On the night of her betrothal, Lydia Trent receives just a taste of what ecstasy will be at the hands of her fiancé…and then he leaves her wanting. After waiting six years, and tired of being neglected by her exceedingly reluctant husband-to-be, Lydia decides to break it off.

When Marcus, Lord Russell, receives Lydia’s letter requesting a release from their contract, he is stunned by her audacity. Confident he’ll have her eating out of his hand with his usual wit and charm, he’s determined to repair the damage. However, the headstrong woman she’s blossomed into is equally determined to thwart his every effort to win her back.

Marcus discovers, in spite of her conviction to end the union, Lydia is more responsive to his touch than he ever imagined. He just needs to get her alone to unleash the promised passion he sees within his wanton virgin. Marcus will use any tool in his arsenal to exploit her weakness—his kisses, his hands, his mouth…her own body. In short, he’ll just have to ruin her!

*TRS CAPA Nominee 2012

 *TBR PILE Book of the month September 2012!

 *LASR Erotic Reviews 5 STAR/BOM Nominee

 *The Romance Studio 5 Sweetheart Nominee

 *Night Owl Reviews “Top Pick”

 *Reading Romances “Pen Award” 

EXCERPT

Bugger it all! This was not going at all according to his plan. The blasted woman was bound to defy and repulse him at every turn! He raked a long, lust-filled gaze over her and felt his frustration growing in more ways than one until a disconcerting thought jolted through him. “There is someone else!”

“There is no one,” Lydia answered. “Though I may be a fool for having waited for you, I am not a faithless fool.”

“Why else would you break with me?” Marcus persisted, more convinced the longer he considered her. What man would not give his eyeteeth to have such a woman? “I demand to know who it is.” So I can hunt him down and throttle him.

Her chuckle began as a low sound in her throat and grew to a hearty eruption of wry mirth. “Is it truly beyond your comprehension that I might wish to salvage such a pitiful thing as my self-respect? Your vanity is a truly wondrous thing, Lord Russell.”

“You make unfair accusations, Lydia.”

“On the contrary,” she replied. “I think I have your full measure simply by observation. Actions, or perhaps I should say inactions, speak much louder than words.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you are not to be trusted.”

Marcus gave an inward groan. Why was she making this so bloody difficult? She was right of course, but it would be a cold day in hell before he’d grovel. He opted for a new tack. “Lydia, will you at least agree to a détente?”

“What do you mean?”

“A truce of sorts.”

“I know what détente means! I just fail to see how it applies.”

“I’m asking for a relaxation of hostilities.”

“You believe I bear you hostility?”

Marcus’ answering rumble only emphasized his point. “You positively bristle with it, my dear.”

She gave an indignant sniff. When she tried to avert her face, he captured it in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Lydia, there are many things you don’t understand.” Like his guilt—something he could hardly reconcile even with himself. “Can we not let bygones be bygones?” he asked. “Simply let go of the past and deal with the here and now?”

“There is no point. I already know we will never suit.”

Marcus scowled. Regardless of what she might think, he had never really been averse to her. Indeed, he recalled with fond amusement the memory of her tippling champagne from the tree swing, if perhaps a bit less fondly the clumsy events that followed.

He was suddenly struck with another disconcerting notion—could it be that Lydia held that night in quite a different light? Did she anticipate dissatisfaction in their marriage bed? If that was her concern, he was determined to lay that vagary to rest.

“On the contrary, my pet. There is one area at least where I’m certain we would suit very well.”

Her eyes flashed. “You actually think I’m still attracted to you?”

“You dare deny it?” He flashed a smile meant to disarm if not to altogether devastate.

“It matters little whether I am or not. Animal lust is a most feeble foundation for marriage.”

“Animal lust?” He laughed outright. “Mayhap my appeal is stronger than I thought?”

Lydia’s eyes flashed. “You twist my meaning!”

Marcus stroked a finger down the column of her neck and noted her heaving breasts with satisfaction. “I think not. Nevertheless, attraction, magnetism, lust, whatever you choose to call it, is a stronger basis than most marriages seem to be founded upon. Why do you suppose so many men take mistresses? And why so few offspring are produced in aristocratic marriages? Never underestimate sexual desire, Lydia. It is a powerful and often overwhelming force.”

“You will never persuade me that it’s a sound basis for marriage.” Lydia’s pink tongue flicked over her lips, clearly betraying her confident words.

“Is that a challenge, Lydia? Shall I prove it to you?”

“There is absolutely nothing to be gained by the effort.” Her convulsive swallow once more gave her away. She added with greater force, “Like a mountain, Marcus, I shall not be moved.”

Marcus relished the sudden apprehension in her wide eyes when his gaze slid down to her mouth and held there. “Fair enough, my pet. If the mountain will not come to Mohammed, let Mohammed go to the mountain.”

Lydia was transfixed, powerless under his intense stare, as if he’d put her under some wicked spell. Though she tried, she couldn’t bring herself to pull away. His eyes—dilated pools of blackness—held her, spreading heat from her core to every tingling inch of her. Her pulse thrummed with the sheer awareness of his physicality.

She closed her eyes against the sensations but they only intensified, his sweet tangy scent thickening the air and causing her breath to come in short, quick rasps, his warm breath fanning her skin. His gaze fixed upon her mouth and his hand brushed over her cheek to cup her jaw. Ignoring her inner protest, her body acted on its own volition, upturning her face and softly parting her lips. Her whole body quivered in anticipation of this kiss.

