by Mary Balogh
But the mention of the half-naked gentleman had finally silenced Bridget. She had looked at her mistress in the darkness their eyes had become accustomed to with a dropped jaw. And though Diana could not see her quite clearly, she could guess that every vestige of color had left her maid's face.
"Oh, mum," she whispered. "Mum, he was in here. I sent him in here as his own room. Mum, did he . . . ? Mum, he didn't ..." But she had not waited for an answer. She had fallen backward into an unconscious heap.
It had taken Diana several minutes to haul her maid into a sitting position so that she could flop her head forward and hope for a return of consciousness. She had felt the first wave of amusement in that whole ghastly night. Wasn't she the one who should be having the vapors? Shouldn't her maid be hovering over her? She was the one who had almost been ravished, wasn't she?
No, not ravished. She could not in all conscience use that word.
Bridget had finally been revived, assured that no, the gentleman had certainly not, and tucked up in her truckle bed, where she had proceeded to fall into an immediate and deep sleep. Diana had made up her own bed as best she could and curled up on the side of it where he had slept. She had buried her nose in the pillow, and thought that there was still the faint smell of him there.
She had not slept.
And now she was trapped, trapped until he left. Bridget brought her breakfast and her luncheon up on a tray for her. Perhaps the only positive outcome of the whole ghastly situation was that her headache had been forgotten. She was feeling far too embarrassed to worry about a simple headache.
"Oh, mum," Bridget said indignantly when she came bustling into the room with the luncheon tray, "they have finished playing cards at last, and one of them was saying that perhaps they can leave in an hour. But that handsome gent, mum, do you know what he was doing?"
"Not until you tell me," Diana said reasonably.
"He was kissing that barmaid, mum," Bridget said, "in the middle of the taproom for all to see. And he had his hand right in her bosom." Bridget flushed crimson. "I fair near dropped the tray."
"I am glad you did not," Diana said. "I am hungry. But he is a nasty sort, I see, Bridget. He must have ..." But she did not complete the sentence.
He must have thought she was the barmaid the night before. He had been expecting her, it seemed, because the girl had presented herself in his room. Oh goodness, he had thought she was the barmaid. What a humiliation. So that was what gentlemen did with their whores! She knew for a certainty that gentlemen did nothing like that with their wives.
She even wondered hilariously for one moment how much money he would have paid her. But the thought was more horrifying than humorous. She had almost become a gentleman's whore.
She watched the three of them leave a little more than an hour later—the two gentlemen who had almost overturned her carriage the previous day, and the other gentleman. She could not see any of their faces since they were directly below her in the tiny stableyard, and all wore cloaks and hats. But they must be the three. There were no other guests at the inn, Bridget had said. Besides, she recognized the curricle.
But disaster struck again. Her gentleman looked up as he was about to turn his horse's head in the direction of the road. And he looked so directly at her window that she did not have time to duck back out of sight before he saw her.
How mortifying!
But she did duck back anyway and felt the color flood her cheeks as she watched him tipthis hat with his riding whip and—yes, he did, she did not imagine it—grin up at her.
The wretch! The unspeakable wretch. Had he no shame?
How very fortunate it was that she would never see him again.
"Ah," Bridget said beside her on a giant sigh, "but he is very handsome, mum."
Handsome! She would like to press his face into the mud and wipe the grin from his face. And blacken those perfect teeth. Handsome indeed!
* * *
It was with a feeling of great relief that Diana watched the approach of the massive stone gateway and wrought iron gate that opened onto the driveway to Rotherham Hall a few hours later. She smiled and lifted a hand to the porter, who ran out of his lodge to open the gates for mem.
The journey had not been a bad one despite the fact that Bridget had been as stiff as a board and had not relaxed her grip on the seat for the whole distance. The road was dirty but not slippery.
But what a nightmare the whole thing had been. It was usually at this part of the journey that she braced herself for the visit to come. She was fond of her in-laws, as who could not be? They were invariably kind. But they were also overbearingly managing. They had always tried lo persuade Teddy to allow them to use their influence to find him a more prestigious post, and they had always tried to persuade
her to talk sense into him.
Until the morning before she had been convinced that this visit would be worse than ever. They had, after all, set themselves to find her a new husband, and it would be very hard to resist their choice without being openly nasty. And who could be openly nasty to the countess? She was so very loving and lovable.
But the events of the last day and a half had dimmed her reluctance to be at Rotherham Hall. How lovely it would be to be safe with relatives again and in the sanity of a private home. No more inns with unlocked doors and rakish gentlemen chasing barmaids who were no better than they should be.
She leaned forward eagerly and smiled with genuine warmth as the carriage pulled into the cobbled courtyard before the great double doors of the house. The earl and the countess were, as usual, at the bottom of the steps beaming their welcome.
