How had things come to this?
He wasn’t a jealous man. He was the one who made other men jealous. Made men take to bedroom doors with large axes. And yet the moment he had seen Antonio lean in and kiss Diana he’d been ready to commit bloody murder.
What Diana was up to Owen had no idea. The only thing he did know for certain was that she seemed hell-bent on testing him. His heart ached when he remembered the smile, she had gifted Antonio. A smile he had thought she reserved only for him.
Whatever her game, it was cruel. It had forced him to behave in public like . . . a man who cared. A man who was possessive of his woman.
Like a husband.
“Utterly ridiculous,” he muttered.
Diana made him feel things that were foreign to him. Emotions that he struggled to even put a name to coursed through him.
His only source of consolation was the memory of the look of anguish on her face as her male protector had ushered her from the room. She may have been playing him for a fool for the past few weeks, but there was no doubt in his mind that the despair in her eyes was real.
Owen sat up, then lay back and rested his head against the hard brick wall. “Diana, my love, why are you putting me through this torture?”
He could take some consolation from the fact that she likely wasn’t with Antonio. His last sight of the bloodied and bruised man had been as Marco and one of the other Italians had dragged their friend away from the fight and toward the front door, Marco apologizing profusely to their host as he went.
He didn’t want to think what Reid would say. They were trying to sell tickets to a charity performance at which Reid was going to showcase his singing. No one would want to attend a concert put on by a group whose lead violinist had been incarcerated in Newgate Prison.
All he had wanted to do was tell Diana that she was important to him. To try and explain the situation with Lady Amelia Perry and how he did not want to marry her. To get her to understand that if he was forced to marry, he still wanted a relationship with her. He was pinning his hopes on Diana loving him enough to be able to share him with his wife. A woman he intended to keep hidden away at his country estate as much as he could while he remained in London.
The jailer brought him in a tankard of watered down beer. He took it, forcing himself to drink it even though it tasted as bad as the air. How anyone could live or work here was beyond him.
After finishing the ale, he closed his eyes. An uneasy sleep soon claimed him.
An hour later, the jail cell door banged loudly as it was slammed against the wall. Owen started from his slumber. “What?”
“More like what the hell!”
He opened his eyes to see his father standing in front of him, red-faced with rage. Behind him, at a safe distance, stood Kendal. Owen got to his feet.
“The governor said he wouldn’t deal with anyone less than a noble,” explained Kendal.
“And since your friend Reid has abandoned you, Callum thought it a good idea to drag me from my sleep,” said Lord Lowe.
Owen chanced a look in Kendal’s direction. He was grateful for his presence. If Kendal was in the room, there was a faint hope that his father would hold his temper.
“I’m waiting,” Lord Lowe ground out.
Owen thought for a moment. What was he to say? That he had been fighting over a woman? And instead of having the good sense to do it in private, he had chosen one of the major social events of the summer?
He hadn’t even been at the party as a guest, but rather as a paid entertainer. And because he was busy fighting a man, he barely knew over a woman who was not his, the Noble Lords had not in fact performed at all. The entire evening had been a disaster.
Fuck.
“I am sorry, Father. My behavior was beyond the pale. I apologize unreservedly.”
Lord Lowe motioned for Kendal to come forward. He spoke with such a calmness in his voice, that Owen’s blood immediately turned to ice. “Lord Kendal, I thank you for standing beside my reprobate of a son, but would you be so kind as to give him and myself a moment of privacy? I shall see you and Sir Callum outside the prison walls shortly.”
Owen knew what was about to come.
Hopefully he makes it a quick bollocking.
Owen couldn’t wait to go home and wash away the stench of this place. Even his clothes stank.
Within the hour he hoped to be back in Windmill Street, nursing a glass of Reid’s finest red and trying to think of how he could get things back on an even keel with Diana. Guilt over his attack on Antonio was growing by the minute.
But first he had to get released from jail.
As soon as Kendal had gone, his father began to march up and down the tiny prison cell. His hands were fisted by his sides. Several times he stepped up to Owen, stared him in the face, then huffed before going back to his hurried pacing.
Finally, he stopped in the middle of the room and drew in a deep breath, then nodded as he let it back out.
“You are a disgrace. This family is on its knees, and what are you doing to help solve the crisis? Nothing. Not a bloody thing. Instead you are living the highlife with your friends. Are you doing anything about securing Lady Amelia Perry’s dowry? No. You are continuing to consort with a loose woman.”