Her breathing hitched when his lips met hers, at first brushing over them in a warm caress, then sliding, nipping, melding until he took utter possession. Her feeble attempt at protest gave him added purchase to take her lower lip between his teeth and gently tug on the soft flesh. His tongue followed, deliciously teasing, tasting her lips before sliding into her mouth.

She had been kissed once before but nothing like this. His hot, wet tongue tangling with hers made her stomach flip and her passage clench, pooling with warmth and dizzying desire. He deepened the kiss, his hands working into her hair, pulling it down, scattering pins. “Don’t fight me, Lydia. I can show you paradise if you’ll only let me.” When Marcus murmured those seductive words against her skin, she yielded with a muted whimper.

The kiss was uninvited, unexpected, and shocking…and Lydia found herself clinging to it for dear life.

Lydia tore away with a stifled cry, confounded how he managed to exert such a terrifying magnetic force on her with seemingly no exertion at all. Outrage mixed with self-recrimination, she gathered up her skirts and fled, nearly running smack into Mariah upon her reentry through the terrace doors.

“I was coming to find you,” Mariah said. “Lud, Lyddie!” She gaped at her cousin’s rumpled and bewildered appearance. “You look positively debauched! You mustn’t let anyone else see you like this.”

Mariah pulled her into the empty music room, where Lydia caught sight of herself in the gilt mirror poised over the mantel and gasped in horror. Her color was high, her eyes shone feverishly bright, and clumps of her hair hung in disarray.

“Did that vile scoundrel accost you?” Mariah asked.

Heat infused Lydia’s already flushed cheeks. “Sadly, no. Although I would like nothing more than to accuse Marcus of importuning me, the fact is I made not the slighted protest.”

“What did he do to you?” Mariah asked in an excited whisper.

Lydia’s lips quivered in outrage. “The worst thing imaginable. He has kissed me senseless.”

***

“Reckless hearts, battling wits, and plenty of steam in a wonderfully well drawn Georgian setting.”- NYT Bestselling author Grace Burrowes

“Victoria Vane ignites the Georgian era with her delightful characters and deliciously wicked sensuality. “

~ Allison Chase, author of Recklessly Yours

She lost her identity only to find herself…in a cowboy’s arms.

Nicole Powell knows there must be more to life than her daily drudge, but after a long string of players and losers (mainly due to her fatal attraction to cowboys), her love life is going “nowhere” faster than her dead-end job.

Wade Knowlton is a workaholic driven to move forward with his life after a personal tragedy sent him on an eighteen month bender, but his family loyalty has kept him tied to a rural law practice, and a ranching operation that’s been skirting the brink of foreclosure for years.

When Nicole receives a phone call notifying her of her estranged father’s death, she hops a plane for Montana. As his only kin, Nicole seeks an attorney to help her to settle his estate, but losing her I.D. complicates everything, and the delays jeopardize both her job— and her heart.

What Nicole seeks in Montana is closure on the past, but what she unexpectedly finds is a new future … and love with a smooth talkin’cowboy.

**A prequel to the Devil DeVere series, Library Journal’s best E-book romance of 2012**

Excerpt

Westminster School- 1764

“The epic poets of ancient times composed histories of Greek heroes in rhyming verse, chanted by the Rhapsodes in accompaniment by the cithara. The meter employed was dactylic hexameter…” Dr. Trasker’s droning monotone faded to the far periphery of Simon’s consciousness as he reviewed the first lines of his own poetic composition, An Ode to a Milkmaid of St. James Park.

Lovely Lavinia, a comely lass,

With ripe pink teats and plump white arse,

Ha’penny paid will fill your cup

He thoughtfully chewed the nub of his quill.

But for a shilling, she’d liefer tup…

He flourished the last line with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Master Singleton.” The stentorian voice halted the rhythmic scratch of Simon’s quill.

Simon looked up blankly.

“I await your response,” the schoolmaster intoned.

“Homer and Hesiod,” Ned coughed from behind.

“Master Chambers!” The schoolmaster’s rebuke turned upon the second offender.

“Sir?” Ned answered.

“Since you are so desirous to impart your scholarship, you shall now stand and enlighten the class on the Elegiac couplet.”

“The Elegiac couplet?” Ned repeated.

“Now, Master Chambers,” the taskmaster commanded.

Ned stood, his ears reddening with the snickers of his classmates.

“You seem unprepared, Chambers,” the pedagogue accused.

“N-no, sir. Indeed not. I only wish to understand. Is it the meter for elegy, or the couplet itself that you wish me to explain?”

“You are stalling.”

“Beware, Ned,” DeVere whispered from across the aisle, “lest you inspire him to invoke the holy name of the birch. The goddess of discipline. The handmaiden of higher learning.”

Ned cleared his throat to disguise a choke of laughter and then recited, “The Elegiac meter is customarily described as a dactylic hexameter followed by a dactylic pentameter, which together form an Elegiac couplet.”

Trasker’s beady eyes narrowed. “That is correct, Master Chambers. Now then, let us hope your benighted classmates have been equally attentive.” With visible disappointment the pedagogue took up his notes to resume his lecture.

