The Devil You Know (2 page)

against the certainty of a ducal cornet. DeVere realized she had

found
his
side of the scale wanting when, with no more than an

apologetic shrug, Caroline placed her dainty, white-begloved fin-

gers upon the sleeve of the Duke of Beauclerc. Without even a

final glance back at her erstwhile lover, Caroline and her duke

departed.

Ludovic was incredulous. Although his first inclination was

to wipe the duke’s smug expression from his bloated face, pref-

erably with his fist, he realized the true rage he should have felt

never surfaced. Certainly his pride was injured, but he would

have expected to feel far more upon being so properly jilted.
Right

curious, that.

Chuckling at his dispassionate conclusion, Ludovic took up

Beauclerc’s abandoned drink with an inward smile as another

consoling thought came to mind. The burning question of Caro-

line’s capacity for fidelity no longer plagued him, but he would

soon ensure that it plagued the good duke instead.

***

“Damme,” said Ned a few hours later in Ludovic’s crested

carriage. “I’m stunned. Ludovic Lord DeVere, legendary lover,

cast aside like some old shoe?”

“Lady Caroline and that old fop? I never would have believed

it,” Annalee agreed.”It’s truly beyond comprehension. You were,

by all appearances, the perfect couple.”

“Your naiveté astonishes me,” Ludovic said.

“I must say I regret to see your cynicism prove itself yet

again,” Ned replied.

“Cynicism?” Ludovic laughed. “I am nothing if not a realist,

dear Ned. In all fairness, do you honestly think that in Caroline’s

6

stead, you would not also have grabbed for the golden goose?

Damned if I wouldn’t have!” He smiled, a broad flash of even,

white teeth. “But don’t fear I shall spend any tears over it, ol’

chum, especially when she consoled me in advance with such a

magnificent parting gift.”

“What do you mean?” Annalee asked.

DeVere’s lips twitched. “Dear, sweet, innocent Annalee, I

leave it to your devoted husband to illuminate you.”

Ned scowled. Annalee blushed. “So it’s truly over between

you?” she asked.

“Truly,
it
never was,” DeVere said. “I never even made the

formal proposal and would not have pursued her in the first place

were it not for my damned Pater. Though he didn’t take to the

shackles himself ‘til he’d turned the half century mark. If there’s

aught that I can’t abide, it’s hypocrisy. The bloody devil rebuking

sin is what that is!”

“Surely one can’t blame a man for wanting to ensure the con-

tinuation of his line,” Annalee remarked.

“It’s a damnable obsession,” DeVere said. “He’s bloody well

fixated on his death, though he’s already managed to linger at its

door far longer than is considered civil.”

“You really ought not to speak of your own father in such a

way,” Annalee reproached.

“You might feel differently if ever you met the poxy, old

bas—”

“He’s justifiably distraught, my dear,” Ned interjected with a

gentle hand over his wife’s. “A gentleman needs to blow off steam

in such circumstances as these. Why don’t I take you home?”

She arched a brow. “So you and DeVere can go back out and

get thoroughly foxed?”

“Well, yes,” Ned confessed. “That’s generally how it’s done.”

Annalee gave them both a warning look. “Just promise me no

fisticuffs, Ned.”

“Fisticuffs?” He appeared to be affronted. “Why the devil do

you think I would engage in fisticuffs?”

“I’ve ears on my head. I know how you and DeVere were

used to entertaining yourselves.”

“But that was long before I met you, my sweet.” Ned raised

her hand to his lips.

7

The Devil You Know

She gave a disbelieving huff. “You shan’t bamboozle me,

Neddie. I know leopards do not change their spots.” She looked

to DeVere with a scowl. “I don’t relish the mortification of collect-

ing my husband from the round house come morning. Do you

understand me, my lord?”

