The Devil's Match (7 page)

“Why? Because he saved my life and at some
expense to his own,” the exotic woman replied.

“How?” Diana demanded.

“You wish to know all? Then I will tell
you,
Khanum.
I said I was
cast from the Harem; I was drugged and cut by an unknown rival,
taken far across the city away from Topkapi Palace, and left in the
street. I had no money and no way to find my way back even if they
would have taken me back in. Worse, I had no protection. I was
discovered by a slave trader who raped me before taking me to a
brothel to sell me into prostitution.
Efendi
saw me there.”

“Efendi?
”

“Lord DeVere. He had seen me dance at
Topkapi. He arranged to buy me instead. This was no small
thing,
Khanum.
”

“To buy a slave? I daresay he could afford a
thousand of them.”

“You do not understand. In my country infidels
may not buy slaves. There is a severe penalty. Only those of my
faith may do so.”

“Then how did this come about?” Diana asked.

“Efendi,
my lord,
had to profess the true faith and sacrifice his own flesh to the
knife.”

“I don’t follow your meaning,” Diana said.

“He had to convert to Islam and be
purified by circumcision,
Khanum,
” Salime explained.

Diana’s mouth formed a silent O. She studied
Salime for a long, incredulous moment and then scoffed. “He bought
you for his own selfish pleasure.”

“He did not! He bought me and then freed me out
of nothing more than pity. You cannot tell me my lord has no
feeling, no integrity. It is a lie.”

“But are you not a woman of pleasure,
Salime?”

“Yes,” she said proudly. “But it is
now
my choice
to be
so.”

“But why?” Diana asked. “Why would any
woman
choose
such a
thing?”

“I was already ruined and had no dowry to wed.
Thus, I could only hope to make my living by dancing or by
prostitution. Scarred as I am, I would have been among the lowest
of the low in my country. Here I can remain partially veiled and am
considered an exotic flower to command a premium price. I have much
money saved. I shall not work long. Maybe one more year, and then I
retire a wealthy woman. Perhaps I open my own house, or mayhap I
shall go to France or Italy. I have freedom that I never knew in my
country.”

“Are you not his mistress?” Diana asked.

“Not in any sense you would
understand,
Khanum.
I massage
him. I dance for him. He allows me to serve him this way because I
desire to do so, but he does not demand from me. He does not take.
He has never spent his seed inside my body. It is only you he
wants, and so I will do all in my power to ensure that you will
please him well.”

“This has been a most enlightening conversation,
but I fear once more that you are misled. I have no interest in
Lord DeVere—to be his mistress, his odalisque, or anything
else.”

Salime exhaled an exasperated sound. “What
woman would not wish such a man? It is not you, but
he
who would soon be enslaved, heart
and soul—prostrate at your feet! You are a fool to refuse what I
freely offer,
Khanum
, so I
waste no more of my precious time. Should you, however, come to
your senses, I may be found at King’s Place. But do not wait too
long, for perhaps my services will then not be so
cheap.”

Salime rose with jangling bracelets and
tinkling bells and departed without another word, her giant eunuch
trailing, and her words echoing long after her.
He is also a fool to care for one who does not even know
him... It is he who would soon be enslaved, heart and
soul—prostrate at your feet.

Chapter Seven

Thornhill Park, South Yorkshire, two weeks
later

Be-gowned in apricot silk moiré trimmed with
peach bows and blonde lace, Lady Vesta Chambers descended the
stairs on her father’s arm. The color combination of her dress was
both striking and innocent, complimenting her flawless complexion
and enhancing the natural blush in Vesta’s cheeks. With her
mahogany ringlets elegantly coifed atop her head, appearing as
regal as a queen surveying her domain, Vesta paused to gaze upon
the crowd of well-wishers that packed the ballroom. Her countenance
luminous with happiness, Diana thought she had never appeared more
lovely and radiant.

Although always considered uncommonly handsome,
Diana knew she paled in comparison to the younger woman. This night
was a stark reminder of the ephemeral quality of youth, and that
her own had been wasted. At two-and-thirty, the first blush was
long off the rose, and her reflection had begun to show faint lines
worn by unhappy years. Although delighted for Vesta, who would soon
begin a new life as Captain Hewett DeVere’s wife, Diana wondered
dismally what her own future would hold.