Perceiving his chance to share his bawdy masterpiece, Simon reached across the aisle to DeVere— just as Trasker’s bespectacled gaze rose from his notes. Simultaneously, Simon and DeVere snatched back their hands, leaving the lone sheet of parchment to drift slowly to the floor with the quiet grace of an autumn leaf.

“What is this?” Trasker snapped, advancing upon them with a militant look.

“Bugger!” Simon muttered.

The sixth form collectively inhaled as Trasker retrieved the fallen parchment and scanned the brief lines. He then transfixed a sulfurous stare back upon his first victim, demanding, “Master Singleton? Are you the author of this lewd and scurrilous verse?”

Simon closed his eyes with a gulp, knowing full well what would follow his confession. He drew courage and then drew breath but another spoke before he opened his mouth.

“Mea culpa,” DeVere volunteered.

Trasker spun toward DeVere, his gaze narrowed to a slit. “You, my lord?” An evil smile thinned his lips. It was no secret that Trasker, who had advanced to his position by scholarly merit alone, despised the rich and indolent— and none more than the impudent heir to a viscountcy, Ludovic DeVere.

This could not be good.

In her last month of pregnancy, Diana, Viscountess DeVere, has barely settled into her new life and role as “the devil” DeVere’s wife, when her increasingly restlesss husband receives an urgent summons to London. When Diana inadvertently discovers a message he received from a known courtesan with whom he was formerly linked, she fears her marriage is over before it has begun.

Note: A DEVIL’S TOUCH is an erotic romance vignette that can stand alone  but also serves to bridge Book #4 THE DEVIL’S MATCH andBook#5 JEWEL OF THE EAST (Salime and Simon’s story)

EXCERPT: 

Medford Abbey, Kent- 1784

Diana paused her perusal of the bookshelves to rub the small of her back with a self-pitying sigh. Perhaps she was making too much of matters and all would return to normal after her lying in? Hoping to lose herself for a day or two until his return, Diana selected the latest novel penned by Fannie Burney, the adventures of a young heiress named Cecelia. She retrieved the book from the shelf but by now her feet and back ached so badly, she dreaded the thought of climbing the stairs to her private apartments.

Instead, her gaze settled on her husband’s highly comfortable and recently vacated chair. Alighting in the plush over-stuffed chair, Diana released a soft moan of contentment. Ensconced in the faint scents of leather and Ludovic, a renewed calm seemed to settle over her. Giving in to the most unladlylike urge to prop her feet on the desk, Diana took up a stack of papers to clear a spot, but a particular sheet of foolscap conspicuously penned in a most delicate and elaborate style of calligraphy caught her eye. It was definitely not a man’s hand.

Curious, she picked up the letter. The wax seal had already been broken, revealing a terse note of only a few lines. She hesitated with a pang of guilt, knowing she should not proceed further, but her currently state of anxiety overcame her initial qualms. Diana read:

Most honored Efendi
It is with the greatest humility that I appeal to he who once safeguarded my life. It is with exceeding distress that I must entreat you once more being much in need of a friend and protector.Your most devoted and obedient servant,
Salime

Diana clutched the missive to her breast with quivering lips. An old friend indeed! Was it truly a man named Simon he went so urgently to meet… or an erstwhile lover named Salime?

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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 in his bed, Diana is equally determined to bring him to his knees…by acquiring some sensual secrets of her own.

DeVere House, Bloomsbury, 1783

Ludovic, Viscount 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 surrounding 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 dimly flickering brass lanterns.

Through the purple-blue haze of smoke and incense, his boon companions engaged in various and sundry acts of pleasure with the half-dozen women he’d hired for an evening of  debauchery, and Ludovic realized he was bored out of his senses.

He’d been this way for days, restive, edgy, and irritable, as if his life had become suddenly unbalanced. He also recognized with even greater self-annoyance that the mark of his discontent had commenced upon a certain person’s arrival in London, a circumstance that aggravated him beyond measure.

In all of his six-and-thirty years, he had never allowed a woman to get under his skin, but this one had infected him with an infirmity for which he’d yet to find a complete cure. Oh, he’d sought balm for his condition alright. In Paris, he had soothed his raging fever with opera dancers, and in Italy the finest Venetian courtesans had served as a temporary unguent. Following in the footprints of the ignoble Baron Baltimore after whom he’d capriciously chosen to model his life, Ludovic had sojourned to the East in an endeavor to satiate his sybaritic senses in every possible way.  But still, his symptoms— the hollow sensation, the emotional detachment, as if he were sleep-walking through life, inevitably returned.

Although he’d successfully avoided any encounter with Diana in the past sennight, Hew’s apparent interest in her had eaten away at him. This circumstance had both spurred Ludovic to assist in Vesta’s abduction scheme, as well as inciting him to host tonight’s fest of carnal indulgence. Deep down he still carried the obstinate belief that with sensory repletion, the yearning for something more would go away.  Unfortunately, neither excess of drink, opium, or sex, had sufficed to fill the yen the knowledge of her nearby presence created. Yet, paradoxically, he still wished to avoid her at all costs.

“What the devil is it, Winchester?” He snapped at the appearance of his majordomo. “I thought I clearly communicated that we were not to be disturbed.”

The flushing servant diverted his gaze to the ceiling in an obvious effort to ignore the ongoing orgy. “But there is a lady to see you, my lord. She is most insistent.”