DeVere smirked. “Absolutely, my lady.” He added to Ned in

an undertone, “Since I don’t see the ring in your nose, I can only

imagine she’s put one through your ba—”

“Ah! We’ve arrived!” Ned pronounced as the carriage lurched

to a halt. “I’ll escort Annalee inside and return directly.”

Ludovic watched them depart arm-in-arm, musing how three

short years of so-called connubial bliss had nearly emasculated

his best friend. He pulled a flask of brandy from his breast pocket,

up-ending it in a salute to the beneficent guardian angel who had

allowed his own near escape from the same woeful fate.

8

Victoria Vane

Chapter One

Epsom, Surrey, 1779

While her traveling companion softly drowsed, Diana pulled

aside the velvet curtain of the post-chaise, lost more in her own

musings than in study of the landscape which was now greatly

transformed from the hills, escarpments, and broad valleys of

south Yorkshire whence they’d departed to the more gently roll-

ing chalk downlands of Surrey.

The pace in which they’d traveled could only be described as

leisurely, with frequent stops at points of interest and a three-day

shopping spree in London, after which they’d had to acquire an

entire baggage coach. Yet, travel-weary after long days of rough

going on the muddy and ill-repaired roads, Diana was envious

of the gentlemen whose mere gender allowed them the freedom

to gallivant the countryside on horseback. Had it not been for

Annalee, she might well have thrown decorum aside and joined

9

The Devil You Know

them. Her gaze returned to the gently snoring form of her cousin

and dearest friend.

The carriage unexpectedly jolted to a halt. A brisk knock on

the window followed. Diana opened the door just as Sir Edward

Chambers dismounted from his horse and handed the reins to his

groom. Annalee stirred, her soft brown eyes opening wide and

doe-like. “Are we arrived at last?” she asked.

“We are indeed, my love.” Her husband entered the carriage

with a grace and agility remarkable in such a large man. “I trust

the journey has not been too trying?”

Though professing nothing but robust health to her husband,

the prominence of her fragile cheekbones and pale blue shadows

beneath her eyes belied Annalee’s exuberant claims. It was her

sixth pregnancy, and none had gone easy. After a difficult birth

with her daughter Vesta, the physician had warned that she might

never carry another child to term. Yet disconsolate after four mis-

carriages, Annalee was still determined to produce a male heir.

To all outward appearances, Edward and Annalee were the

perfect couple. Part of Diana wanted to believe their happiness a

façade, if only to ameliorate her own discontent, but their affec-

tion and Annalee’s multiple pregnancies were proof enough of

their genuine affection. Diana couldn’t help a deep pang of envy

but consoled herself that at least she’d never had to suffer the an-

guish of a miscarriage or the intense suffering of a stillbirth as

Annalee had. But her own womb ached in its emptiness and her

heart with paroxysms of longing. If there was one word that best

described her entire life, it was surely
unfulfilled.

“Not at all, dearest. I have never travelled with greater ease,”

Annalee replied.

“I am much relieved,” Edward said.

Diana averted her gaze at the overt display of affection as Ed-

ward plied a kiss to Annalee’s hand, his warm gaze resting on

her with a loving concern. “I’m still glad to have arrived at last,”

said Annalee. “I don’t think I could have endured another day

confined to this carriage, although I surely could not have with-

stood it at all without Diana. I am so glad you and Lord Reginald

accepted Lord DeVere’s invitation.”

Diana forced a laugh. “One never has to give Reggie much

encouragement to try a new horse. He accompanied our head

groom a sennight ago with our two best horses, my mare to breed

10

and a stallion to race. Reggie said it would be advantageous to ac-

custom them to the lay of the land.”

Guileless Annalee gave her a compassionate smile, and sud-

denly, Diana realized that they already knew the truth. Reggie

had had no need to accompany the horses to Surrey. Employing

an army of grooms to attend their beloved horses, he had sought a

convenient excuse to avoid the trap of days on end in her compa-

ny. Yet Diana was determined to maintain her sham, the precious

pretense that had become indispensable to her life.

