Sandra Owens Read online

  Diana,

  I have been called to London. Nothing serious, only some business I must see to. I’m not sure how long it will take. Mrs. Bartlett and the others will see to all your needs until I return.

  Michael

  I’m sorry.

  She stared at the last line. There could only be one thing he was sorry for. She crumpled the sheet in her fist. Last night had meant so much to her. He had held her in his arms, loved her body with his and made her feel wanted. For a short time, he had banished her fears. And he was sorry for it!

  Her chocolate forgotten, she got out of bed and threw the wad of paper into the fire. She had been so starved for affection, for a gentle touch, that she had begged him to stay with her. All she had wanted was to feel alive, even if for only one night. That, and a wonderful memory to hold on to when the bad ones came.

  Was he afraid she would demand he marry her? He didn’t have to leave so suddenly, she knew it in her heart. “Stupid fool.” She didn’t know if she meant him, or her. No, she did know. They were both fools. Her for thinking he understood, him for not.

  Even your precious Michael won’t have you now. Leo’s words dripped their poison into her mind. Was that it? Had Michael been repulsed by her? But he hadn’t seen. She had made sure of it.

  She went to the door and locked it and then walked to the vanity. Staring into the mirror, she unbuttoned her nightdress.

  She took a deep breath, pushed it off her shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Looking at her naked body was something she could rarely bring herself to do, but now, she forced her eyes to look at each scar marring her skin.

  What would Michael think if he ever saw her unclothed? Leo had repeatedly declared she was disgusting to look upon. He hadn’t seemed to see the absurdity of his accusation. After all, it had been his creative hands that made her too repulsive to ever be seen by another. She turned away from the mirror and the image of her ravaged body.

  When her maid returned, Diana was dressed, only needing the back of her gown done up.

  “My lady, you should have rung for me to help you.”

  “I’m not helpless, Fanny.”

  “I’m sorry, my lady. Have I offended in some way?”

  Diana hadn’t meant her words to sound so harsh, but she didn’t know how to explain. “No, of course not.” She turned her back. “Would you button me, please?”

  Not knowing what to do with her day, she explored the hunting lodge. It was more of a manor house and as she wandered down the hall, she stopped and looked in the door of Michael’s study. The furnishings were in rich jewel tones, his desk and the tables a dark wood. The deep burgundy of the drapes contrasted beautifully with the forest green and gold prints of the sofa set against the wall and the cushioned high back chairs set in front of the fireplace.

  She visualized him sitting in one of the chairs, his stockinged feet resting on the stool, his ankles crossed and toasty warm from the fire. A book would lay open on his lap, and a glass of brandy would dangle from his long, elegant fingers. What was he thinking as he stared unseeingly into the flames?

  Once, she could have asked, and he would have told her.

  Now, they had long years and a villain between them, and she no longer knew him, could no longer expect to share his secrets.

  “If you won’t tell me yours, then don’t think I will tell you mine,” she told her imaginary man. I won’t tell you Jamie is your son, at least until I can trust you not to hurt him.

  Saddened by the turn of her mind, she left the study and moved on to the next room. She opened the closed door and took in the décor, the items on the mantel and the painting hanging over the yellow and blue floral print sofa.

  “Oh, my God,” she whispered.

  Chapter Eleven

  “The devil, Hansen! Are you trying to slit my throat?”

  His valet jerked the razor away and grabbed a cloth, pressing it against the cut on Michael’s neck. “I’m sorry, my lord, but you keep moving.”

  “So it is my fault I am bleeding like a butchered pig?” Michael grabbed the mirror and glared into it, but couldn’t see anything past Hansen’s hand and the cloth. “Move your paw, man, and let me see.”

  “Dogs and cats have paws, your lordship. I am human, thus I have a hand.”

  “You are being impertinent. I have half a mind to dismiss you with no reference. What have you to say to that?”

  “If your temper doesn’t improve soon, my lord, I have half a mind to quit, no reference necessary.”