“Another one?” Lord Malden chortled. “By all means, have him send the baggage in. Damn me, DeVere, but you are well-supplied.”

“I am, indeed,” DeVere answered. “It is a most amicable arrangement with Madam Hayes, but I had not requested another.” DeVere gave another long, lazy pull on the stem of the hookah proffered by his scantily-clad companion, and cast a sadly indifferent gaze at the temptress who enthusiastically sucked his cock.

The servant flushed. “You misapprehend, my lord. This lady—”

“Will not be turned away.” Diana stepped boldly into the room and Ludovic felt his pulse jump at his first glimpse of her in over four years.

Although a black veil obscured her face, Ludovic could have identified her proud carriage and sultry voice amongst a hundred similar women. He was careful to maintain his air of careless indifference, commanding the woman kneeling between his legs, “Put your playthings away, my pet for we have an unexpected guest.”

“So this is what you have reduced your life to, my lord?” Diana asked with icy hauteur.

He gave her a taunting smile. “It is fortunate that I don’t give a damn for your opinion, madam.” In defiance, he caressed the bare breast of his would-be odalisque and took another pull on the hookah, blowing purple-cast smoke rings into the air. “Now, to what do I owe the privilege of your queenly condescension?” He could almost see her hackles rise, a reaction that gave him a peculiar twinge of pleasure.

“How dare you ignore my messages and compel me to come to this…this…den of iniquity!”

He couldn’t suppress his chuckle. “It was your choice to invade my domain. Thus, it is not for me to concern myself with your injured sensibilities. I already conveyed to you that the girl is safe. There was nothing further to be said.” He gave her a bland lift of his brow, inwardly enjoying the hell out of her reaction.

“Nothing further! Where is she?” Diana demanded. “She was last in your charge and has not returned! I found her maid locked in her room! If anything has happened to her—”

“I assure you she is perfectly safe in my brother’s keeping.”

“Hew is involved in this? I don’t believe it. He would never—”

DeVere’s mouth kicked up in the corner. “Perhaps I misspoke. It would be vastly more correct to say he is in hers.” The girl was a tiny virago. He almost felt pity for his brother.

Diana looked befuddled. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“When Vesta revealed to me that she was determined to have Hew, I agreed to lend some small assistance in the matter.”

“That’s ludicrous! Vesta hasn’t even had her come-out. It is far too soon for her to be thinking of anyone!”

“Nevertheless.” He shrugged.

“Is that all you have to say?”

“For the nonce. Conversation is not my chief pursuit at the moment, but should you be inclined to join me…” He surveyed her with a slow and deliberate appraisal, a look meant both to insult and to incite. He was pleased to note the rapid rise and fall of her breasts, proof that his power to inspire her lust had not waned in the least.

“You revile me!” Diana spat. “I will expect your call with a full explanation at nine o’clock on the morrow.”

“An ungodly hour,” he replied. “I doubt I shall have risen before two.”

Diana spun toward the door. “You will call, my lord, or you will much regret my methods of rousing you.”

She had meant it as a threat, but Ludovic could picture her face behind the veil, the high color staining her cheeks, the passion borne of righteous indignation blazing in her green eyes, the very things that had most appealed to him four years ago, aside from her magnificent breasts, that is. “I doubt that, my dear,” he replied. “You may rouse me any way you like.”

The room rumbled with snickers and guffaws.

Though he’d only meant to goad her, he felt himself growing rock hard at the vision of her once again in his bed. He had determined upon their first meeting that he would have her one way or another. She had been a challenge, but in the end he had, indeed, had her. Several ways in fact, but still not enough to satisfy him. She was the only lover with whom he hadn’t grown bored. He told himself it was only the brevity of their liaison; it simply hadn’t had sufficient time to grow tedious. The realization had sprung from nowhere, but there it was, just as she, staring him in the face.

“A tolerable, handsome figure,” Lord Malden remarked to her departing back, “but a tongue like a shrew.” He added sotto voce, “Perhaps you can teach her a better means of employing it, eh DeVere?”

Oh, he had done that and more. He had taught her many things and she had proven both eager and wonderfully sensuous, but her education remained incomplete. Unless…He wondered with a stab of something-he-didn’t-care-to- identify, if Diana had taken other lovers in his absence. Would it really matter if she had?  He paused to examine that question and found it didn’t diminish his desire for her in the least.  His brother was now out of the picture, not that he would have allowed that courtship to have progressed any further.

At the door she abruptly turned to confront her detractors, her bitterness a living, breathing force.  He could almost see her livid gaze penetrating through the veil. “Better a shrew than a sheep, my lord. For hapless sheep are devoured by ruthless wolves.”

He chuckled as the door clicked behind her. So that was the way of it. He had introduced her to passion and left her to her own devices, and for that she resented him. For there was no doubt in his mind that this sheep desired nothing more than to be devoured slowly and deliberately by a wolf’s mouth, and he would be only too happy to oblige her.

Accolades for THE DEVIL’S MATCH

 5 STARS/ TOP PICK at The Romance reviews: “From beginning to end, I was thrilled with this remarkable love story, shocked by the antics our hero and heroine perform, and overjoyed by the unconquerable emotions between them. Even the Epilogue held its share of surprises, along with a fitting fate for the Devil DeVere. Victoria Vane showed a great deal of courage and skill in crafting her characters and letting them grow so naturally together. While I can only hope for more books in the very near future, I know I won’t be forgetting Ludovic DeVere for a long time to come.”