“What a beautiful bride she makes,” Lady Phoebe
Chambers gushed, appearing at Diana’s side.

“She looks so much like her mother,” Diana
remarked with a hint of sadness.

“Annalee was your cousin, was she not?” Phoebe
asked.

“Yes,” Diana replied. “But we were much more
like sisters.”

“I can imagine how difficult all of this must be
for you,” Phoebe said. “My marriage to Ned, Vesta’s engagement to
Hew; the suddenness of it must have been quite a shock, but I never
intended to come between any of you, you know. Ned is very hurt
that our marriage may have alienated you.”

Diana studied the woman she had once believed
her nemesis. She had, indeed, despised Phoebe, casting all
culpability on the pert and pretty former actress for disrupting
her neatly ordered life, but she realized now how selfish and
self-absorbed she had been to do so. Ned had grieved the loss of
Annalee for over three years. Eschewing all pleasurable pursuits,
he had dedicated the last few years to managing his estate and
raising his daughter, but now Vesta was grown, and Ned, of all
people, deserved to be happy again. Besides, upon further
acquaintance, Phoebe had shown herself to be a lady of good
breeding and not the stage strumpet Diana had in her prejudice
supposed her to be.

“Please, my lady,” Phoebe said, “I would never
presume to replace Annalee in anyone’s affections, but if we could
only be friends, it would mean so very much to Ned...and to me.”
Phoebe regarded her with earnest blue eyes that could not hide her
wistfulness. Softening, Diana vowed in that moment to be more
civil.

“Please accept my apologies for my reserve, Lady
Chambers—”

“Just Phoebe,” the other woman insisted.

“Phoebe. You are right. There have been many
abrupt changes, and I have blamed you unfairly, but I suppose life
must go on.”

They both turned their attention to the bottom
of the grand staircase, where with a rapt expression, Captain
Hewett received his bride-to-be. A footman offered champagne to
all, and Phoebe accepted two glasses. “To new beginnings?” she
prompted, handing one to Diana. Diana inclined her head with a
smile.

“What a lovely engagement party, Papa!” Vesta
declared in a voice breathy with excitement as she, Hew, and Edward
joined the two women. “Look, Hew!” Vesta pointed to the string
quartet. “The musicians are preparing to play. We must form up for
the dancing soon.” Her excited gaze darted about the room. “But
where is Uncle Vic?”

“I have yet to see him,” Hew replied with a
frown. “He was supposed to have arrived two days ago with some
horses he intended to race at Doncaster, but I haven’t heard from
him. I sent Pratt to locate him hours ago.”

Vesta’s joyful countenance crumpled.

“Don’t take it to heart,” Edward said. “DeVere
has a strong aversion to all things matrimonial.”

“But he would never miss our engagement party!
Would he?” Vesta asked.

Ned shrugged, but Hew’s expression hardened. “I
know he despises all the social niceties, but he will surely live
to regret it, my love, if he does not show.”

“But he must! He is the best man and the
highest-ranking guest. The rules of precedence dictate that he
begins the dancing.”

“Dancing? My brother?” Hew laughed. “I fear you
may expect too much, Vesta. I can’t recall the last time Ludovic
graced a dance floor. Can you, Sir Edward?”

“I believe it may have been at my own wedding to
Annalee. Caroline Capheaton somehow managed to coerce him.”

“Caroline? The duchess?” Diana asked. “One
need not stretch the imagination to guess what inducement
she
must have used.”

Edward’s brows shot up, and Diana wished she had
held her tongue.

Vesta’s gaze narrowed. “Well, he
will
do it for me, Hew. I swear he
will. I will not let anything spoil the happiest night of my life.”
She shot him a sidelong glance, adding with a coquettish smile,
“Well, maybe the second happiest night.”

Edward glowered, and Hew colored magenta.
“Perhaps you could delay the orchestra for a bit while I try to
locate my errant brother?” Hew suggested to his soon-to-be
father-in-law.

