Devil's Desire (5 page)

Climbing up to a mossy bank overhanging the stream, she took out the red and white checked cloth - wrapped around her small cache of stolen food, and unfolding it, spreading it out on her lap. Elysia broke off a piece of the bread, put a hunk of cheese on it and took a hungry bite. Elysia added some of the sweet-tasting pink ham, and then nibbled at the fragrant turnover, savoring each mouthful of the fresh fruit filling. The hungry growling of her stomach began to stop as she finished the turnover, and thought to herself that never had any meal
 
tasted so good.

Elysia began to hum a tune beneath her breath, snatches of verse from a long forgotten song coming to, mind. The lines of the old gypsy ballad rang in her ears, capturing her mood as she relaxed back against the slope of the creek, staring down into the crystal effervescence of the water.

I be a-wanderer, a-wanderer,

no
 
ties to keep me still

a silver moon above me head,

 
the ground beneath me back

I be a-wanderer, a-wanderer,

between the valley and hill

fair colleens by the dozen

I've seen, they call me Gypsy Jack.

Elysia sang softly, lingering over the words of the song. Free to wander. Yes she was free. Free to follow whatever path she chose; not a direction of her own choosing, perhaps, but she would make the best of it-now that she had nothing to return to.

She allowed herself a few more minutes of rest then wearily rose and walked along the stream searching for an easy place to cross before heading deeper into the woods. The sun appeared, disappeared, and then reappeared from behind the clouds which had built up gradually throughout the day. A cool wind rose from the north, whipping Elysia's cape around her as she walked under the canopy of branches. By late afternoon she felt that she had gained enough distance to stop for' the night.

The small bit of warmth fled as the sun's feeble rays faded and the shadows lengthened, bringing a cool crispness to the air. Elysia saw a large tree in the fading light and hurried over to it, feeling the ground beneath it soft with a covering of ferns. She sat down and took out her food, eating sparingly, not knowing how much longer she would have to make it last. She didn't believe she had much further to go; sometime during the following morning she should reach the main road.

Elysia pulled out her-warm shawl, and taking off her cloak wrapped the shawl over her shoulders and head, then pulled her cloak back on over it, feeling warm and snug against the cold she knew would soon engulf her with the coming of night. She only hoped that the storm which had been brewing all day would not decide to break in the middle of the night.

She curled up, hugging her knees to her chest, and rested her cheek on her arm. She slept instantly, oblivious to the cold creeping in, or to the sounds of the small forest animals as they foraged for food among the trees.

Elysia awoke to a light drizzle falling from the leaden skies and, shivering from the cold and dampness, struggled to her feet. Her body was stiff and sore from running the day before, and the cold ground during the long hours of the night.

She ate the rest of her food while a weak light spread across the cloudy skies, changing them from black to dark gray, and thunder rumbled threateningly in the distance. She re-packed her bag and began to walk slowly through the trees until she came to her destination; the road cutting through the trees in a straight line toward London. She could see in the distance a crossroads, and hurried toward it as the rain began to fall in cold sheets against her face.

Dear, damned, distracting town, farewell!

    
Thy fools no more I'll tease
 

This year in peace, ye critics dwell,

  
 
Ye harlots, sleep at ease!

                                                        
Pope

Chapter 3

S
unlight streamed through the long window onto the green baize table where the last card had been played, and the victor was collecting his winnings.

"Well, that lets me out. I'm an out-and-out beggar after that hand," one of the younger gentlemen declared, laughing dejectedly, trying not to show his remorse at having lost more than he could comfortably afford. He straightened the soft velvet of his new coat and wondered how he was going to pay for it. Charles hated to ask his father for another advance on his allowance, and besides, he seriously doubted whether that stern gentleman would agree to yet another demand for funds.

"You've had quite a run of luck tonight, Trevegne, but then you always do," Lord Danvers declared loudly, taking a large swig of brandy and downing it in one gulp. "Heard rumors you played with the Devil and I'm beginning to believe it now," he grumbled while making a mental note of his losses.

He leaned back in the small gilt chair as he surveyed the others, his cravat crumpled and askew, his blue brocade vest unbuttoned to allow his ample stomach room to escape and relax as it overhung the tight waist of his breeches. "How about one more hand?" he inquired eagerly, his fever for play overriding his empty pockets.

"I'm more than willing to allow you to win back your losses, gentlemen," Lord Trevegne replied in a bored voice, straightening the lacy cuffs of his sleeve with an experienced flick of his wrist. He glanced slowly at each player in thoughtful silence, a hint of amusement gleaming in his tawny eyes.

The youngest gentleman nervously looked around the table, shifting slightly in his chair, trying to get up enough courage to admit that he was broke. He finally ended up murmuring softly to no one in particular, "Too tired," and relaxed back in his chair with relief at having made so difficult a decision.

"Are you really, dear Charles? Such a pity," Lord Trevegne said sympathetically, a cynical twist on his sensual lips.

