London Ladies (The Complete Series)

by Eaton, Jillian

  When the cottage he was searching for became visible around the next bend, it’s short, humble silhouette illuminated in a strike of lightning, he quickened his pace, eager to get Dianna out of the rain and resting before a warm fire.

  Sitting on the edge of Ashburn’s vast lands, the small stone cottage was nearly two hundred years old and had long ago been forgotten except by those who happened to stumble upon it, which Miles himself had done one afternoon seven years ago.

  He’d been exploring, as young men were apt to do, when he had happened across the abandoned gamekeeper’s cottage. At least, that’s what he had assumed it to be, for without any defining markers it had been impossible to tell its true origin or even when it had been built, although the crumbling stone and sagging roof indicated it to be well over a century in age.

  One hard kick of his heel and the door swung inward with nary a protest. Not wanting to track in a trail of wet mud, Miles slipped off one boot and then the other before walking inside the cottage in his stocking feet after an apologetic glance back at his horse.

  “Sorry old chap,” he murmured. “No room for you in here.”

  Backing into the door to close it, he continued to hold Dianna while taking a quick survey of their surroundings. Not surprisingly it was as dark inside the cottage as it had been out, but as his eyes slowly adjusted he could make out four walls and a stone fireplace easily enough. It was exactly as he remembered it, and even though the air smelled musty the floorboards creaking beneath his feet were dry and no rain fell from the thatched roof, making it a considerable improvement upon the willow tree.

  Any furniture that may have once been assembled inside the cottage had either been cleared out or looted long ago, but there was still a stack of wood beside the fireplace and an old brass tinderbox tucked away on the furthest corner of the mantle.

  Not wanting to disturb Dianna’s peaceful slumber, but having little choice in the matter for he could not feasibly continue to hold her and start a fire at the same time, he laid her out on the floor as carefully as he could. Whisking off his waistcoat - soaked on the outside, dry on the in - he used it as a blanket and rolled her gently atop the silk lining, pillowing a sleeve beneath her head.

  It was a testament to the level of her exhaustion that she sighed and stirred but did not wake. Moving swiftly, Miles piled half a dozen dry logs in the dormant fireplace and opened the tinderbox. Taking the steel and flint in hand, he rubbed them briskly together, igniting a few bright sparks which he fanned to life with his breath. The scorched linen kept within the tinderbox caught fire, and when he held the box beneath the stacked logs the flames eagerly transferred themselves from cloth to wood. Snuffing out the linen, he rocked back on his heels and stood, mindful to return the tinderbox to the mantle in case they needed to start a fire once again.

  Within minutes a soft orangey glow had overtaken the room. Flames crackled and hissed with merry purpose. Prowling about the cottage, Miles found two tallow candles long ago forgotten in a drawer. Lighting one, he went to the front window and looked out through the glass, but the night was so dark and the rain so thick the only thing he saw was his own reflection.

  It was not surprising he looked tired. His skin a shade too pale, his cheeks gaunt, his eyes dark and moody. The past ten hours had been a misery, his nerves stretched to the breaking point again and again, his mind filled with endless worry. To think if he’d found Dianna an hour later… Banishing the foul thought he turned abruptly from the window to look upon the woman he’d loved and left, but was not yet ready to lose.

  She continued to sleep peacefully. Lured by the warmth of the flickering flames she’d rolled closer to the fire and now rested as a child might with one forearm cradled beneath her head and her knees pulled up against her belly. Firelight bathed her face, illuminating her softly rounded countenance. Miles was pleased to see that some color had at long last returned to her cheeks, adding a welcome glow to her roses and cream complexion. Her hair was a mess of blonde ringlets, and before Miles quite knew what he was doing he found himself kneeling behind her and gently combing the tangled locks away from her face.

  Pale lashes flickering, Dianna sighed and he stilled, hand hovering in midair, not wanting to wake her when she so desperately needed to rest. But instead of waking she turned towards him in sleep, one tiny hand reaching out beseechingly.