5 STARS/TOP PICK at Night Owl Reviews: “I don’t think I’ve ever read a series I’ve enjoyed more! Usually you like one or two books, but you may not be thrilled with each and every book in that series. That’s positively NOT the case for me this time. I adored Ms. Vane’s intricate, devilishly erotic, uber-sexy, Devil DeVere series like no other! The books weave with each other like puzzle pieces and you absolutely cannot miss any of them (and you won’t want to either)…The Devil’s Match is a Must Read! Oh heck, when it comes to The Devil DeVere series…they’re all KEEPERS!”

Author Victoria Vane does an excellent job of showing Vic’s heart of gold that lies deep, deep under the layers of his outlandish attitude and Diana’s warmth that lies beneath her many frosty layers. This couple and their story far surpasses the others in the series, and needed the two books to really show how deep their love was and how it triumphed over all else. On top of this, the book was well written, witty, sexy, funny and historically correct. Ms. Vane has now been put on this historical lover’s must buy list, and I advise you all do the same! 

From SWEPT AWAY BY ROMANCE:

Story Rating: 5 AMAZINGINGLY BRIGHT STARS!

Character Rating: 5 of the BRIGHTEST STARS IN THE SKY!

Romance Rating:  5 SPARLKING STARS!

Heat Level: 5 BLAZING HOT STARS!

Overall Rating: MORE STARS THAN THE GALAXY!!

Can you tell that I LOVED this book? It was an AMAZING read for me.

5 HEARTS and Golden Award from Reading Romances:

“The Devil’s Match was an elegant closure to the Devil DeVere series, and wrapped it up fantastically. It set a high standard from start to finish in a fabulous way. Congratulations to Victoria Vane for this highly successful journey, through carefully crafted stories penned with magnificent sexuality.”

When dealing with the devil it’s easy to get burned… when passion ignites the flames…

Who can find a virtuous woman… Beautiful, respectable, and dutiful, Lady Diana Palmerston-Wriothesley  has long resigned herself to her twelve-year loveless and childless marriage to a feckless husband…until his gambling pushes them to the brink of  financial ruin.

Sometimes the devil is in disguise…as a gentleman… Viscount Ludovic, “The Devil DeVere”, is a man accustomed to taking what he wants according to his whim and heedless of the cost…until he encounters a woman who won’t be had at any price.

When dealing with the devil, it’s easy to be burned… When Diana discovers a secret that shatters the carefully built façade concealing her private pain, she seeks aid and comfort from the most unlikely place…the devil’s arms. But will a single night of heavenly passion damn them both forever?

EXCERPT

Feeling stifled, Diana flung open the French doors and stepped onto the balcony into the moonlight. She stood there in the deep silence of the night, lost in her reflections and illicit visions that kept returning to DeVere. When the damp chill forced her back inside, Diana explored her room, still restless and seeking escape from her disquieting ruminations. She discovered a leather-bound volume of John Donne and opened it at random to The Dream, an unfamiliar work, but one whose theme she hoped might induce sleep. By the end of the first stanza, however, Diana realized her error. The erotic message of the poem was clear.

Unbidden, her mind conjured Donne’s lovers. The man asleep and dreaming of his love only to be awakened by the object of his passion took the form of DeVere. She cast the book aside with a listless sigh before her mind’s eye could invoke what she knew would be the intimately familiar features of his lover.

***

He was sprawled on his back, arms outstretched in the confident repose of a king or some other invincible being. A sheet draped up over a thigh and half his torso left the other half of him bare to her ravenous gaze. She devoured the vision of lean and sculpted muscled that closely resembled a god manifested in all his masculine splendor.

            “‘Enter these arms, for since thou thought’st it best, Not to dream all my dream, let’s act the rest.’ You are called forth from my dream,” he whispered. “I knew you would come.”

            She stepped back with a gasp. “But how could you know that?”

            “Because this is ineludible, you and I. You can’t escape it.” He reached out a hand, his voice husky with desire. “Come to me now, my magnificent Huntress.”

             The words were an irresistible magnetic lure that drew her to him. She licked her lips, the wicked promise of unknown delights filling her with a sharp-edge hunger. Untying the sash at her waist, the silk wrapper slithered from her shoulders to pool softly at her feet.

            His pupils flared beneath his sleep-heavy lids as she stood before him, unabashed in her nakedness. She let him look his fill, his lazy inspection sending mixed anticipation and trepidation washing over her in tiny waves. He peeled back the sheet and sat up, her gaze riveting at once to the blatant proof of his arousal.        

            He drew her into his arms and the game began, a hungry breath- stealing match of capture and release that heated her blood and sent blazing jolts to her belly. Their mouths meeting and melding, his tongue darting over her lips, his teeth grazing them lightly, pulling on the lower, urging her to open. Their tongues met in a simulated lovers’ dance that became an explosion of sublime sensation, sending a hot pool of moisture between her thighs.

