Sandra Owens Page 5

  She had once loved his touch, and if he could get her used to it again, he would be doing her a favor. She might not agree now, but some day she would thank him for it. By holding out his arm, he was forcing her to do something she didn’t want to. He may as well begin as he meant to go on, so he waited.

  “Are you coming, Mama?”

  She stepped out of the room. Not looking at him, she placed the tips of her fingers over his sleeve, the contact so light he couldn’t feel her hand. Well, it wasn’t much, but it was a start. Following Jamie, he led her down the stairs and into the private dining room he had secured. Earlier, he had instructed the innkeeper to set a small table for three and was pleased to see his directions had been followed perfectly. He had also requested three different dinner choices be offered. If allowed, he was certain Diana would accept whatever was put in front of her. But he had given her submissive manner a lot of thought after he had left her and Jamie earlier and planned his strategy.

  Eleven years ago, she hadn’t hesitated to speak her mind. It had been one of the things he had loved about her and he wanted to find that girl. He meant to see this timid mouse afraid of her own shadow banished to the Outer Hebrides. Even if he had to coerce her to do it, she was going to start thinking for herself again.

  The innkeeper’s plump wife arrived, poured wine for him and Diana, and lemonade for Jamie. She grinned at them, showing a missing front tooth. “I’m Mrs. Goodman and I hope you are hungry, my lad, because I’ve plenty of food for a growing boy like you.” She gave Jamie a pat on his head.

  “Now, I’ll start with you, my lady. We have roasted duck, beef and potatoes, or trout caught only hours ago and cooked in a nice butter sauce.”

  She looked at Diana and waited. Michael looked at Diana and waited. Diana looked at her lap. Was she truly incapable of deciding on her choice of a meal?

  “Allow my lady a moment to decide, Mrs. Goodman. Jamie, what is your preference?”

  “I cannot decide between the beef and the trout.”

  Mrs. Goodman patted Jamie’s head again. “Well, laddie, no reason you should. We’ll just bring you some of both. Would that please you?”

  He gave Mrs. Goodman a big smile. “Oh, yes, please.”

  Michael ordered the duck and looked again at Diana. “Have you decided, my dear?”

  “The trout?” she said so softly he had to strain to hear her.

  Was she asking permission? Was she afraid her choice would displease him somehow? Leo would probably have used something as simple as a dinner choice to train her not to think for herself.

  Getting her to think for herself might be more difficult than he’d imagined. “My lady would like the trout.”

  The woman left and Michael turned his attention to Diana. Her eyes were downcast, her stare directed at her lap. She must have sensed his regard. Her gaze rose to meet his, her look one of fear. How long was it going to take her to understand he was not Leo?

  Mrs. Goodman returned with a loaf of crusty bread and butter. She bustled around the table, refilling his wine glass and Jamie’s lemonade. Diana hadn’t touched her wine. When Mrs. Goodman left again, Michael lifted his glass, tempted to drink the contents down in one long swallow.

  “Do you not like your wine?” he asked. “Would you prefer a cup of tea?”

  She shook her head and reached for her glass, bumping it and spilling a small amount. She froze with her hand in midair. When she spilled the wine, Jamie tensed, moving to the edge of his chair as if ready to spring up and protect his mother.

  Michael ignored the spill and Diana’s outstretched hand. “Have you been taught to ride, Jamie?”

  Jamie relaxed back into his seat, and Diana lowered her arm.

  “No, sir. Father said I am not agile enough to ride.”

  Michael clenched his teeth. “Did he now? Well, that had to be well over a year ago and you have grown since then. I daresay, along with that growth, you have acquired some agility. I think while we are at Wyburne we should give you a few lessons and see how it goes.”

  “Truly, sir? I would like that very much.”

  He smiled. “Yes, truly.”

  Their dinner arrived, and he and Jamie talked about horses throughout the meal. The boy was full of questions, and Michael patiently answered each one. Diana ate a few bites, but never touched her wine again. If they had been alone, he thought he might have confronted her with his suspicions, but Jamie’s presence prevented it, which was probably for the best.