They looked dearly familiar and safe, the countess small and round and gray-haired, and decked out as usual with frills and lace and several chains and necklaces and a ring on every finger. The earl was red-faced and white-haired, his equally white mustache drooping at either side of his mouth.
"Diana, my own dearest girl." The countess folded her in a hug as soon as her feet touched the cobbles. "How very pretty you look."
She was passed on to the earl, who squeezed her even more tightly and kissed her smackingly on the cheek. "As pretty as a picture," he agreed. "Welcome home, Diana, my dear."
Diana felt very close to tears. "How wonderful it is to be home," she said, and felt with all her being that the word was an appropriate one. "I have had the most dreadful journey. You cannot imagine."
The earl, his arm protectively about her shoulders, squeezed her again. "You must tell us all about it," he said. "But you are safe now, my dear. You are home with us."
''I shall take you directly to your room,'' the countess said, ringed fingers waving in the air. "It is the one you always shared with Teddy, dearest. I hope it will not upset you. And when you have refreshed yourself, you must come down and meet everyone who is here already. I think you know them all. Except maybe Jack. He arrived just an hour ago with Ernest and Lester. I have not seen him for years myself."
"Is Ernest here?" Diana asked with a smile. "It will be good to see him again."
"And Clarence and Claudia," the countess said, referring to her eldest son, the Viscount Wendell, and his wife. "But you shall see for yourself shortly. Come on inside dear, and forget about the troubles of your journey. They are all over now."
Ah yes, all over. A nightmare that could now be safely forgotten just as if it had not had any more reality than a dream.
5
Most of the guests had arrived already, the Marquess of Kenwood was informed when he and his cousins finally rode up to Rotherham Hall. But it was to be a small house party, the countess announced sadly. Only twenty persons, including herself and the ead. It was clearly quite the wrong time of year to have organized such a gathering, but what could one do when dear Rotherham's birthday happened to
fall in the latter half of June? It was just too bad that the London Season had not quite finished.
Lord Kenwood thought that twenty persons would make a sizeable house part
y, but he said nothing. Indeed, it would have been difficult to say anything of significance for the ten minutes that passed between their arrival in the courtyard before the hall and his being left alone with Carter in his room. While the countess hugged and kissed Ernie and Lester in turn, the earl took a death grip of his hand and pumped it heartily. And then he was caught up in the plump hug and jangling necklaces and
bracelets of the countess.
When she finally released him, it was only so that she might take his face in her hands. "So handsome, Jack," she said. "You grow better looking every time I see you, which is not near often enough. Are you still breaking female hearts, or is there someone special now?"
The marquess grinned and winked at her. "Ah, now that would be telling," he said.
"And you have lost none of your wickedness either," she said with a hearty laugh. "How does your mama put up with you? And how are Frances and Hester? Frances has a little one already?"
"My nephew, yes," Lord Kenwood said with a bow, wondering how the Countess of Rotherham could remember the names of his sisters and even the fact that Frances had a son when the connection between the families was quite remote. "They are all well, I thank you, ma'am."
"Well," the countess said briskly, "I am more delighted than I can say that you were able to come, Jack. Your presence will even the numbers, you know. But the other gentlemen will doubtless be sorry you are here when they see all the young ladies sighing over you." She laughed heartily again while her son and Lester looked sheepish.
"Clarence and Claudia are here," the earl said, "and our two grandchildren, of course. And Hannah and Joshua— her ladyship's sister and her good husband, Jack—with Beatrice and Barbara."
"Sir Joshua Knowles, that is," Lord Crenshaw explained to his cousin. "You forget that Jack is not familiar with the family, Papa. Bea and Barbara are their daughters."
"And Thomas has arrived with Russell and Paula," the countess said. She held up one jangling arm to her son. "Mr. Thomas Peabody, Jack. My second cousin once removed on my dear mama's side. Russell and Paula are his son and daughter."
Ernest asked the question for the marquess. "Diana is not here yet?" he asked.
"We were expecting her yesterday," his mother said, taking his arm and leading the group into the house. "The rain must have delayed her. Was it not dreadful, dear? Did it interfere with your journey?"
But she is coming? the marquess wanted to ask. He had not committed himself to this infernal house party only to find that the lady who had brought him there had changed her mind about coming? Ghastly thought!
He was glad of a chance to bathe and change into clean clothes before going downstairs, to the drawing room for tea. He really did feel like a stranger in a strange house, he thought, standing at the window that faced out onto the lawns at the back of the house and adjusting the sit of his coat more to his liking. The countess, of course, before she had left him to Carter's care, had assured him that they were all family. And he had no doubt that she could explain the intricate relationships that existed among all the guests then present in the house.
It was a magnificent estate. He had never been there before. The winding driveway leading from the main gates had shown him lawns and shrubberies, an orchard and greenhouses, and formal gardens stretching the length of the massive gray stone house. And the lawns behind the house, he could see, led to a forest of trees that stretched off to the east. He suspected that there was a river flowing just beyond his line of vision. He knew that there was an old family castle somewhere close.