  If he were a stronger man - a decent man - Miles would not have taken her hand in his and brought it to his lips. But with his defenses lowered by exhaustion and worry he was feeling neither strong nor particularly decent, and felt nothing more than a faint tug of conscience as he lowered his body to the hard floor and slowly pulled Dianna into his arms.

  She went willingly, a soft murmur of contentment spilling from her lips as she tucked herself against him. Securing one arm around her slender waist he stretched the other under her head, breathing in the soft, rainy scent of her hair.

  She felt so right in his arms. So good. Her body fit against his like a puzzle piece clicking into place, her softly rounded curves nestling perfectly into the long hard lines of his body and for the first time in a long time Miles felt true, unadulterated contentment.

  Though it had taken him a while to get here, this was where he belonged. This was where he was meant to be. This was where his life had led him: full circle back to the woman whose fate had been entwined with his since the moment they were born.

  He closed his eyes. Gently rocked Dianna closer. And drifted off into dream with a smile on his face.

  Chapter Nine

  Miles may have fallen asleep in peace, but he did not wake in it. A piercing shriek woke him instead, followed swiftly by flailing limbs and an elbow to the ribs. Acting purely on instinct as his mind struggled to free itself from the dregs of slumber, he closed his arms around his feisty assailant and held her in an ironclad grip.

  “Let me go! Miles, let me go this instant.”

  At the sound of his name he shot instantly awake, eyes blinking into focus. In one glance he noted the smoldering fire, the stone walls, and, last but certainly not least, the furious blonde held trapped in his arms, her blue eyes sparking with outrage as she demanded her release.

  In a rush the events of last night came back to him. Riding through the rain, finding Dianna freezing beneath the willow tree, carrying her back here, to the abandoned gamekeeper’s cottage. After that, no doubt due to exhaustion, his recollection became a bit blurry, but he vaguely remembered laying down beside her and then… well, then this.

  “Nothing happened,” he said immediately, hoping to calm her. “You fell asleep in my arms. I brought you here. Started a fire and-”

  “And took advantage of me!”

  “Now see here,” Miles began, dark brows darting together as annoyance rapidly began to replace any lingering feelings of concern, “you should be thanking me, but putting an elbow through my bloody ribcage. You want me to let you go? Fine.” He opened his arms and gave her a little push. “Go.”

  Sputtering, Dianna rolled towards the fireplace and sat up amidst a tangle of skirts, shoving pale chunks of hair behind her ears. “I suppose a thank you is in order,” she mumbled grudgingly.

  “I am sorry, but I didn’t quite catch that.”

  Her chin lifted, sapphire eyes finding and seeking his. Though her lips twisted in obvious displeasure, as though the words physically pained her, she repeated them once more. “I said thank you.”

  A grin broke out across Miles’ face. Kicking his legs out in front of him, he leaned back, bracing his palms on the floor. Bright morning light, unhindered by storm or cloud, flowed freely into the cottage, indicating dawn had broken. They’d made it through the night… and he could think of no greater reward for his efforts than waking beside Dianna. Hearing her say ‘thank you’ was, as the saying went, icing on top of the proverbial cake. “I do apologize, but something must be wrong with my hearing. Must have been all that thunder. One more time, if you would.”

  “You
will not be hearing those words coming out of my mouth again anytime soon, Miles Radnor, so I suggest you have your ears checked. No doubt they’re blocked by all the stuffing in your head.”

  His tiny kitten, Miles noted with appreciation, had grown claws. In the past Dianna would have never dreamed of speaking to him in such a blunt fashion. Her strict upbringing demanded she play the part of a lady at all times, no matter the circumstance or provocation. He was pleased to see she’d grown more spirited and found a voice and an opinion all her own. Even if that opinion held him in very low regard.