  They both knew there would be no dismissing or quitting, but nevertheless, Michael shot Hansen a look that would have had a normal valet quaking in his shoes. His man, unfortunately, wasn’t normal. Holding the mirror up, he looked at the small cut, a mere trickle of blood seeping from it. Well, it hurt worse than it looked, so his ill humor was justified. He reluctantly admitted his foul mood had begun several days ago and the near throat slitting had nothing to do with it. Not that he would share that piece of insight.

  Hansen picked up a miniscule piece of cloth he kept on the shaving tray for the rare occasions they were needed and stuck it onto the cut, pressing it down.

  “Ouch.”

  “Stop being such a baby, your lordship. It is hardly noticeable.”

  “I assure you, I am noticing it. Finish the blasted shave so I can dress.” He didn’t want to dress. He didn’t want to leave his townhouse, and most especially, didn’t want to attend the ball. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to see Serena tonight.

  Of course, he wanted to see her. It was only his inexplicably rotten disposition that was interfering with his plan.

  He had arrived in London three days ago, had started each day with the intention of calling on Serena and had not. He blamed it on all the work piled on his desk awaiting his return. Time had got away from him, that was all. Needing to keep his mind from dwelling on his last night at Wyburne and her, he had worked Johnston near to the bone. Michael imagined his secretary fervently wished him back at the lodge.

  Was all well there? Was Roger keeping Diana and Jamie in his sight at all times, keeping them safe? What had she thought when she read his note? It was the sixteenth one he had written to her before settling on a simple, I’m sorry. He knew because he counted the first fifteen before he threw them in the fire.

  Should he have said he was sorry for taking advantage of her distressed state? What if she took his words to mean he was sorry he held her in his arms, sorry that for a few hours he felt like he had finally come home after a long absence?

  “Sweet Jesus,” he murmured. What if she didn’t understand what he meant by his words?

  “No, it’s just me, my lord, assuredly not Jesus. If I may say—”

  “You may not.” Michael brushed a minute piece of lint from the sleeve of his austere black coat. Hansen had tried to dress him more colorfully, but Michael had refused to consider the sky blue frock. It just simply did not suit his current mood.

  “If I may say,” Hansen said anyway, “if it was me, your lordship, I would be hightailing myself back to that fine lady you ran away from.”

  “One day, Hansen, I truly am going to replace you,” Michael said and walked out of the room.

  Walking down the hall, his dance shoes clicking on the oak floor, the sound of Hansen’s chuckle drifted to him. Someday, he really would throw his cocksure, bloody valet out on the street with no reference.

  ****

  Serena gave Michael the cold shoulder for the first half hour. Apparently, his not sending her daily words of love poetry or some such while he had been away had miffed her. He leaned against the wall and watched her laugh up into her partner’s face as they danced the minuet. Michael’s gaze roamed the room before returning to her. She truly was the most beautiful woman here, and he should be elated that all he had to do was ask and she would be his. It saddened him that his reason for choosing her was that she was safe. If she cuckolded him, he wouldn’t much care.

  She laughed at
something Lord Rothmore said and then glanced furtively over his shoulder at Michael. He pretended not to notice, but saw her desperation. She obviously wanted to make him jealous. He wasn’t.

  Still, he had his plan. He would marry Serena. Would ask for her hand soon, perhaps tonight. He pushed off the wall and went upstairs to join in the card game. An hour later, a feminine, gloved hand slid over his shoulder.

  “Daventry,” Serena purred into his ear, “I’ve saved the last waltz for you.”

  Deuce take it, he was winning. Michael bowed out of the game, held out his arm and escorted her to the ballroom.

  “You seem preoccupied tonight, Daventry. A lady might think you weren’t paying her the proper attention. She might think your mind wasn’t only on her. She might not like it.”

  Michael guided her across the floor, noticing for the first time she didn’t fit quite right in his arms. She was just so dainty. He looked down at her. “I cannot think why you would say such, my dear. I see no one but you.” There, that should appease her.