  After dinner, she attempted to beg off from an evening stroll, but Michael didn’t allow it. He held out his arm again and waited for her to take it. As before, she lightly touched him with the tips of her fingers. The evening was comfortably warm and once outside, Jamie skipped ahead. Michael casually placed his hand over hers. She didn’t pull away, but he didn’t doubt she wanted to.

  “On a night such as this, it is difficult to believe winter is almost upon us,” he said, deciding the weather would be a safe topic.

  ****

  Diana desperately wanted to return to her room where she would be safe from his touches. He confused her. At least with Leo, she knew to always expect the worst and could prepare for it. When she spilled her wine, she had waited for Daventry’s anger at her stupidity, but he acted as if nothing had happened. Was he saving her punishment to spring on her later? Leo often did, sometimes waiting until she had forgotten the offense.

  Daventry pulled her to a stop. Fully expecting to be admonished for spilling her wine, she braced herself for his tirade.

  “I am not Leo. Listen. Spill your wine, drop your food on the floor, throw your bread at the wall if you wish, just know that you don’t need to fear me.” He gave her a sad little smile. “You once knew me very well and I think somewhere deep inside, you know I will not hurt you.”

  She looked at him in amazement. How could he claim such a thing? “But you did hurt me.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and she regretted her words immediately. She would have never said such a thing to Leo, so why was her mouth saying these things to him? Was he right? Did she know deep inside he wouldn’t strike her in anger? He opened his eyes. There was regret in them.

  “Yes, I did hurt you, didn’t I? To say I am sorrier than you will ever know likely doesn’t mean much to you now, but I am. God, I am. But it will not happen again. Never again.”

  His apology was eleven years too late. Anger she had kept buried for too long took control of her, and she couldn’t stop the words from pouring out of her mouth.

  “You could have stopped it from happening, but you didn’t and because of you, I spent eleven years in hell. You can take your apology and…and go to the devil with it.” She jerked her hand out of his and fled to the safety of her room.

  Michael started to go after her when a small body slammed into him. “What did you do to Mama?”

  Jamie beat at Michael’s ribs and belly with his fists. Michael gently took the boy’s hands in his. “Easy there. I didn’t touch your mother.” Still holding Jamie’s hands, he knelt down. “I told you the first day we met I would never strike her. I make this promise to you now, man to man. I will never raise my hands to her in anger. Any man that hits a woman is a sorry excuse for a man.”

  “Father said it is a man’s duty to make a woman obey. Father said that sometimes it is the only way to gain her respect. Do you mean, sir, that Father was a sorry excuse for a man?”

  Christ Almighty. Michael glanced at the small park across the street. “Come with me.” He led Jamie to a bench.

  How to answer the boy’s question? He didn’t think a boy of ten years was ready to hear his sire was a monster. He was going to have to walk a fine line here, choosing his words carefully.

  Seated on the bench, he took a moment to think how best to begin. “Sometimes, Jamie, people make mistakes, even fathers. I think what your father told you is wrong and I believe in your heart, you know it. Do you think it is honorable for anyone to strike someone weaker than the
m? For instance, is it right for a child to hit a helpless animal, or for a mother to hurt her child or a husband to beat his wife?”

  Jamie looked at him with sad eyes. “No, sir. I didn’t like it when he hit Mama.”

  He’d witnessed Leo striking Diana? “How do you know he hit your mother?”

  There were tears in his eyes. Michael regretted the need for this conversation, but thought this was something Jamie needed to get off his little boy chest.

  “Sometimes Father made me watch so I would learn how to be a man. I didn’t want to,” he said in a small voice.

  Michael’s emotions were awash on an angry sea, his dinner sitting ill in his stomach. By turning his back on Diana, he had put her in the hands of a monster. And what of the boy who might be his son?

  “Did he ever hit you?”