            He cupped her breast, teasing her nipple with his thumb. His mouth broke away from hers to ply hot open kisses to her throat that left her gasping. Of their own volition, her hands engaged in a tactile exploration of his body, reveling in the erotic abrasiveness of his coarse hair against her own smooth skin. She roamed his hard chest, the rigid plain of his stomach, the powerful thigh muscles that now encased her hips, pulling her closer, tighter, and anchoring her against him until she could feel the hot pulse of his jutting manhood against her most private place.

            He took her hand in his, guiding her to his rigid staff and enclosing her fingers about it. It was thick and hard and hot and pulsing.  “I make no secret of how much I want you,” he said low and hoarse. “Tell me you do too, Diana. Say you want to take me into your body.”

            “But I’m here,” she whispered. “Is that not proof enough?”

            “No.”  He released her hand but his probing gaze kept her captive. Though I would worship you with my body, only you are in control of your pleasure. You must tell me you want this.”

            She licked her lips, her breathing coming in ragged puffs.

            “You have only to say yes, Diana, and I will lay paradise at your feet.”

            At last a raspy reply sounded from her throat. “Yes.” He caught the whispered exhalation with his mouth. His hands slid down her back to palm and squeeze her buttocks. He lowered his head to her breast, kissing, gently biting, his tongue rasping her nipple, sending racking rivulet of pleasure to her womb. Her arousal escalating to a blinding need to feel the hot hard length of him in her passage, she writhed and ground against him with a fierce cry.

             Diana awoke with a sob, her body fevered, her sheets discarded, and her nightrail tangled about her waist. She lay in this heightened state of arousal, panting, disoriented, and aching to her very core, until at last she sought her own release.

REVIEWER ACCOLADES

The Romance Reviews Best Erotic Historical Romance 2012 Nominee

LR Cafe  Best Erotic Historial Romance 2012 Nominee

IND’ Tale Magzine Crowned Heart review

Night Owl Reviews Top Pick

TRR Top Pick

Tagged: Devil DeVere, Erotic romance novels, Lady Diana Palmerston-Wriothesley, The Devil DeVere, the devil you know, Victoria Vane ]]> http://authorvictoriavane.com/2013/03/28/the-devil-you-know-the-devil-devere-3/feed/ 0 TheDevilYouKnow200x300 authorvictoriavane banner http://authorvictoriavane.com/2013/03/28/the-virgin-huntress-the-devil-devere-2/ http://authorvictoriavane.com/2013/03/28/the-virgin-huntress-the-devil-devere-2/#comments Thu, 28 Mar 2013 22:50:03 +0000 authorvictoriavane http://authorvictoriavane.com/?p=1985 ]]> BUY NOW FROM AMAZON

Desperate times call for devilish measures…

Lady Vesta Chambers is accustomed to getting what she wants… Coddled and pampered, since her mother’s death, Lady Vesta Chambers is beside herself when her father goes to London to prepare for her come-out and returns with a young bride of his own. With her world turned upside down, Vesta accompanies her godmother, Diana, to town, where she is smitten the moment she lays eyes on a certain captain of the Seventeenth Light Dragoons.

But when the object of her passion has eyes for another… it’s time to take matters in hand.. Captain Hewett DeVere, younger brother and heir to Viscount Ludovic ”The Devil” DeVere, has returned from the American war scarred, disillusioned, and looking forward to settling down to a quiet and respectable life. But when the handsome and straight-laced captain turns his eyes toward the widowed Diana, Vesta is prepared to take devilish measures to prove to prove to Hew once and for all that she is no longer a little girl, but a woman with the passion of …a huntress.

 Excerpt:  Live Reading by Victoria Vane

EXCERPT:

When Hew awoke, Vesta was atop the counterpane, curled against his side with an arm slung across his chest and a thigh thrown over his, her warm, soft flesh caressing his raging erection. He didn’t know if it was the lingering effects of the drug, the alcohol he’d drunk, or just exhaustion—likely a combination of all three—but he’d slept like the dead for the first time in four years. But now he was brutally awake and acutely conscious of the woman in his bed, for as much as he’d tried to ignore the fact, Vesta was indeed a woman grown, at least in the physical sense. And all his senses were physically alert to her. The violet fragrance had dissipated with the salt air, yet she still maintained that mysterious and slightly musky and flowery scent.

He slanted a gaze at her face, wondering how he would extricate himself from this entanglement of limbs without waking her, but then she opened her eyes. “Good morning, Hew.” She smiled into his. “Did you sleep well?”

“What the devil are you doing on top of the counterpane?” He glowered.

“I had to get up in the night to use the necessary, and when I returned, you had taken up most of the bed. I could not get back under the covers, so I had no choice but to curl up where I could.

“And now it appears you are curled around me.”

She grinned. “So it does. I find it rather pleasant, don’t you?”

“Pleasant is not quite the word that comes to mind,” he replied tersely.

She shifted against him, and his cock jumped. “Oh.” She gasped, suddenly aware. “Does this happen regularly then?”

“Yes. It is common for a man to awaken thus.”

“May I touch it?” she asked.

“Bloody hell!” he cried. “No! You may not touch it!”

“But I know how. I saw you only yesterday. Is that what you do to make it go away?”

“It is one of several methods,” he replied. “Another is just to ignore it.”

“But it is so large and swollen. Is it painful?

“No, just uncomfortable. Now, may we stop discussing my…” The appropriate word for feminine ears failed him.

“Phallus?” she offered. “That is what the grooms call it.”