Charles Lackton flushed red to his fiery-colored hair, and turned resentful blue eyes on His Lordship's lounging figure, feeling both anger and admiration for the man. He had admired Lord Trevegne for as long as he could remember, the stories of Trevegne's escapades having fired his imagination, until Trevegne had become a legend to him.

Charles was startled out of his thoughts by the shuffle of the cards, the gentlemen having decided on one last hand. He watched in fascination as the cards were dealt swiftly and expertly by Lord Trevegne's long, narrow fingers, the odd, gold ring that he wore on his little finger glowing mystically up into Charles' somewhat bemused periwinkle-blue eyes; eyes as guileless as a child's. He continued to stare at His Lordship's unconcerned expression as he played his hand, apparently uncaring whether he lost or won, even though the stakes made Charles draw in his breath, thankful he was not in on the last hand. This whole game was a little rich for his blood. He had gamed for lesser stakes in most of the clubs, and had only received an invitation for private play at Trevegne's because of his friendship with His Lordship's younger brother Peter. He had thoroughly enjoyed the evening even though his pockets were empty.

The room was now quiet except for the breathing of the two men sitting comfortably in two leather chairs by the fireplace. The fire was cold, the cards spread in careless abandon upon the table, and empty glasses scattered with ashes and cigar butts throughout the room were the only sign of the night's play.
             
.

"You've the luck of the Devil, Alex," the older of the two men stated emphatically, but with good humor. "Sure you haven't made a pact with him? You certainly had Danvers' pockets to let last night, and he's not one to like losing," he chuckled in remembrance of Danvers' red, perspiration-streaked face.

"It just wasn't your evening, George. Next time try to keep that twinkle out of your eye when you think you've got a winning hand," Lord Trevegne laughed as he rose and stretched his long, lean body, running a negligent hand through his raven-black hair.

"I've always thought you were part hawk with those sharp eyes of yours. See a damned sight too much for a mortal man," George complained.

"Don't tell me you've been listening to those stories doing the rounds of St. James? I had thought better of you, George," he inquired casually, pouring two brandies. He handed Lord Denet one as he resettled himself in the large chair.

"I know you're no Lucifer, or devil incarnate, as some seem fond of calling you, your brother among them, but sometimes your luck is uncanny," replied the older man.

"I may have a lucky star, but I prefer to think it's my skill that enables me to win, not Lady Luck. As with most females, she is fickle, and not to be trusted. No thank you. I shall continue to rely on my own devices, rather than to play into the lovely, but quicksilver hands of Lady Luck." He took a sip of . brandy, and smilingly added, "And as for Peter, he's just a young cub following the pack, like young Lackton. He'll soon find his feet. He's just miffed because I won't advance him his allowance. Spend it before I can even get it out of my pocket." He loosened his cravat and settled deeper into the chair.

“I can see that you're tired, Alex, and hinting that I should take my leave, but I've one other subject to discuss first," said Lord Denet, getting to his feet, and planting them firmly, as if in preparation for an attack upon his person.

"I was not hinting that you should take your leave. Why, George, how could I allow you to think me so lax a host as to show my guest the door? Even though it is rather late—or early—whichever you prefer. I was merely attempting to make myself more comfortable." He smiled up at his old friend.

"Well, no offense taken, but I'll say my piece and then leave. I'll say no more upon the matter, this I promise, but—" He hesitated, reluctant now that he had his host's attention.

"Do continue, George, this is beginning to interest me. I gather that you've some advice to impart to me?" Lord Trevegne asked helpfully in a quiet voice.

Lord Denet had known. Alexander Trevegne since he had been in short pants, and knew that the quiet, languid voice was deceiving to those who were not aware that it masked a will of iron and a fierce temper. Lord Trevegne's quiet tones were soft and ominous, and more deadly than a man who raged like a bull. Alex, when angered, struck quickly and quietly. He had seen Alex cut a man to pieces with his sharp sarcastic tongue, reducing him to a quivering animal ready to turn tail and run. Few men cared or dared—to cross words, or weapons with Lord Trevegne, the Marquis of St. Fleur. He was a deadly shot with pistols, and even deadlier at reducing some annoying acquaintance into looking the fool with his notorious set downs and snubs.

George mentally gathered up his courage and plunged straight on. "I think you ought to consider' marrying, Alex. I only say this because I feel that I owe, it to your dead parents, who, as you know, were close friends of mine."

Lord Trevegne gave a harsh laugh. "You're a fine one to be lecturing me, George. You happen to be a bachelor still, or are you planning on joining your friends in wedded bliss?"