  Jamie nodded, a tear rolling down his cheek. “Once, when I tried to stop him from hurting Mama. I never tried to stop him again.”

  Michael heard the shame in his voice. Jamie would have been nine or younger when that happened, no match against a grown man. “Did he hit your mother often?” He didn’t want to hear the answer, but he had to know.

  “Almost every day when he was home, but Mama said it wasn’t so bad because he wasn’t home often. I should have tried harder to stop him.”

  Sweet Jesus. Forgive me, Diana. He had been naïve to think he could just show up and easily make everything right. For the moment, however, he needed to find the words to help this child understand he held no blame for Leo’s deeds.

  He put his hand on Jamie’s shoulder. “I am going to tell you an honest truth, so listen well. You were brave when you tried to protect your mother. It would take a lot of courage for a boy to go up against a grown man. However, there is nothing you could have done. But it is over now. I will never let anyone hurt you or your mother again. When you are a few years older, I will teach you how to fight so you can protect yourself if anyone does try to harm you.”

  Jamie’s eyes widened. “Do you promise, sir?”

  “You have my word.”

  He jumped up from the bench. “Then I can stop someone from hurting Mama again.”

  Well, that was going to be his responsibility from here on out, but he understood Jamie needed to believe he could safeguard his mother.

  “Yes, then you can protect her.”

  Michael walked back to the inn holding Jamie’s small hand, listening to him chatter about learning to fight and to ride a horse. The regret deepened at missing the first ten years of this boy’s life, but more than anything, he was beginning to hope Jamie was truly his son.

  ****

  They arrived at Wyburne at mid-afternoon. Michael summoned his housekeeper, Mrs. Bartlett. “Will you show Diana to her chamber? I will take Jamie to his room. He and I will see you at six for dinner,” he told Diana’s retreating back.

  She stopped on the stairs and turned. “You want him to dine with you?”

  He looked at her in puzzlement. “Yes, why wouldn’t I?”

  Jamie answered for her. “Father said children did not belong at the dinner table.”

  Father said, again. Those two words needed to be removed from the English language. “While at Wyburne, Jamie, you are welcome at the table. Now come along and I will show you to your room.”

  After getting Jamie settled in, Michael wrote a letter to his secretary. He instructed Johnston to hire a lady’s maid and tutor for a young boy, and to send them to the lodge along with Hansen, his valet. He also asked that his mount, Reckless, be sent to Wyburne. In his last paragraph, he directed Johnston to purchase an expensive piece of jewelry and to deliver it, along with the enclosed letter to Lady Hartwell. Michael removed a fresh sheet of paper and debated what to say to Serena. At this point, the less said the better. He didn’t want to lie, but the circumstances he found himself in now would be beyond her understanding. Hell, it would be beyond her endurance.

  If he told her he was still at his estate, delayed from returning to Town, he wouldn’t put it past her to surprise him with a visit. He shuddered at the mere thought of Diana coming face to face with Lady Hartwell. Serena would devour her.

  Of course, he wouldn’t be at Draven Park to greet Serena, which would cause a whole other set of difficulties. He settled for telling her that although he was thinking of her and missed her, another problem had arisen at one of his lesser estates, and he could not avoid dealing with this new difficulty.

  He read over his note to Serena. It occurred to him that he was lying to her again. He had not once thought of her since leaving London. A disturbing notion, that.

  A knock sounded at his door and he bade the footman enter.

  “Roger, I need you to deliver this letter to my secretary at my London townhouse.”

  “Yes, my lord. Will I be coming directly back?”

  “Yes, as soon as you put my message in Mr. Johnston’s hands. And, Roger, no other hands than his, you understand?” It wouldn’t do to have his ever curious butler wondering about the earl’s need of a lady’s maid and a child’s tutor.

  After Roger left, Michael went upstairs to dress for dinner. His room was next to Diana’s, and he stared at the connecting door. What she was doing? The picture in his mind was that of a young, laughing girl, not the woman afraid of his touch.