“Why are you eavesdropping on grooms?”

“I used to watch the stallions mounting the mares.”

“You what!” Hew almost choked.

“Well, how else is a girl with no mother supposed to get any education? Although I doubt Mama would have told me very much. So there’s really no reason to be timid, Hew. I already know all about the mating process. And to the best of my knowledge, the stallions never ignored it until it went away. Please feel free to relieve yourself of it. I would even help you if you would like. I’m not the least afraid for I have seen much larger ones.”

DEVIL IN THE MAKING (Devilish Vignettes #1)

AVAILABLE NOW IN AUDIOBOOK

A comic romp in the tradition of Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones and prequel to the Devil DeVere series. Every devil has a beginning… A rebellious young nobleman’s prank with the king’s lion goes comically awry, leading to a startling chain of events. A riotous Georgian romp in the tradition of Henry Fielding’s Tom Jones.

THE TROUBLE WITH SIN (Devilish Vignettes #2)

COMING SOON TO AUDIOBOOK

Aspiring poet Simon “Sin” Singleton, has lived his life only for larks, laughter, and ladies of easy virtue, eluding defying, and flouting all manner of authority until his impetuous misdeeds finally catch up with him. Having lost his muse, his allowance, and even his friends by edict from a tyrannical father and puritanical mother, Simon is ready to drown himself in drink, until receiving an ingenious proposition that could change everything.

The wages of Sin is……twenty-five percent of the net!  It seems a fantasy come true when Simon is offered an independent income by combining his two great passions— poetry and lewd women —by writing poetry about lewd women! Unfortunately, maintaining anonymity may be much harder than he thought…

**The Trouble with Sin (Devilish Vignette #2) is a comic romp that follows on the heels of Devil in the Making. It is also a prequel to Jewel of the East. 

A WILD NIGHT’S BRIDE (The Devil DeVere #1)

COMING SOON TO AUDIOBOOK

She’s a lonely lady down on her luck... Phoebe Scott, alias Kitty Willis, is a struggling Covent Garden actress with a bruised heart and a closely guarded secret. 

He’s steadfast and eminently respectable.. Sir Edward Chambers, Ned to his intimates, is guilt-ridden over his beloved wife’s death and avowed to live out a rustic and mundane life … of celibacy. 

With the devil in charge — there will  be hell to pay. Devil in disguise, Viscount Ludovic DeVere, is determined to return his best friend, Ned, to the land of the living. His meddling machinations result in a night of mind blowing passion after which “dull dog Ned” awakes to find himself in the King of England’s bed!

THE VIRGIN HUNTRESS (the Devil DeVere #2)

COMING SOON TO AUDIOBOOK

Coddled and pampered since her mother’s death, Lady Vesta Chambers is beside herself when her father goes to London to prepare for her come-out and returns with a young bride of his own. With her world turned upside down, Vesta accompanies her godmother, Diana, to town where she is smitten the moment she lays eyes on a certain captain of the Seventeenth Light Dragoons.

But when the object of her passion has eyes for another…Captain Hewett DeVere, younger brother and heir to Viscount Ludovic “The Devil” DeVere, has returned from the American war scarred, disillusioned, and looking forward to settling down to a quiet and respectable life. 
But when the handsome and straight-laced captain turns his eyes toward the widowed Diana, Vesta is prepared to take devilish measures to prove to Hew that she is no longer a little girl, but a woman with the passion of…a huntress

THE DEVIL YOU KNOW (The Devil DeVere #3)

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When dealing with the devil it’s easy to be burned… especially when passion ignites the flames. 
Who can find a virtuous woman… Beautiful, respectable, and dutiful, Lady Diana Palmerston-Wriothesley has long resigned herself to her decade-long loveless and childless marriage to a feckless husband…until his gambling pushes them to the brink of financial ruin.
Sometimes the devil is in disguise…as a gentleman… Viscount Ludovic, “The Devil DeVere”, is a man accustomed to taking what he wants according to his whim and heedless of the cost…until he encounters a woman who won’t be had at any price.
When dealing with the devil, it’s easy to be burned… When Diana discovers a secret that shatters the carefully built façade concealing her private pain, she seeks aid and comfort from the most unlikely place…the devil’s arms. But will a single night of heavenly passion damn them both forever? LENGTH: 4 hrs and 27 min

THE DEVIL’S MATCH (The Devil DeVere #4)

AVAILABLE NOW IN AUDIOBOOK

Once burned, twice shy… but when old flames come together…passion reignites…

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, by acquiring some sensual secrets of her own.

A DEVIL’S TOUCH (The Devil DeVere #4.5)

AVAILABLE NOW IN AUDIOBOOK

A DEVIL’S TOUCH is an erotic romance vignette that can stand alone as a complete story, but also serves to bridge Book #4 THE DEVIL’S MATCH, and my forthcoming Book#5 JEWEL OF THE EAST (Salime and Simon’s story)

In her last month of pregnancy, Diana, Viscountess DeVere, has barely settled into her new life and role as “the devil” DeVere’s wife, when her increasingly restlesss husband receives an urgent summons to London. When Diana inadvertently discovers a message he received from a known courtesan with whom he was formerly linked, she fears her marriage is over before it has begun.

