Kitty, my sweet, little puss. Sit on your master’s lap, and I’ll stroke you ‘till you purr.”
She slanted a look to Ned, a sudden quickening in her chest. His hands were clenched by his sides; his knuckles blanched white. She opened her mouth to speak, but he’d already turned his back on her. Phoebe’s heart sank like a stone.
She knew her mask had slipped when she looked back to DeVere to find him studying her with a sly smile beneath a hooded gaze. “It appears our Ned is quite taken with you, my pet. And one can’t help but wonder if his sentiments might be returned.”
“La! My lord.” She laughed, endeavoring a blithe tone that sounded harsh even to her own ears. “We only just met. Why would you think such a thing?”
“Because I have only once before seen that ‘dog in the manger’ look on his face...and that was over eighteen years ago.”
“I often have that effect on men. Did you not see the queue at my dressing room door? I cannot afford such partiality...not without something in return.”
“Ah,” DeVere said.
“Might I add yours was not the only calling card I received the day after my performance?”
“My card? I had nearly forgotten.”
“Forgotten?”
“Don’t look so disappointed, my dear. And you would be well advised to better conceal your emotions from a man like me.”
“And why is that?”
“I am predatory, you see. It is a wicked quirk of my nature to take advantage of any human weakness. I simply cannot help myself.” His smile was so wickedly charming, Phoebe could easily perceive how he’d earned his nickname.
“I am also a man of caprice,” DeVere continued, “one who lives entirely upon my whim. My attention is easily captured, but sadly, difficult to maintain for any duration. Ennui, you understand. It is a curse, really, as I am continually compelled to seek out new diversions...new companions.”
Heeding his warning about displaying her emotions, she tried to hide her eagerness behind a blasé demeanor. “And you sent me your card. Was this the reason, my lord? A desire for a new companion?”
“Perhaps,” he answered vaguely. “But one has some difficulty conjuring an appetite, even for such a delectable sweetmeat as you, after having indulged in a meal of seven courses.”
“Seven?” she repeated, stunned.
He gave a half-shrug. “It’s my lucky number.”
“That’s quite a boast, my lord.”
“No boast, I assure you.”
Unable to keep her curiosity in check, Phoebe’s gaze drifted south to his equipment. Now lying pink and flaccid against his thigh, she thought it looked benign enough. He actually looked bored...or perhaps it was exhaustion—assuming there was any truth to his claim.
“Determined to prove his manly prowess, Malden dropped a gauntlet that I was compelled to pick up. I have never refused a contest, you see. And what’s infinitely more, I have never lost one.”
“Never?” she asked, astonished.
“Never.”
“Then surely, that means no one has yet offered a suitable challenge, one truly worthy of your multitudinous talents.”
Oblivious to her sarcasm, DeVere gave the statement a moment of reflection. His lips then curved into a slow, devious smile. “My dear, you are exactly right.”
She drew her brows together. “What do you mean?”
“I need a better challenge.” He laughed heartily, sloshing his drink upon himself, which drew her gaze involuntarily to his privates. With a rush of heat to her cheeks, she quickly looked away.
He took hold of himself to emphasize his next point. “Just as any man with a fully functioning cock can bed a woman...or seven...anyone with two legs can sit a horse, just as the greatest buffoon in the world can turn a card or roll the dice. No, what I need is for someone to propose an impossible feat—a wager that can’t be won.”
She watched with a gaping mouth, as animated with new life, DeVere sprang from his throne and began collecting his discarded articles of
She slanted a look to Ned, a sudden quickening in her chest. His hands were clenched by his sides; his knuckles blanched white. She opened her mouth to speak, but he’d already turned his back on her. Phoebe’s heart sank like a stone.
She knew her mask had slipped when she looked back to DeVere to find him studying her with a sly smile beneath a hooded gaze. “It appears our Ned is quite taken with you, my pet. And one can’t help but wonder if his sentiments might be returned.”
“La! My lord.” She laughed, endeavoring a blithe tone that sounded harsh even to her own ears. “We only just met. Why would you think such a thing?”
“Because I have only once before seen that ‘dog in the manger’ look on his face...and that was over eighteen years ago.”
“I often have that effect on men. Did you not see the queue at my dressing room door? I cannot afford such partiality...not without something in return.”
“Ah,” DeVere said.
“Might I add yours was not the only calling card I received the day after my performance?”
“My card? I had nearly forgotten.”
“Forgotten?”
“Don’t look so disappointed, my dear. And you would be well advised to better conceal your emotions from a man like me.”
“And why is that?”
“I am predatory, you see. It is a wicked quirk of my nature to take advantage of any human weakness. I simply cannot help myself.” His smile was so wickedly charming, Phoebe could easily perceive how he’d earned his nickname.
“I am also a man of caprice,” DeVere continued, “one who lives entirely upon my whim. My attention is easily captured, but sadly, difficult to maintain for any duration. Ennui, you understand. It is a curse, really, as I am continually compelled to seek out new diversions...new companions.”
Heeding his warning about displaying her emotions, she tried to hide her eagerness behind a blasé demeanor. “And you sent me your card. Was this the reason, my lord? A desire for a new companion?”
“Perhaps,” he answered vaguely. “But one has some difficulty conjuring an appetite, even for such a delectable sweetmeat as you, after having indulged in a meal of seven courses.”
“Seven?” she repeated, stunned.
He gave a half-shrug. “It’s my lucky number.”
“That’s quite a boast, my lord.”
“No boast, I assure you.”
Unable to keep her curiosity in check, Phoebe’s gaze drifted south to his equipment. Now lying pink and flaccid against his thigh, she thought it looked benign enough. He actually looked bored...or perhaps it was exhaustion—assuming there was any truth to his claim.
“Determined to prove his manly prowess, Malden dropped a gauntlet that I was compelled to pick up. I have never refused a contest, you see. And what’s infinitely more, I have never lost one.”
“Never?” she asked, astonished.
“Never.”
“Then surely, that means no one has yet offered a suitable challenge, one truly worthy of your multitudinous talents.”
Oblivious to her sarcasm, DeVere gave the statement a moment of reflection. His lips then curved into a slow, devious smile. “My dear, you are exactly right.”
She drew her brows together. “What do you mean?”
“I need a better challenge.” He laughed heartily, sloshing his drink upon himself, which drew her gaze involuntarily to his privates. With a rush of heat to her cheeks, she quickly looked away.
He took hold of himself to emphasize his next point. “Just as any man with a fully functioning cock can bed a woman...or seven...anyone with two legs can sit a horse, just as the greatest buffoon in the world can turn a card or roll the dice. No, what I need is for someone to propose an impossible feat—a wager that can’t be won.”
She watched with a gaping mouth, as animated with new life, DeVere sprang from his throne and began collecting his discarded articles of
Similar Books