  He pulled her a little closer and twirled them around the corner. He looked around him, nodded to Lord Manchester, who wore the same garish puce waistcoat as the last time Michael had seen him. It was all the same. The same crush of people, the same hot wax dripping from the chandeliers, the same mix of smells—assorted perfumes and unwashed bodies—all of it the same. He thought he might explode right here on the middle of the bloody dance floor.

  He steered them toward the open French doors and then out onto the balcony, greedily inhaling the fresh air.

  “You are a naughty man, Daventry, but I shall not complain as it is obvious you want to be alone with me.” Serena stepped forward, her breasts brushing against his upper arm. She glanced over the railing at the garden below. “I haven’t properly thanked you for your gift. Stroll with me in the garden and I will endeavor to do so.”

  Of what gift was she speaking?

  She held up her arm, the emerald bracelet glittering in the light spilling from the ballroom. He didn’t recall giving it to her.

  “I was rather put out with you for suddenly taking yourself off just as the Season was beginning.” She turned her wrist this way and that, admiring the sparkling green stones. “But when you sent this, I forgave you.”

  Ah, the piece of jewelry he had instructed Johnston to purchase. “I am pleased you like it.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips, placing a kiss to the air above her knuckles. “It looks quite lovely on you.”

  She tittered and tapped his arm with her fan. “Of course it does, dear man. Jewels have always become me.” Twining her arm around his, she started for the stairs. Michael obediently followed.

  The area was lit with oil lamps, and they passed other couples strolling through the garden. As Michael walked alongside Serena, his thoughts strayed to another woman. How was she spending her evening? With Jamie, he was sure. He liked to think they were in the parlor, Diana enjoying a cup of tea and a book while Jamie lay, spread out on the floor, practicing his marbles. Michael smiled thinking of the lad’s determination to one day beat him.

  “Daventry!”

  He jerked his mind back to the here and now. “My pardon. You were saying?”

  She stopped next to a lamp and faced him. “You’ve not heard a word I’ve said. Actually, you’ve been inattentive the entire evening.” She tilted her head, her eyes searching his face. “I would excuse you if I thought your mind was on the problem you rushed off to deal with, but you were smiling just now. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Yes. “No, not at all. I was only thinking of how fond Lord Manchester is of his puce waistcoat. It is not a pleasing contrast to his orange hair. Someone should enlighten him.”

  She gave him a suspicious look. He wished they weren’t standing next to the lamp shining brightly on his face. Could she see the lie in his eyes?

  “And that made you smile?”

  A dog with his bone could not hold a candle to her tenacity. He quirked a brow. “Truly, Serena, orange and puce? How could it not?” He extended his arm. “Shall we?”

  Without any intention on his part, they strolled into an unlit area. Michael heard the sound of heavy breathing and then a man’s grunt coming from the bushes. He leaned down and whispered to Serena. “I believe we are intruding.”

  He turned to lead her away, but apparently she had other ideas. She let go of his arm, walked past the shaking bush and deeper into the dark. Having no desire to find his pleasure like a green boy in someone else’s garden, especially with the nearby amorous company, Michael stood where he was.

  She outlasted him. He sighed and followed her. “Where are you?” he hissed. There was no moon, and he couldn’t see a damned thing. A hand reached out and grabbed him, startling him. He instinctively brought his fist up, catching himself just in time to prevent giving Serena a bloody nose. He was not having fun.

  “I can’t see anything, and I don’t like having to whisper. I want to go home.” Christ, he sounded like a petulant boy.

  She giggled. “I think I can change your mind, my lord.”

  He disagreed. She lowered her head and kissed his mouth. What the hell? He reached up and patted the top of her head and then reared back, trying to see her. “Are you hanging from a tree, Serena?”

  She giggled again. “No, silly, I’m standing on a bench.”

  Her giggles were beginning to irritate him, and he wasn’t silly. He’d had enough and scooped her up.

