Games of Desire for Lady Hellion: A Steamy Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Olivia Bennet

  “Diana,” he said, and she went to him, her weary legs carrying her from the chair to the floor by his side in one swift movement. She clasped his hand in hers and swallowed back her tears As if the night was not bad enough, she had returned to find her father in poor health.

  “Papa. I’m here. I’m safe. Thanks to Isaac.”

  Saying those last words hurt. She didn’t want to thank him for anything, not after what he had planned with his brother. But it was true—without him, she would still be with that mad man. Or worse. And no matter what he had done in the past, she loved him. So very much.

  She shook her head. It was too much to think about, too much to consider. She wanted only answers then. Her tangled emotions could wait until all this was over, until it was resolved.

  “Are you all right, Papa?” she asked, but he turned his head and waved weakly, indicating that he did not wish to speak about it. She lightly kissed his clammy forehead and then returned to her chair, unsure her knees would hold her up any longer.

  When she had returned to her seat, she turned to Isaac and looked at him as though looking into his soul. She needed to know the truth.

  “Your Grace,” she said, remembering formalities even now. “What happened?”

  Isaac closed his eyes for a moment and then he began to talk.

  As Isaac spoke, the valet returned and silently unwound the temporary bandage, gently cleaning the wound and then stitching it up with a needle and thread. Isaac accepted it all without question, without concern. He barely even flinched as the needle was pushed through his torn flesh.

  He spoke slowly, without looking at any of them, but with a certain finality that told Diana Isaac knew what he must do. He told them the whole story, from the moment his mother died to his father’s murder.

  He told them of all Thomas convinced him of, of how he had first met Diana and of what they had planned. And then he spoke of his love for her, of how every moment spent with her was a step further away from Thomas’ madness, and how he wanted nothing to do with him anymore. He spoke of being a new man, thanks to her.

  Diana jumped in then, eager to tell her own tale, suddenly energized by the rapt attention of their audience. She told of all that had happened at the manufactory, of her kidnapping and her fear. And just as she had finished her tale, Isaac interrupted, the pair bouncing from one another almost excitedly, if it were not for the exhaustion.

  “I told them to take him to prison,” he said. “I may love my Brother, but that is the best place for him. He cannot be left to his own devices any longer, and in prison he can no longer hurt anyone. I shall visit the Constable first thing tomorrow to discuss what should happen next.”

  Everyone went silent. Diana looked at Isaac and he looked at her, and her heart throbbed with love for him. She could forgive, she thought, for he had suffered, too.

  For the others, they looked between the two of them, not knowing who to believe or what to think. The silence was broken only when Henry’s voice rasped through the room.

  “No,” he said. “You’re wrong.”

  He tried to force himself into a sitting position, and the valet rushed to help him.

  “All right, My Lord. Can I fetch you a drink?”

  “Please,” Henry rasped, leaning heavily against the back of the sofa, tired from even that small movement.

  “Papa, we know you didn’t kill Isaac’s Father,” Diana said, shooting a warning glance at Isaac. “It’s all right.”

  “No,” Henry said, “I didn’t.”

  “Then who did?” Isaac asked. He felt suddenly furious, all his weariness and anger of the night—and of a life of manipulation and cruelty forcing its way out. After all this, and after admitting his love for Diana, after explaining that he would learn to live with what happened, Henry was still denying everything.

  How dare he?

  “Your Grace,” Diana said, turning to face him with her jaw clenched. “My Father is in no state to be questioned. Let him rest.”

  “It’s all right,” Henry said. “Please, Diana, sit down. Isaac has a right to be angry. I will explain everything. It is not his fault.” The rasp in his voice seemed lessened somehow, his eyes a little clearer. Isaac wondered if this was a story he had longed to tell for many years, that he had prepared for it and now the time had come.

  “Isaac is quite correct,” he said. “I was there when his Father died. And I know what really happened. I have lived the rest of my life in shadow and guilt, thanks to that day. Have you never wondered, Diana?”

  “You know I have, Papa,” Diana said, looking down at her hands.

  Isaac wanted to rail. He wanted to scream and shout and rip Henry to shreds. This man, who dared murder his father, he now lay in front of him, weak and begging for Isaac to listen.

  But he didn’t do any of that. He stayed perfectly still, not wanting to move lest the movement disturb Henry’s flow. More than anything—more than his anger, more than his love for Diana even—he wanted to know what had happened that day, and why his father was taken from him too soon.

  “It wasn’t I who placed the poison in your Father’s tea, Isaac,” Henry said. His eyes fell closed then, and he stilled so perfectly that Isaac feared he would have no more answers, that this was the end.

  “But you know who did?” Diana asked, her eyes moist with tears.

  Isaac wished he could cry, but he couldn’t. He was too old for tears, too grown, and no matter how much he wanted to wail over his father’s death, he knew it would not help at all.