  He stood up, uncoiling his lanky body into a stretch that nearly brought his fingertips to the rafters. Ever the gentleman - when it served him - he extended an arm out to Dianna, but with a sniff she ignored the gesture and rose gracefully to her feet without assistance.

  During the night her dress had dried, but the hem of it remained stained dark with mud and creased with wrinkles. Her hair was in similar disarray and stuck out from her head at all sorts of angles, short blonde curls springing every which way. A bit of dirt smeared one cheek. The other still held the imprint from a button on his shirt sleeve.

  To Miles’ way of thinking she had never looked more comely.

  “Where are we?” she asked as she crossed to the front window and peered out through the dusty glass.

  “An abandoned cottage on the edge of Ashburn.” Retrieving his boots, Miles resumed his seat on the floor as he tugged on first one and then the other. Getting up he went to stand beside Dianna but she stepped quickly away from him with a sideways glance of warning. He bit back an irritated sigh and crossed his arms. So that was to be the way of it. He’d saved her bloody life, nearly risking his own in turn, and still she gave him the cold shoulder.

  Bloody females.

  There was no understanding them and, unfortunately, no living without them, though God knew he’d tried over the past four years.

  Seven women had shared his bed during his travels abroad. He’d cared for them all but loved none, for only one woman had ever claimed his heart and she stood before him now… ready to tear it - and him - to shreds.

  “I need to get back. Aunt Dianna and Charlotte must be frantic.”

  Knowing the fear he’d felt before finding her, Miles could only imagine what Dianna’s loved ones were thinking. “There is a trail not far from here that leads directly back to Ashburn. If we go on horseback-”

  “No,” she said firmly, cutting him off. “I do not ride.”

  “It would only be for a short-”

  “No.”

  He opened his mouth to argue, but the genuine flicker of fear he saw flash across her face had him grinding his teeth together in silent restraint. As a child Dianna had always been apprehensive of horses, but never so wary as to be unable to ride. He could not help but wonder how else she’d changed during his absence, and what other things he had missed during his absence.

  In the grand scheme of things four years did not seem like such a long time, but where he and Dianna were concerned it might as well have been an eternity. They were not the same people they’d been. They both had new fears. New hopes. New dreams. New ideas for a future; he with her, her without him. In one way they knew each other better than anyone else. In another they were complete strangers.

  Miles knew he had loved the girl Dianna had been, perhaps not as much as she had loved him, but as much as he’d been capable. Now he loved the woman she had become, and while she’d loved the boy she once knew, she had no love for the man.

  The bitter irony of it all did not escape him.

  “We can walk. It will take a bit longer, but the rain has stopped and it looks pleasant enough outside.”

  She tilted her head to the side. “You are letting me have my way, just like that?”

  Miles nodded as he opened the door. A rush of crisp autumn air blew in, carrying with it the scent of damp soil and leaves. “Just like that.”

  “Very well.” She walked past him only to come up short a yard or two in front of the cottage, her eyes growing wide as she turned in a slow circle. “Oh, how beautiful.”

  After making certain the fire was out completely, Miles joined Dianna. He took a cursory glance around, but while her face was alight with wonderment as though she were seeing diamonds glittering on the trees he saw nothing but… well, trees. “Yes,” he said absently, his mind on other things. “Beautiful.”

  “You are not looking close enough. There, up on that branch, do you see how blue that bird is?”

  Miles followed the direction of her arm as she pointed towards the top of a tiny sapling. “It’s blue because it’s a bluebird,” he pointed out reasonably.

  “And there, look at that oak. It looks as though an artist took a brush and painted on the leaves by hand. They’re so bright and vibrant.”

  He scratched the back of his neck. “The trees always change color this time of year.”

  “You know, that was always your problem.” Turning to face him, Dianna placed both hands on her hips and frowned. “You are so busy trying to get to the next thing, you never stop to see what is around you now.”