  Frowning, he looked around his room. The night he found Leo in her chamber, he had fled his estate and come here. It was where they were to spend their wedding trip and he had never understood why this was where he came to lick his wounds. Everything had been a reminder of her betrayal.

  He had instructed his cook to have an intimate dinner waiting for them in this room. In a fit of rage, he had swiped his arm over the table, scattering food and broken china across the floor. The bed had been turned down and a red rose lay on what would have been her pillow. The sheets, pillows, and rose had joined the china on the floor.

  The only thing he hadn’t broken or thrown away was the champagne. That he had finished off, drinking it straight from the bottle. From there he had stumbled downstairs in search of the brandy and had continued drinking until he passed out. He stayed foxed for the next three days, blind drunk until Mrs. Bartlett dared to enter his study and, putting her hands on her hips, had scolded him as if he were still in short pants.

  Since then, he had completely redecorated his chamber, not wanting any reminders of what he had lost. The room next door, the room that would have belonged to his countess, he had not touched. The maids kept it clean and dusted, but he had not once set foot inside.

  Staring at the door that separated them, he asked the question he only now realized he wanted an answer to. “How is this going to play out for us this time, Diana?”

  ****

  Diana hadn’t had the extravagance of a full bath for over a year and though the water had cooled, she didn’t want to get out. The array of perfumes she found lined up on the vanity delighted her. It had been hard to choose, so, she decided to start with the first one and then, if she was allowed a bath tomorrow, she would try the next one.

  She splashed the water with her hand and inhaled. This one smelled like roses, and the scent brought the memory of her maid waking her up one morning and hurrying her downstairs.

  Mary’s excitement had been contagious. Something was afoot and Diana had hurriedly dressed. When she arrived in the front hallway, she stopped and stared, unable to believe her eyes. There were roses everywhere. Mary pulled her into the parlor where more roses covered the tops of every table. Even as she stood in amazement, her father’s butler had opened the door for another delivery. Laughter had bubbled up and out of her. Michael.

  Abruptly standing and stepping out of the bath, she forced her mind away from the past and him. She would not allow memories of him to invade her mind. He had failed her in a way she didn’t think she could forgive.

  It was time to dress for dinner. She considered pleading a headache, but wouldn’t put it past Daventry to come to her room and retrieve
her. After slipping on her chemise, she picked up one of the new day dresses and wondered how she was going to button it. Jamie had done that chore for her this morning at the inn, but he had been spirited away upon arrival here and she had not seen her son since. She pulled the pale green gown over her head and was trying to reach the buttons when a knock sounded at her door. Thinking it must be Jamie, she hurried to let him in.

  The air left her lungs. “Oh, it’s you.” She reached back to try to hold the dress together.

  The lines near his eyes crinkled in amusement. “Yes, it is me.”

  If it had been Leo, she would have gone as still and quiet as stone, but something made her want to test Daventry. She needed to know how easily he could be provoked to anger.

  “Well, I’m not ready.” She tried to close the door.

  “I see that,” he said with laughter in his voice. He pushed the door back open. “Turn around and I will button your gown.”

  She didn’t know if she could bear to have him touch her, but she couldn’t manage it herself. Reluctantly, she turned her back to him. When she felt the light touch of his fingers on her back, she stilled and tried not to shudder.

  Yet, there was only the gentlest of pressure as he buttoned her gown. She lowered her head and closed her eyes. She would not allow into her heart the memory of how tenderly those hands had once caressed her, would not recall his words of love or his promises.

  “There, you are now presentable.”

  His voice was clipped, edged with anger. Turning to face him, she took a step back in fear. She knew how to read rage in a man’s eyes. How had she displeased him?

  ****

  Michael forced a smile. She had a burn mark on her back like that a cigar or cheroot would make. When he was sure he had his fury under control, he held out his arm.

  “I came to escort you to dinner as you are not familiar with Wyburne.”

  “Where is Jamie, Lord Daventry?”