A reluctant heiress… a dissolute nobleman… and a dangerous game of seduction and intrigue…

A reluctant heiress resigned to her fate … Mary Elizabeth Edwardes has one of the largest fortune’s in England, but has no desire to leave her quiet country existence… and even less to acquire a husband she cannot choose for herself.

A dissolute nobleman bent on retribution … Trapped in a duplicitous existence since scandal destroyed his fortune and family name, Lord Hadley Blanchard has spent the better part of a decade posing as a disaffected exile while spying and seducing in the service of the English Crown.

A dangerous game of seduction, and intrigue … When summoned from abroad by a former lover, Lord Hadley perceives an opportunity for vengeance at last. By employing the full measure of his seductive charm, he woos the ward of the man who destroyed his life, little knowing that winning Mary’s fortune will mean risking his own treacherous heart

Excerpt

Blanchard House, Hanover Square – 1727

As the solo harpsichord began a Corelli air, Mary watched mesmerized. In flawless synchrony with the music, and bodies posed in perfect symmetry, the couple performed the intricate figures of the dance with fluid grace—ebbing and flowing in an elegant wave, moving in absolute harmony with one another. Rising and falling in gentle rhythm, arms gracefully rounded, reaching, touching, and turning, they seemingly floated across the floor.

It was lovely beyond description.

Monsieur Gaspar had rightly described the stately minuet as the perfection of dancing and Mary was entranced. But lost in her admiration of the dancers, she forgot she was supposed to be studying their intricate steps and patterns, until the couple executed the final two hand turn and then faced her with the final elegant dips to honor their audience of one.

The dancing master raised Lady Blanchard’s hand to his lips. “Vous êtes toujours incomparable, Madame la Comtesse.”

Lady Blanchard answered the compliment as if it were her due, with an elegant inclination of her head and only the merest hint of a smile.

“It is true, my lady,” Mary gushed. “I’ve never beheld anything so lovely.”

Lady Blanchard turned to Mary and smiled archly. “Dancing is the premier mark of gentility in any woman, my dear Mary, and the minuet is foremost amongst the dances. Thus, you must master it—along with the sarabande, gigue, bourée, and gavotte, before you may attend any of the balls.”

Mary’s stomach dropped. “All of them? But I have no experience of this kind of dancing.”

Lady Blanchard regarded her with raised brows. “Do you mean to say you’ve never danced?”

“Only country dancing, my lady. Never like this. I fear it is well beyond my ability.”

The countess waved her hand. “Nonsense, child. You have the benefit of a master’s tutelage and must simply apply yourself.” She glanced to the clock with a frown. “I am expecting someone. I leave you now in Monsieur Gaspar’s capable hands.”

In dismay, Mary watched the countess depart.

“Mademoiselle?” The dancing master flourished a bow and then offered his arm and an indulgent smile on painted lips. Yet an hour later found him tearing at his periwig and Mary near to tears.

“Non! Non! Et non!” cried the Frenchman. “You must rise on the toe and sweep the foot. Thusly.” He demonstrated with exaggerated patience. “And the arms, they are too stiff!”

“Like this?” Mary rounded her arms and began the steps again.

“Par blue! Elle se deplacer comme une vache! You move like the cow and the figure, it is all wrong! It is zed.”

“Zed?” Mary repeated blankly.

“Oui, zed!” he insisted.

“I don’t comprehend you, monsieur,” Mary cried in growing frustration. “I’ve told you already I have no French.”

Throwing up his hands in Gallic fashion he shouted, “Zed! Zed!” as if bellowing would bring enlightenment. “Etres vous simple? It is the last letter of the English alphabet! Comprenez? Zed! S’il vous plait dancez la figure maintenant.”

“I’m sorry, Monsieur Gaspar. Would you please show me once more?” Mary asked, flustered beyond despair and on the verge of tears.

“Perhaps, monsieur,” a deep-timbered, cultured, and slightly accented voice arrested the dancing master’s impending tantrum, “the difficulty lies not so much in the student’s lack of aptitude, but in the instructor’s method of tuition.”

Mary turned to face her would-be rescuer, a vision that stole her breath. Tall and elegant, he was dressed in hues of richly embroidered satin, bedecked with yards of frothy lace, and jewels that would be the envy of any woman, yet paradoxically, there was nothing effeminate about him. He advanced into the room with a languid gait to halt before them, flicking over the Frenchman with inscrutably dark eyes and an expression of frigid hauteur.

It was his eyes that first entranced her, deep-set and piercing indigo-blue beneath straight, dark, brows, that seemed starkly incongruous compared to the fashionable white powdered wig. To Mary, his face was a fascinating study of contrasts, at once strong, proud, and distinctly aristocratic. Yet, the imposing vision he presented was somehow softened by a generous mouth and the most fascinating dimple in his chin. Mary was next riveted to that dimple, and then lastly to the softening curve of his mouth when the stranger inclined his head to her alone, as if the dancing master were completely beneath his notice.

It was an intentional snub that made the Frenchman tremble with indignation. “I will have you know, monsieur, that I am le maitre-de-dance to the very Princesses Royales!”

“I should never make such a confession, were I you,” the stranger drawled.

The frenetic little Frenchman puffed his chest. “You think it an idle boast?”

The gentleman chuckled, a low, warm, rumbling sound. “No indeed, monsieur, for I have seen how execrably they dance!”

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