  Was that what he did? Taking a breath, Miles looked again at the bird. It was, he decided, a rather alarming shade of blue. Whether that was a good thing or a bad, he supposed it was something worth noticing. And the leaves on the oak were rather magnificent, a blend of reds and oranges and deep golds. “I see it,” he said defensively. “I see it all.”

  “Do you?” Dianna asked quietly. “I’ve often wondered.”

  Getting the feeling that they were no longer talking about birds and trees, Miles cleared his throat. He should have welcomed any conversation between them of a personal nature, but like a well that had gone dry the words he needed most were nowhere to be found. “The path is that way. Let me get my horse, and we can go.”

  He found his mount behind the cottage grazing on fallen leaves, looking rather damp and downtrodden but otherwise no worse for wear. Greeting the bay with a gentle stroke down its broad shoulder, he untied the reins from the saddle and looped them over one arm. “You’ve earned yourself extra oats and a few apples as well, that is if I can sneak them out beneath Cook’s nose.” The bay nickered and shoved his muzzle into Miles’ chest hard enough to send him stumbling back a step. “I suppose I deserved that. Come on, old chap. Let’s go collect the lady and get you home.”

  But when Miles rounded the corner of the cottage, Dianna was gone.

  Dianna walked briskly in the direction Miles had indicated. After dragging herself over two fallen trees and ducking beneath a few low hanging branches - one of which had held a cobweb she was still trying to get out of her hair - she found the path. It was narrow and twisting, but easily navigated in the bright light of day with no rain to hinder her vision She kept looking back over her shoulder, but for some reason or another it seemed Miles had chosen not to follow her.

  Good, she thought silently. A bit of distance was exactly what she needed to clear her mind against the traitorous thoughts that had begun sneaking not only into her head, but her heart as well.

  Thoughts she had no business thinking.

  Thoughts about Miles’ hard body pressed up against hers.

  Thoughts about the weight of his arm draped over her hip.

  Thoughts about what it would feel like to have his mouth-

  “Rubbish,” she said loudly, startling a pair of songbirds into flight. They chirped angrily at her as they flitted from one branch to another, colorful feathers ruffling in annoyance. “Complete and utter rubbish.”

  Picking up the ragged hem of her skirt keep it from the leaves and sticks that littered the trail, Dianna continued to traipse through the woods, her step noticeably more forceful than it had been a moment ago.

  Her brain, she decided, must be waterlogged. It was the only explanation that made any sense, for surely if she were in her right mind she wouldn’t dream of thinking about Miles’ body, let alone how handsome he’d looked this morni
ng with his rich brown hair tousled from sleeping on the floor and a shadow of dark scruff clinging to his jaw.

  Yes, he’d rescued her, and yes, he’d done so at his own peril and yes, he’d looked incredibly dashing doing so, but one act of bravery did not erase four years of heartache. She would send him a handwritten note in thank you, and that would be that. Just because their paths had crossed twice in a matter of two days did not mean they had to continue doing so. Her life would go on as it had been.

  She was happy. Healthy. She had friends who loved her. Suitors who were interested in her. Miles’ reappearance changed nothing. Absolutely nothing at all.

  Then why, a small voice intruded, can you not get him out of your mind?

  Feeling a slight pull on her skirt Dianna spun around, a blistering retort already forming on the tip of her tongue, but instead of Miles she found only a pricker bush, its thorns entangled in the delicate muslin fabric of her dress. Kneeling, she carefully pulled the thorns free of her skirt, hissing out a breath when one found its way into the soft pad of her thumb. Sucking on the wound she stood and resumed walking.

  Sooner than she would have expected she found herself once again immersed in familiar surroundings. The graceful swans she’d admired yesterday morning watched her as she went past, their glinting black eyes revealing nothing as they moved silently through the water with barely a ripple.

  When Ashburn’s gabled roof came into view she could have wept in relief, but instead squared her shoulders and kept herself carefully composed. At least until Charlotte came flying out from one of the servant’s doors and sprinted across the long sloping lawn like a woman possessed, her yellow skirts billowing out behind her.