“He was probably wise to have done so,” Edward said. “He’ll

not find worthier competition than amongst DeVere’s racing

stock.”

“It would not hurt Reggie in the least to suffer a set-down,

though I should hate to see our own horse lose. I fear my husband

suffers the hubris of one who remains undefeated for three racing

seasons,” Diana said.

“His pride should be the least of your concerns,” Edward re-

marked.

“What do you mean?” Diana grew instantly wary, given Reg-

gie’s predilection for drink and weakness for gaming.

“I’ve already warned Reginald to take care in any manner of

wager with DeVere. Whether it be cards, dice, or horses, he has

the devil’s own luck.”

Diana’s brows puckered in censure. “You mean the viscount

is a wastrel.”

Annalee gave a subtle nod.

“I would not say so,” Edward argued. “He is my best friend,

after all. No, I would best describe DeVere as a capricious man

with a subversive streak. He won’t be ruled by anyone.”

“You may paint him whatever shade you like, dear Edward,

but if the boot still fits...” Diana gave a disdainful sniff. “And such

men are ruined every day. It’s inconceivable how many live in

such selfish degeneracy to the destruction of their own noble

houses and without the least compunction.”

Ned raised a hand in objection. “Pray disabuse yourself of

that notion, my dear Diana. Though one might deem DeVere’s

behavior self-destructive, I assure you he has not diminished his

family fortune a whit. A true Midas touch has he. In fact, DeVere

is the luckiest ba—” Annalee shot him a warning look. “…devil I

know.”

11

The Devil You Know

“Is that so?” Diana’s lips curved into a half smile. “Then be-

twixt Reggie and DeVere, this shall surely prove a diverting ex-

cursion.”

With that pronouncement, the chaise occupied by its two

ladies and gentleman owner, with their outriders, servants, and

baggage train, passed through the wooded eminence surround-

ing the vast estate to make its grand entrance through the gates of

Woodcote Park.

Laughing and

***

chattering, the small troupe alighted from their

carriage in front of an elegant stone and stucco façade, initiating a

flurry of activity. Several grooms emerged from nowhere to take

charge of coach and horses, while an army of footmen material-

ized to unload their baggage.

Amidst this scene, their host appeared at the top of the white

marble landing, affecting a pose with his quizzing glass, and pre-

sumably assessing the efficiency of his staff. Diana thought he

closely resembled a king surveying his domain. Strikingly garbed

in peacock-blue silk brocade with cascades of Mechlin lace, he ap-

peared in all the sartorial splendor of his lofty station. Her initial

impression of arrogance and hauteur shattered, however, with his

rapid descent down the stairs. He was upon them in an instant,

pulling Edward into a hearty embrace.

“Ned, you dull dog, it’s been too long! And my dear Annalee,

lovely as ever.” He took possession of her hands, but instead of

the expected brush over her fingers, he bussed both of her cheeks

in the continental style. Diana stood in the background observ-

ing the viscount with bemusement. He was
nothing
like she had

expected.

Annalee prompted Diana forward. “My Lord DeVere, may

I present to you my cousin, the Baroness Diana Palmerston-

Wriothesley.”

His gaze of cobalt-blue met hers, and Diana’s smile froze on

her face, an unfamiliar and unsettling frisson of physical aware-

ness sweeping over her as he took her in from head to toe in a

swift, and by his show of strong white teeth,
appreciative
apprais-

al. For a woman who took pride in her self-possession, she was

strangely discomposed when he raised her fingers to his lips, his

12

Victoria Vane

thumb skillfully settling on the bare expanse of skin just above her

glove, setting her pulse skittering.

“Baroness.” The timbre of his voice, the curve of his lips, was

fraught with meaning, sending a jolt of heat to a place low in her

belly. He gave a shallow bow that set his gaze on a horizontal

plane with her breasts and lingered there much longer than prop-