  “Daventry!”

  The bush stilled.

  “Hush, you’re disturbing the lovers.” He set her down when they reached the lighted path, and fairly pushed her back into the ballroom. Relieved to see the ball was ending, he herded her into the line of those awaiting their carriages. That she remained quiet and biddable since he had denied her attempted tryst was not a good sign. Indubitably, fireworks were about to erupt.

  He wasn’t wrong. They began to go off within seconds of entering his carriage.

  “You are losing interest in me.”

  A sigh threatened, but he managed to refrain. “Why would you think so, my dear?”

  “You no longer desire me. If you did, you wouldn’t be able to resist when I offer myself to you.”

  Michael rubbed his forehead in an attempt to soothe the headache that was forming. “Listen. Simply because I prefer a soft bed over rutting with my breeches around my ankles and bushes scratching my arse does not equate a lack of desire.”

  “You are despicable.”

  Yes, he was. He moved across to the forward facing seat and pulled her onto his lap. “Forgive me, Serena, that was uncalled for.” He brought her hand up to his lips and placed a kiss on her inner wrist. “It is only that I have much on my mind, along with some problems I need to solve. My feelings for you have not changed.” As there had been no deep affection in the first place, he didn’t consider the last a lie.

  “I want to believe you, but you’ve been far too secretive lately, my lord. Suddenly hieing off with no explanation and then only one letter from you, and a short one at that. Why, it occurred to me after you left that you didn’t actually specify which estate you were traveling to. Suppose I had needed to reach you? What am I to think?”

  Never had he longed to sigh so much as he did this night. She was as cunning as a fox and was digging for information. He dodged the question of where he had been. “You were to think, my dear, that I was doing my best to settle things as quickly as possible so I could return to you.” He put his thumb and forefinger on the emerald bracelet and rotated it in a circle around her wrist. “And you must give me credit for sending you this lovely bauble as a token of my affection.”

  She was quiet for a long moment, and then, “Are you in trouble, Daventry? Have you lost your fortune, or some such?”

  Oh, he was assuredly in trouble, and the some such kind would do nicely. “No, it is nothing like that. My fortune is still mine.” He thought he detected a sigh of relief. So, she was
worried he might be impoverished. If that were the case, he knew not to count on her to stand by him. Diana would.

  He glanced out the window. They should be close to Serena’s by now. He wanted out of his carriage, away from unwelcome stray thoughts that didn’t fall in line with his plan.

  She nuzzled his neck. “Then tell me of your problems. It always helps to speak of them.”

  Oh, he was tempted. Weary of the lies, he considered telling her the truth, all of it. Well, except for his last night at Wyburne. If she were a different woman, someone like Diana, he probably would have. But he didn’t trust Serena with the knowledge of Jamie’s existence and the possibility the boy was his son. She wouldn’t like it, and she was unpredictable. What she might do was anyone’s guess.

  What if he told her about Diana? He mentally shuddered at the mere thought of Serena’s reaction to his housing the woman he once meant to marry. No, as much as he didn’t like it, he would have to continue with his lies, at least for now.

  Once he and Serena were married and he could control her actions, then he would have to tell her about Jamie because no matter her wishes, the boy would always be a part of his life. Of course, that would lead to her learning of Diana’s existence.

  His headache grew worse and was now a persistent pounding in his temples, but he forced a smile. “Enough talking. I would much prefer to do this,” he said, and kissed her. Her lips were not as soft as Diana’s. They were not as warm. He was thinking too bloody much and tried to stop, but the comparisons persisted.

  The carriage finally rolled to a stop, and Michael lifted Serena off his lap, returning her to the bench seat. He descended the steps, nodding to the footman holding the door. He held out his hand, helping Serena down. As he escorted her to the door, he heard his carriage begin to move. His coachman, knowing Michael preferred to walk home in the mornings, was leaving.

  “Wait for me, Jaspers,” he called.

  Serena stopped. “Aren’t you staying?”