  “I know who did it,” Henry said. “I watched him do it. To this day, I regret not stopping him. It is that which has left me so distraught, knowing I did nothing to save my best friend’s life. You’ve got to believe me, Isaac. I wish for nothing more than to turn back time. Your Father was a dear, dear friend of mine and a great man.”

  “Then why didn’t you stop him, Papa?” Isaac could see the hurt in Celine’s eyes, the pain. She was confused. She had not lived this as long as he had. Not even as long as Diana had. Henry closed his eyes and sighed.

  “I did not truly know what he was doing. I had no idea he could do such damage.”

  “Who was it?” Isaac demanded, sitting straighter in his chair. “What kind of man would do such a thing to such an honorable gentleman?”

  Henry had still not opened his eyes, but he spoke again.

  “It was not a man. It was but a child.”

  “A child?” Diana asked. “How could a child inflict such—”

  “It was a child,” Henry said, his voice full of force, but the effort left him falling back against the sofa, coughing loudly.

  “A child,” Isaac said. It was not a question, but a statement, and he said the words aloud to force them into his mind, to try to make some sort of sense of them. “A child,” he said again, searching the rug for answers.

  “I am truly sorry, Isaac,” Henry said, finally opening his eyes and making contact with Isaac. Isaac didn’t dare say anything. He was not entirely sure he could, even if he wanted to.

  “Who was it?” Isaac asked; even he was surprised by the calm in his voice. “Who killed my Father?”

  “I wish I had spoken sooner,” Henry said. “Especially after tonight. I did not realize…Isaac, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize he had so much power over you. I—”

  “Who was it?” Isaac said again, his voice firmer. He felt his heart begin to pound, thudding against his ribcage. He knew, by now. Of course he knew. After so many years and so much manipulation, it was quite something he had not worked it out sooner. But he still needed Henry to say the words.

  “It was Thomas, Isaac. It was your Brother.”

  “Thomas.” Isaac said the name, he heard the word, and though his heart rebelled against the idea, his mind put it all together. It made so much sense. All the pieces fit together so perfectly.

  “I have doubted myself, over the years. Did I really see what I thought I saw? But yes, I know deep down I did, and I was mere
ly making excuses for my inaction. I failed your Father, Isaac, and I have failed you, too.”

  “But…” Isaac searched the floor, his eyes darting as he thought, “you’ve let me live with my Father’s murderer for all these years. You—”

  “I know, and the guilt of that has stayed with me also. I’m sorry, Son.”

  And then he coughed, short and sharp, but that was his last cough, his last breath. He gasped for air, choking on nothing, his hand reaching up to his throat, his eyes wide and fearful. And then he fell, silent and still and no more.

  “Papa!” Diana let out a loud sob and ran to be by his side, her knees landing heavily on the rug next to the sofa. “Papa, please don’t go. It’s not time, it’s not—”

  “Call the physician,” Celine yelled. She was on her feet, her night-rail hanging around her ankles, her hair straggling around her face, and she looked every bit the mad lady of the house. “Call him.”

  “My Lady,” the valet said. He put an arm around the crazed Celine, guided her back to the chair. “I’m sorry, My Lady, but it’s too late.”

  Isaac closed his eyes. He knew there was nothing he could do, but he wanted to, more than anything. He had condemned an innocent man, thought all manner of slanderous things. And yet he had done nothing wrong. Isaac was a fool and brute and nothing more.

  “What do you mean, it’s too late?” Diana cried, her scream filling the room. She slammed her fist into the sofa.

  “He’s gone, My Lady,” the valet said.

  “Isaac!” Diana ran up to him, hit his arm to get his attention. “Do something!”

  “I am sorry, Diana. I truly am. For everything. But there is nothing I can do.”

  “Is he really gone?” she asked, and as she spoke her tears tipped over the edge of her lids and flowed freely down her cheeks.

  “I’m afraid so,” Isaac said.

  Chapter 35

  “The funeral will be tomorrow,” Diana said as she and Isaac walked the garden.

  It had been two whole days since her father had died and yet, she still struggled to believe it. He would be laid to rest in the family crypt at the far end of Estnell Estate’s grounds—a place Diana had long avoided for its unpleasantness.

  “Yes,” Isaac said, eyes downcast, brow furrowed. She could tell he was anxious, worried even over what was to come. He had no idea what she would say, and in truth neither did she. At least, not until she said it.

  “I am glad you were there, Isaac.”

  He looked up at her with hope-filled eyes, and her heart leapt again. He had done her wrong, certainly, but he had atoned for it, too.

