Guileless Annalee gave her a compassionate smile, and suddenly, 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 company. 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 remarked.
“What do you mean?” Diana grew instantly wary, given Reggie’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.”
“Is that so?” Diana’s lips curved into a half smile. “Then betwixt Reggie and DeVere, this shall surely prove a diverting excursion.”
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 surrounding 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 fa?ade, initiating a flurry of activity. Several grooms emerged from nowhere to take charge of coach and horses, while an army of footmen materialized 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 presumably 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 appeared 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 observing 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 awareness sweeping over her as he took her in from head to toe in a swift, and by his show of strong white teeth, appreciative appraisal. For a woman who took pride in her self-possession, she was strangely discomposed when he raised her fingers to his lips, his 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 proper, his eyes flickering like a blue flame. Her nipples tightened, contracting against her layers of muslin and silk, sending a tiny tremor rippling over her. Without having uttered a word beyond her name, the portentous weight of an indecent proposition hung between them.
At once shocked and affronted, Diana withdrew her hand, dragged her gaze from his and dipped into a perfect puddle of silk petticoats. “My Lord DeVere.”