“Were you anyone else, I would not even dignify that with an answer.” His temper flared white-hot, but by holding himself in tight check, he managed to respond. “Did I have motive to kill him? Perhaps. Did I have desire to do so? Undoubtedly, on several occasions. I only needed to look upon him to feel the urge. But were I to kill a man, Diana, it would never be in a clandestine manner. I would look him in the eye as the last breath left his body, and he would know it was me who pulled the trigger or impaled him upon my sword.”
“But what of your own father?” she asked.
“My father is both alive and well cared for, and that is all you or anyone else need know,” he said, nearly gnashing his teeth.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that the duchess…”
“Caroline is a meddlesome bitch!”
“Thank you for answering,” she said. “It was impertinent on my part.” With quiet dignity, Diana departed from his study and from his life without looking back.
After the door clicked softly behind her, Ludovic smashed his fist on the desk, clearing it of all its contents, splattering ink pots and scattering papers in an enraged swipe. For two brief nights, he had known solace, the peace his soul desperately sought, and now it was gone. Gone with her. “Bloody hell! Goddamn bloody hell!”
And the sooner he too departed from this accursed place, the better. He poured a drink and downed it in one angry draught before calling for his horse.
***
Diana’s departure from Woodcote Park was much as she recalled her arrival less than a sennight ago with she and Annalee sharing the coach and Sir Edward mounted with the outriders. She once more gazed sightlessly out the windows, lost in melancholy reflection.
“I thought DeVere’s departure was rather abrupt,” Annalee said. “But I suppose nothing he does should surprise me by now. He is an abominably capricious man.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” said Diana with a sharp pang, wishing to talk about anything but DeVere.
“Did you not? Do you know he has ordered the entire house to be closed up?”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. The servants were amazed, given that he had only recently taken up residence. But they had little to grouse over as he provided them all with a generous severance.”
“He must mean to reside in London, then.” Diana hoped her terse answer would end the discussion. She was so very tired of all the pretense and polite conversation when she only wanted to be alone to weep.
“No, indeed!” Annalee said. “He has now taken it into his head to travel! Do you recall the ignoble Baron Baltimore he spoke of at dinner the first night? Well, DeVere seems to have the queerest obsession with the man. He has taken a notion to follow Lord Baltimore’s travels to Italy and Constantinople.”
“He does what?” Diana was aghast.
“He said he may be gone for years! But who knows what could befall him in the hands of those Turkish heathens. Can you even imagine such a thing? Hew was beside himself about it until he learned his brother finally agreed to buy his commission. He’ll soon be joining the Dragoons.”
Though Annalee continued her prattle, Diana heard nothing more. He had had shown her passion, awakening emotions she had previously locked away deep inside. For two blessed nights, she had abandoned herself to him completely, and just as suddenly, it was over. He was gone from her life. Just like that.
**THIS IS NOT THE END!**
Are you curious to learn more about DeVere and Diana? Read on for a preview of THE DEVIL’S MATCH, part two of Diana and DeVere's story
Preview: The Devil’s Match
Once burned twice shy…but when old flames come together…passion reignites
When burned once… Arriving in London as her goddaughter's chaperone, Baroness Diana Palmerston-Wriothesley wants to avoid her erstwhile lover at all costs. Once nearly consumed by passion, four years has reduced the former inferno to bitterness and ashes.
By an old flame... A world-weary master of seduction, Ludovic "The Devil" DeVere is bored with his chosen life of debauchery. When Diana's charge disappears, she is forced to seek help from the devil's lair, and their mutual desire reignites with undeniable ferocity.
Fire is best fought with fire… While DeVere is hell-bent to have her back for keeps, Diana is equally determined to bring him to his knees.
DeVere House, Bloomsbury, 1783
VISCOUNT LUDOVIC DEVERE SPRAWLED INDOLENTLY ON HIS TURKISH DIVAN, pulling on a hookah while a voluptuous redhead serviced him with her decadent mouth. Eyes at half-mast, he lazily surveyed the scene of oriental decadence that could have been stolen from an Ottoman sultan’s seraglio—the myriad hues of silk draping the walls and ceiling, the vivid Turkish rugs and cushions that scattered the floor, the writhing shadows created by the luminous glow of brass lanterns.