There were all sorts of secluded places, it seemed, where he might expect to lure Mrs. Diana Ingram. If she came. He would be very annoyed indeed if she did not. He would have wasted the end of the Season for a few weeks of boredom on a country estate.
And he would not even be able to console himself with the memory of a pleasant encounter on the road. He could not shake from his mind memories of the lady of the lovely legs. Or the memory of his incredible gaucherie in speaking just when he had the night before. That encounter could have been a very pleasant memory indeed, and he could now be safely tucking it away with other such. Something from the past, something to be recalled fondly while he moved on into the future.
Instead, it was a memory that was gnawing away at his insides. He was not accustomed to feelings of sexual frustration. He could not remember the last time he had been rejected. Especially at such a critical moment. He had never even had to overcome reluctance once he had a female between the bedsheets with him.
Well, he thought philosophically, there was always room in one's life for new experiences. This one was definitely new. But he had the uncomfortable feeling that he would spend the next several years looking around crowded drawing rooms and ballrooms in the hope of catching a glimpse of the lady. But since he had never seen her before and had not had a good look at her face during either of his two encounters with her, it was likely that his search would be in vain.
Damnation, he thought, turning determinedly in the direction of the door and the stairs down to the drawing room. He would just have to hope that Mrs. Diana Ingram would arrive without much further delay and that the fascination of the chase would distract his mind. He hoped she was as lovely as she was reputed to be.
He spent the following half hour bowing and shaking hands and smiling and noting that Beatrice Knowles was handsome while her sister Barbara was pretty and that Paula Peabody was neither. He sat down and took tea with Lady Hannah Knowles and Claudia, the Viscountess Wendell, whom he knew from previous Seasons in London.
His mood brightened perceptibly when the earl and countess left the room very soon after his own arrival in it and returned some time later to announce that Mrs. Ingram had arrived and would join them downstairs as soon as possible.
So she had come. He was going to have ample time to win his wager. Three whole weeks.
"I am so glad that Diana is here," Claudia said. "I have been sad for her since Teddy's death. They were very fond of each other."
"She is young," Lady Knowles said comfortingly. "She will find another husband in time."
Claudia laughed. "Doubtless," she said, "with Clarence's mama and papa to lend a helping hand."
Lady Knowles joined in the laughter. "My sister always was the most dedicated matchmaker," she said. "She chose Joshua for me long before she set her own sights on Rother-ham. Her judgment always seems to be unerring, too."
Claudia was still smiling. "Yes," she agreed. "Clarence and I are still happy together. But then so were Teddy and Diana, yet their betrothal was a surprise even to Mother, I believe. You had better be careful, Jack, if you are not planning to take a wife soon. You may find yourself betrothed and your wedding all planned before this house party has come to an end."
Lord Kenwood grinned, "i think I can safely promise to go to my grave a single man," he said. "A long time in the future, I hope. Not even the Countess of Rotherham can shake my resolve on that matter."
"Well, I will admit one thing," Claudia said. "There would be a day of mourning declared by the female population of London if you ever did announce your betrothal, Jack."
Lady Knowles shook her head and replaced her teacup in its saucer. "As bad as that, is he, Claudia?" she asked. "And I can well believe it. He has naughty eyes, does he not? Jack, Jack, I do believe you will be a challenge that my sister will not be able to resist."
The marquess was still smiling when the drawing room doors were opened and he thought he must have walked into a dream. She was dressed in pale green muslin, the high-waisted style and flowing skirt doing nothing to hide the slim shapeliness of her body. Her fair hair was drawn back from her face, but was in a riot of bright curls at the back of her head. And her head was held proudly on a gracefully slim neck. Her face quite matched the beauty of the rest of her.
But then of course he had known that. It had been beautiful even when she had been flustered over the disarranged bonnet and tossed skirts. And of course he recogniz
ed her instantly even though he had thought he had not looked closely into her face. And he knew far more than her dress revealed of just how slim and soft and shapely that body was.
The Marquess of Kenwood rose to his feet, as did everyone else, and stayed exactly where he was.
So his lady of the lovely legs was Mrs. Diana Ingram. How very interesting. How very interesting indeed!
He watched as she greeted everyone else in the room. She appeared to know them all and to be fond of them all, too— her face gained color and animation as she smiled and hugged and exchanged greetings with each one.
"Ernest," she said, holding out both hands to her brother-in-law when she had advanced almost across he room, and smiling warmly. She was already quite close to the marquess, though she had not yet looked in his direction. "How glad I am that you are here. I have not seen you since Teddy's funeral, have I? Did you have a pleasant journey?"
Lord Crensford took her hands in a tight grip and kissed her on the cheek. "Hello, Diana," he said. "You are looking lovely. Not very pleasant, no. We got stranded in an outlandish inn last night. Not even any locks on the doors. I had to sleep on my purse all night."