He turned on his heel to do precisely that when
Vesta laid a staying hand on his arm. “Wait, Hew. There he is.”

All eyes turned to the door where DeVere paused,
doffed his hat to bride and groom, and made a sweeping bow. He
continued toward them, sporting a glazed look and a somewhat
unsteady gait.

“What the devil!” Hew exclaimed. “Is he
drunk?”

“By all appearances...” Edward shrugged. “I
suppose it was to be expected. He told me he strongly preferred a
quiet civil ceremony, rather than all the hullabaloo. At least he
deigned to make an appearance.”

“Perhaps I’d rather he hadn’t. My apologies,
dearest,” Hew said to Vesta. “Do you wish me to ask him to
leave?”

“Lackaday, Hew!” Vesta exclaimed. “He is your
brother!”

“Still, I won’t have him embarrass you.” Hew
looked to Sir Edward.

“I am long accustomed to DeVere’s caprice. He
may do as he wishes...as long as he remains clothed.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Diana
asked.

“The night Annalee and I were engaged, he took a
naked dip in the ornamental fountain. Luckily, the rose petals
concealed...you know.”

Diana was aghast. “Has he no sense of
propriety?”

“None,” Hew answered. “A word of warning, Diana,
the less made of it, the better. Should you dare criticize, he will
only delight in flouting you all the more.”

“Dear brother. Dear sister.” Bride and groom
regarded him with uncertainty as DeVere embraced each with a kiss
on the cheek. Diana was assailed with the pungent smell of brandy
even from where she stood behind them. She also noted with distaste
that he was rumpled, unshaven, his velvet coat was covered with
dust, and mud clung to the soles of his normally glossy black
boots. “Why the long faces?” he asked.

Hew gave him a scathing look. “What did you do?
Come straight from the races?”

“It was either that or ne’er at all.” DeVere
filched a glass of champagne from a passing footman. He raised it
in a silent salute and then downed the contents in one draught.
“Music!” he cried. “Let the festivities begin.” He commanded the
orchestra with an imperious wave of his hand. He turned back to Hew
and patted his coat pocket with a sloppy smile. “I was obliged to
stay until the last race, but at least I am arrived plump enough in
the purse to open the Faro bank.”

“The Faro bank?” Vesta’s gaze flitted from
DeVere to Hew with dismay. “But you can’t do it, Uncle Vic! It
would ruin the party if you commence gaming, for there will not be
a single gentleman left for the dancing. Besides, you must be the
first to commence.”

Ludovic turned to the tiny termagant with
an intimidating arch of his brow. “You expect
me
to
dance
?”

“Indeed, you must,” Vesta insisted. “By
tradition, the highest-ranking couple always opens the dancing with
a minuet, and you are a viscount, after all.”

“A
minuet
?” he said. “Bloody hell. It only gets
worse. Do you really think to have me tripping about the dance
floor like some Frenchified fop in front of a hundred
people?”

Vesta’s face crumpled. Tears misted her
eyes. Her lower lip quivered. “Please, Uncle Vic,” she implored
prettily. “It’s your only brother’s engagement party, and it’s
tradition for the highest-ranking gentleman to lead out the
highest-ranking lady. If you do not do so, then
who
will accompany Aunt Di?”

***

Ludovic noted the glimmer in her eye and
the sly quirk of Vesta’s lips. The scheming little baggage was once
more up to something.
Very well then, I’ll
play along.

“Me?” Diana queried. “Vesta, I have no
intention of dancing with
anyone.
”

She couldn’t have made it more clear
who
anyone
was, yet Ludovic
noted with satisfaction how she avoided his gaze. “But, my dear
Lady Palmerston-Wriothesley, we wouldn’t wish to defy tradition,
would we? What would people say?” he mocked.

“You are wearing
boots,
” she replied with contempt. “A gentlemen
does
not
dance in
boots.”

He glanced down at his feet with a feigned look
of surprise. “Ah, so I am. Yet fabricated of the supplest calfskin
by George Hoby’s own hands.” He extended a leg in admiration and
then experimentally flexed and rotated his ankle.