"That's not the point, and anyway, I have four brothers who are quite capable of keeping the nurseries full, and I'm too old now to set up housekeeping with one woman." He frowned as if the thought were too painful to contemplate. "But I have acted responsibly and discreetly with my liaisons, which I might add, you have not. In fact, I believe you purposely enjoy causing gossip. You aren't satisfied with one ladybird. No, you have to have half a dozen fighting for your favors; flaunting your presents in every gaming hall from London to Paris. But even that doesn't satisfy you, for then you entertain certain Ladies of Quality whom you treat as casually as your other paramours. There are rumors, after this last affair of yours with Lady Mariana, of kicking you out of Almack's, Now you can't allow that!" George expostulated heatedly.

"I don't give a damn about those clucking hens at Almack's," Lord Trevegne spoke in disgust.

"And how about Peter? What kind of an example are you setting for him?"

"You know, George, if you weren't such an old friend I'd call you out for the liberties you have taken this morn. No one has ever dared to speak to me thusly." His voice had hardened with his meaning, the golden eyes darkened.

"I'm only doing what I consider to be my duty."

George said a trifle too heartily, then cast a look of speculation on the Marquis as he added, "And maybe it is about time that someone began to talk back to you. Do you a bit of good to be given a dressing down."

The Marquis laughed in genuine amusement "You think so, George? I've yet to meet the man."

"Maybe it won't be a man . . ." George hinted obliquely. "Maybe you'll meet your match in a feminine devil in skirts, who'll humble you with a look from provocative eyes that only have disdain in them for you. And if you aren't careful you'll lose her—the only time in your life when you'll desire something that you won't be able to buy
 
or win," George concluded, turning red as he gave Lord Trevegne an embarrassed look, surprised by his own vehemence.

"Well, well, I had no idea that you had turned into a crystal-gazer, George. So, you believe I shall meet a paragon—no," Lord Trevegne paused, a sneer on his lips, "a she-devil if she's to be my mate—who will give me a royal setdown." He laughed again, his black head thrown back. “I hope I've not long to wait for this confrontation. If what you predict is true, then I shall look forward to it with anticipation. It promises to be a fiery affair—be sure to keep a safe distance, George, or the sparks that fly will no doubt set you alight."

George guffawed loudly, unable to repress the smile that hovered upon his lips as he threw up his hands in defeat. "You're a devil, Alex. You mock everything—nothing is sacred to you. But listen, if you were married and settled down, then people would be appeased. A wife will add respectability to even the most roguish of blackguards."
          
-

"If I ever get married, it certainly won't be to satisfy a bunch of snoopy busybodies, sticking their pointed noses into others' affairs," Lord Trevegne answered, a twisted smile on his lips as he continued in mock offense, "and to think you hold me in such low esteem—a roguish blackguard, indeed! Would you have me do penance in sackcloth and ashes, prostrating myself on a marriage bed in atonement for my plunge into dissipation?"

"Certainly not!" George disclaimed, shaken. "I certainly do not hold you in low esteem, Alex. Why, you're a gentleman of the highest order. Your name is certainly not to be held in derision by anyone—in fact I have never heard a slur cast upon the name of Trevegne. There is no one more honorable than you, Alex, but—well, you have a damnable reputation for being a libertine; for seeking your amusements to the exclusion of all else. Not that there is anything wrong in that—but must you always succeed? It's the envy and jealousy of other, less fortunate roués who have been grumbling about your extraordinary successes that have set Almack's to talking."
 

"I cannot control what others will say, nor can I let gossip rule my life. My God, I'd have to sit home with a prayer book if I did."

"Well if you won't consider marriage, then at least try to be less conspicuous about Haunting your mistresses, especially when they're Quality. Everyone knew about Lady Mariana, even when you threw her over. I must say, I did rather think she might manage to become your Marchioness. Had me worried, that. Never been one of my favorites, the Lady Mariana. Granted she's a beauty, but too damned uppity for my likes. Hear she's after higher stakes, now. The Duke of Linville. Won't be getting much in His Grace, I can tell you. Laughing Lin ain't got much to recommend him except his title and well-lined pockets. Never did meet a more obnoxious character; even if he is a Duke. Knew him as a boy, disliked him then, dislike him now. Got the damndest laugh I ever heard," Lord Denet said disgustedly. "You were too young of course, but—"

"Enough reminiscences, George, please," Lord Trevegne pleaded, holding up his hands placatingly. "I think I have made my .position on marriage quite clear, and to set your over-active imagination at rest, I will tell you that I never entertained the thought of marrying Lady Mariana, beautiful as she is, but then she didn't expect marriage either, I've never dallied with young innocents who would misunderstand my intentions—or lack of them, nor do I deceive any woman into thinking that I have intended more than just a casual liaison." Lord Trevegne's voice hardened as he continued coldly, "And only occasionally will some lady try to extend what had been an enjoyable affair into something more permanent. But it's never worked." The Marquis took a swallow of brandy, and glancing at the silent George added with cynical amusement, "I hope that allays any doubts you have harbored concerning my welfare, and by the way, I shall be leaving London shortly." He covered a yawn with his hand gracefully.

"Leaving London!” George exclaimed as if leaving London was something unheard of. "But, I don't understand? Leaving London?"