is my final offer."

"Then twelve it is." With a broad smile, O'Kelly spit on his hand and offered it to DeVere.

***

Diana rose from her bed at the clattering sound of carriage wheels and
ironshod hooves on the cobbles below. Drawing aside the velvet drapes of the second story window, she peered down to watch the trio pull Reggie's slumped form out of the carriage. Shouldered between Ned and Hew, they half-carried and half-dragged him into the house. At first she deliberated going downstairs to meet them, but knew any conversation with Reggie in his current state of inebriation would be pointless.

As proof of her wisdom, only moments later, muffled curses and snatches of drunken song assailed her ears through the dressing room separating his and her bedchambers. Relieved that he had at least arrived safely, she shed her wrapper and climbed back into bed. Yet sleep eluded her. Diana lay there wondering morosely if this was all she had to look forward to for the next twenty or thirty years.

As a dutiful daughter, she had wed the groom of her father's choosing, a genial country gentleman with a love of hunting and a strong penchant for claret, a man exactly like her own father. But unlike her mother, Diana had found little satisfaction in ordering her extensive household like a well-run regiment and in filling her days with a frenzy of domestic activity while her husband attended to his hounds, horses…and whores. She could only assume the latter. In the past few years, Reggie's drinking and forays to races and hunting events had increased, while his visits to her bedchamber steadily declined, leaving her to imagine the worst. When he was in drink, Diana had learned to bolt her door, and eventually, he had ceased to molest her altogether.

In recent months, they had rarely crossed paths at all and even then, had barely spoken beyond the polite civilities. Now at
only eight and twenty, Diana was restless in body, withering in spirit, and growing daily more embittered by disillusionment. She pondered how her life might have been different, had she never wed at all and if she might one day find the contentment in widowhood that she had never known in marriage. She further speculated on how soon that day might actually come, a thought that shocked her and filled her with guilt.

Of course, she would never wish any actual harm to Reggie. Yet years ago, she used to lay awake in bed until the wee hours awaiting his stumbling step up the staircase. Now she slept soundly whether he was at home or not. And when she imagined him not coming home at all, the thought no longer disturbed her peace. Try as she might, she could never seem to command any sense of grief or remorse.

She wished things could have been different, but knew the relationship was far beyond hope of repair. She had entered the marriage with quiet optimism that in time, affection, if not love, would develop. But she now questioned whether she still had any capacity for love at all or if her heart had dried up altogether, leaving in its place just a hollow shell.

Unable to sleep, but not desiring to disturb her maid, Diana donned her wrapper. Wondering if a glass of wine and a book
might sooth her restlessness, she lit a candle and softly descended the stairs, thinking to seek both of these in DeVere's library.

***

DeVere gave Ned a wolfish smile. "Repique."

"Blast it all! Ned threw down his hand. "I can never win against you!"

"Far be it for me to discourage you from trying." DeVere laughed.

"Well I shan't try any longer, or I'd be as great an addle-pate as Reggie. You are sure he's ruined?" Ned asked.

"O'Kelly had his vowels to the tune of three thousand," said DeVere.

Ned gave a low whistle. "He is surely finished then. While the estate is well-managed—largely due to Diana's involvement—it is not a vast property. I don't believe they receive more than seven or eight hundred a year income from it. A thousand pounds, tops."

"A bloody fool and his money…" DeVere shrugged.

"But you know the poor devil never stood a chance amongst
that
company."

"Nevertheless, the weakest men doth the greatest fools
make. In truth, I'm amazed such a fine specimen of womanhood married such a buffoon."

"In her defense, Reginald was hardly Diana's choice. He was some distant relation on her father's side, the marriage contrived purely to keep the lands in the family. Reggie's title even came to him by Diana, secured by a private act of parliament. Yet he has proven a sad husband, especially for such a fine woman as Diana."

"Yet she maintains fidelity?" DeVere asked with a feigned nonchalance.

"Don't even think it, my friend." Ned glowered. "She is Annalee's cousin, and I won't see her reputation besmirched."

"Come now, Ned. She is a woman grown, and I am the very soul of discretion."

"Is that why you presently flaunt your mistress before your friends?"

DeVere made an exasperated sound. "I didn't invite Caro. She just took it upon herself to come here, though it's probably my fault for not delivering her congé before I left London."

"You have no intentions in that quarter then?"

"Gad, no!" DeVere scoffed. "Marry the slut? She's little better than Mrs. Hayes' whores, albeit a loftier one. But since she's here, I'll avail myself of Caro...for now."

"Try as you may, you'll not debauch Diana, DeVere. She's a virtuous woman."

The corner of DeVere's lip kicked up. "Damn me if that doesn't sound like a challenge, Ned. Would you care to strike a wager on it?"

"I'm not about to let you seduce her. I'll see you hanged first."

"Who said anything about seduction? I swear to you I won't lay a hand on her...unless of course, she comes to me."

"You think Diana would come to your bed?" Ned threw his head back and laughed. "You're mad! First of all, she would never break her marriage vows. Secondly, she's certainly deduced by now what a whoremonger you are. She wouldn't touch you
with gloves,
my friend."

DeVere felt his interest growing. "Then it's a safe bet, is it not? Make it a gentleman's wager, twenty guineas."

"It's not about the money, and you know it. It's the damned principle of the thing. I refuse to wager on any woman's virtue. It's just not done—not by a gentleman," Ned rebuked.

"Have it your way, then," DeVere said with a blithe shrug. "But know this, Ned, if
by some lucky turn of fortune, I should be offered the bounty of a certain Baroness, you may be certain I will
not
demur."

Suppressing a smile, DeVere considered what the papers secreted in his breast pocket might
truly
be worth.

***

Dressed scantily as she was, Diana hesitated at the door when she heard the low rumble of male voices within. Not in the habit of listening at keyholes, she would have returned to her chamber had not Reggie's name been clearly distinguishable.