  “Really?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “What you and Thomas had planned, it was…heinous. But I can see how you were manipulated, Isaac. He was a mad man, and mad men wield control all too easily. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I…” Isaac’s breath caught and he stopped walking, turning to look at her, “I am so sorry. For everything. But please believe me when I say I love you. More than the grass loves the sun and the rain. I would never have hurt you…I don’t think I even could if I tried.”

  “I love you, too,” she said, her eyes soft, reassuring, “and I believe you. I really do. I just wish we hadn’t lost my Father over it.”

  They turned and continued walking, Isaac’s face creased with the desire to say something.

  “My thoughts of your Father were not pleasant, Diana. Not when I believed him to be a murderer. And I am deeply sorry for that and for how wrong I was. But I want you to know something.”

  “What?” she asked.

  “I was willing to put that aside, to be with you. I would have lived with my Father’s murderer, if it meant I got you in return.”

  “I know,” she said, smiling up at him. “And that means so much to me. If it were true, if my Father had killed yours, choosing to live with it would have been a terribly brave thing to do, and it proves your love to me in a way no other has been proven.”

  Isaac smiled at her and nodded.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “It is even more proof than your romantic lines. Even if they border on ostentatious at times.”

  “Ostentatious?” he asked, looking at her with an eyebrow raised.

  “It is as though you have read a book of how to woo a lady and have simply repeated the lines.”

  “I thought I was doing rather well,” he said, a little taken aback, and she laughed, touching his arm gently.

  “You are, my darling Isaac. I am teasing you, nothing more.”

  He looked at her wryly, then turned away and they continued their walk in silence.

  “You know,” Isaac said after a time. “It seems to me that your Father was waiting to tell his story before he died.”

  At the mention of her father, the memory of his death just the day before came rushing back to her, crushing her. She felt her heart break all over again, and she cried out—not loud, not brazen, but pitiful and devastated.

  “My Father died long before last night,” she said, her words brief in their breathlessness. “The guilt he carried with him killed him long before his illness did.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” Isaac said, sighing. “But he really had nothing to feel guilty about, and that is the saddest thing of all. He was not to know that a boy so young would be capable of poisoning his Father.”

  “I knew, when that Brother of yours dared tell me Father had murdered someone, that it couldn’t be true. My Father was the sweetest, gentlest man you could ever hope to meet.”

  “He was,” Isaac said. “I was honored to know him.”

  Diana blinked away the tears that threatened spill over again. She thought she had cried out all her tears the night before, that she had wrung herself dry with all that she had heard in the manufactory, and then all that she had experienced upon returning home.

  But no, the tears were still there, still teetering on the edge. She raised a finger and wiped at her eyes, leaving a dampness on the white of her glove.

  “Speaking of your Brother,” she said, know that changing the subject would prevent her from crying. “What is going to happen to him?”

  “I went to see the Constable yesterday and explained everything that happened,” Isaac said. “I have saved him from the gallows, despite the Constable’s urging, but that is all I am willing to do for him. He will spend the rest of his life in prison.”

  “That must have been a terribly difficult decision,” Diana said. “I’m not sure I could ever do such a thing to Celine, no matter what she did.”

  “He killed my Father, Diana, and then he tried to kill the lady I love more than anything in the world. He could not be allowed to get away with that.”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t suppose he could. And in many ways, I blame him for Father’s death, too.”

  She turned and saw that Isaac nodded.

  “If it wasn’t for what Thomas had done, your Father would never have locked himself away in this house all those years ago,” he said.

  “No,” Diana said, her voice cracking. “And I cannot believe the stress of my kidnapping had nothing to do with his final demise.”

  They walked in silence a while, Diana’s thoughts lost in memories of her father. Her face held a bitter-sweet smile—one that told of her sadness at his passing but her joy at having him as a father for all those years. He had only ever wanted to see her happy, and despite the pain of his loss, she was happy. With Isaac.

  “Are you going to move straight back to Gallonon Hall now that he has gone?”

  “I thought not, no,” Isaac said. “I know your Father would prefer someone to look after you and your Sister until you are both married. I may not be the best person to do so, after all I have done to damage your family, but—”

  “But nothing, Isaac,” Diana said. “My Father loved you as a son, and he trusted you. He would never have asked you to stay at all if he did not.”

  “You don’t think your uncle
will mind? Your guardianship has passed to him now, of course.”

  “Aunt Edith’s husband wants nothing to do with us. He is only family by marriage—Aunt Edith is my Mother’s Sister—and if he can shirk his duties, he will. I cannot even remember the last time I saw him! No, I am certain he will be happy not to have us as inconveniences on his doorstep all the way in Dorchester.”

  “I shall write to him,” Isaac said. “Explain the situation. I am sure he will understand. And besides, once the mourning period is over—”

  “Celine will be married. And then we shall be married soon after. It is a shame we were not able to arrange our marriage first, as I am the oldest, but it is such a short amount of time between them.”