The Virgin Huntress (The Devil DeVere #2)(7)

She descended the stairs with a secret smile, lost in her fantasies, each of the various scenarios playing out with Captain Hewett DeVere declaring his undying passion and prostrating himself at her feet. At the entrance to the withdrawing room, Vesta’s feet froze, and her fluttering heart seized. For there, in all of his crimson shining glory, was Captain Hewett DeVere. It was as if her guardian angel, who she was convinced must be her cherished mama, had answered her dearest wish.

She paused on the threshold, her secret smile evaporating at the moonstruck look on the captain’s face as he kissed her godmother’s hand.

“Then I shall call again at the first opportunity.” Although he spoke in farewell, he hesitated, as if reluctant to depart.

Fearing he would leave before she ever got to speak with him, Vesta stepped into the room, yet upon entering into the sphere of her hero, she felt like a dowdy school chit next to the beautiful Diana. She realized dismally that her girlish attire did nothing to dispel that illusion. She also felt suddenly self-conscious, shy, and tongue-tied, as if her newfound resolution had already deserted her.

“Ah, here is Vesta now!” said Diana. “Come forward, my sweet. We have a gentleman caller whom you must meet. This is Captain Hewett DeVere, brother to your very own godfather.”

Marshaling as much composure as she could command, Vesta offered her hand and dipped into her most graceful curtsey. When she raised her head to look him full in the face, she at once noticed the scar, but without the revulsion she might have expected. Instead, she was overcome with a powerful urge to trace it with her fingers. Was it a sabre wound, she wondered. How had it happened? What had he suffered in the war?

She elevated her chin another notch to stare into eyes of the deepest blue that regarded her not with the avid interest she had seen only a moment ago when he looked upon Di but with something more akin to avuncular condescension. He released her hand and gave her a formal bow. “So you are little Vesta?”

He hadn’t even kissed her hand! She wanted to stamp her foot in fury! Why did he address her as a child? She was eighteen, a woman grown. Never had she despised her petite frame and lack of inches more!

“Lady Vesta, sir,” she corrected with what she hoped was suitable hauteur. “I am now eighteen. Old enough for my come-out...old enough to wed.”

He chucked her playfully under the chin with a laugh. “And no doubt you will charm them all.”

“I saw you this morning,” she blurted. “On the parade grounds at Hyde Park.”

“Did you now?”

“Indeed, you...I mean your horses...they were magnificent.”

“I am humbled by your encomium, Lady Vesta. Do you enjoy early morning rides then?”

“Indeed, I do!” she said. “I go every day, rain or shine, when I am in Yorkshire.”

“Rain or shine? A horsewoman after my own heart then.”

She found hers again fluttering out of control. Please, she prayed silently. Please ask.

“Since it appears we share a similar habit, would you care to ride with me on the morrow?”

Vesta thought she would burst with joy. It took all her will to moderate her reply. “I suppose it might be arranged.”

“Delightful!” he replied and turned back to Diana. “As I recall, you also ride, do you not, baroness?”

“Indeed, I do, but it’s been a while—”

“You must join us then. Hyde Park is at its best in the early hours before the inane parade of preening humanity takes over. Shall I bring the horses for you both at seven?”

“That is very kind of you, Captain DeVere.”

“Hew, please, my lady.”

Diana hesitated and then smiled. “Shall we settle on Captain Hew?”

“It is a beginning,” he said with a gleam in his eye. “Until the morrow then, my lady.”

Vesta thought he nearly forgot her when he made his departing bow. Observing the scene, she felt the hot singe behind her eyes at the incredible realization that the woman she cared for most in the world, the one who had been as a mother to her, had instantly become her rival. Her first instinct was to flee to her chamber and bury her head in a pillow or smash something against the wall, but that is precisely what she had done when her father brought Phoebe home. Little good that had done. Papa had been only too eager to let her go.

No, this time Vesta would not run away like a child. This time she would hold her ground and fight for the man she loved.





CHAPTER FIVE




Vesta was already awake when Polly came in with her morning chocolate. To the maid’s surprise, she gulped down the steaming drink so quickly she nearly scorched her throat. “No plaits in my hair today, Polly. You must dress me like a lady...like Aunt Di.”

“Nothing comes out of the sack but what was in it,” mumbled Polly as she stroked the brush through Vesta’s hair.

“Now what is that supposed to mean?

“That you can dress howe’er you like, missy, but ‘tis conduct that makes one a young lady.”

The barb struck home, causing Vesta to bite her tongue this time. “I am a lady now, Polly. And I intend to prove it.”

“Do you now?” The brush paused. “A happy day that will be for us all.”

With her riding hat pinned jauntily in place, Vesta skipped down the stairs only to spend the next quarter hour pacing.