For a brief moment, it did cross Owen’s mind to make mention that he was in a monogamous relationship, but the fact that the woman in question was actually married to someone else stopped him. One could not technically be faithful when one was committing adultery.
“About Lady Amelia,” he ventured.
“Yes?”
“Has it occurred to you that she and I may not suit? Perhaps we are rushing into this marriage with a little too much haste. I have never actually met the chit; she may not want to marry me,” he said.
The look which appeared on his father’s face made Owen immediately wish that the earth would open up and swallow him, or at the very least that he be struck dumb. He was in prison, arguing over the wisdom of marrying a girl whose dowry would help save his family.
Lord Lowe shook his head. His shoulders slumped. “I am in two minds about you, Owen. Either you don’t understand how perilous our situation is, or you do, and you just don’t give a damn. Whichever it is, your current course of action is not helping me to save our family.”
Owen met his father’s gaze. “I do understand, but at the same time, you are not willing to listen to me. I love Diana. Without her, none of this means anything to me.”
Lord Lowe stepped in close; mere inches separated their faces. A bone-chilling mix of anger and resignation sat on his visage. Owen struggled to hold his father’s gaze.
“You are a reckless and selfish fool of a boy! You are letting your cock make decisions that will having far-reaching and terrible consequences for all of us. Let this woman go, and then get on with the business of marrying Lady Amelia Perry and securing our family’s future,” said Lord Lowe.
“And if I don’t?”
“You will destroy all that your forebears and I have worked for.”
And with that, he headed for the door and the jailer closed it behind him.
Owen stood, stupefied. His father had left him to rot in prison.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Owen sat quietly in the carriage all the way back to Windmill Street. It had been mid-morning the following day before Reid had made it home and, after having been informed of Owen’s dire situation, had made the journey over to Newgate Prison.
A fine had been levied and the charges against him dropped. Reid had not made mention of the amount of the fine but knowing how angry the host of the birthday party had been, Owen suspected it was not an insignificant amount. Somehow, he would have to find the money to pay Reid back.
Money, of course, was only one of Owen’s problems. What he was going to do about the unholy mess he had created last night was forefront of his mind. He had assaulted Antonio in front of London’s elite and the woman he loved had borne witness to hi
s jealous rage.
To top it all off, he had also disappointed his father. Owen had gotten little sleep in the cold, stinking jail cell. For hours on end, his father’s words had kept rolling around in his head. You will destroy all that your forebears and I have worked for.
His thoughts were a constant whirl as he tried to find a way forward with his life. To seek a solution that would not see him having to sacrifice Diana, or his family’s heritage. But nothing came to mind. The longer he thought about things the more elusive an answer became.
Reid’s fingers thrummed on the wooden doorframe. When he finally stopped, he cleared his throat. Owen lifted his head and met his gaze.
“This has to end. We didn’t start the Noble Lords to go brawling with the Italians. We did it to be able to take them on with our music. To show them that the lords of England are as good as they are; not to display our boxing skills,” said Reid. “I don’t understand why you have taken such a vehement dislike to Antonio Calvino. Diana is not going to be your bride. You really don’t have the right to be getting all proprietary about her, especially in public.”
Owen rubbed his tired face with the heel of his hands. “It’s alright for you. You can choose who you want to marry. I am being forced to marry someone I don’t know, and, in the process, it will cost me the one woman I have ever loved.”
Reid raked his fingers through his hair and sighed. “I thought you were a little too keen on her. Kendal said he was worried you had fallen in love. But Diana is married, so nothing other than an affair can come of it.”
“I know.” Owen couldn’t blame his friends for thinking what they did or his father for having torn strips off him. He had fought openly with another man for Diana’s favor. He may as well have taken out a half-page advertisement in The Times and announced that he was having an affair with Mrs. William Smith.
He felt like hell and a change of topic was the only thing he could think of that might help him feel a little better. “So, what happened with you last night? Did you get to speak to Lavinia?”
“I went to see Lavinia and we talked. She explained that Marco had been to see her about lessons. But what we both realized was that instead of having singing lessons, he was spying on me,” replied Reid.
Holy hell.
Marco was lucky that Reid had found that out after he had left the party. Owen was a natural brawler, but Reid could handle himself in a fight.
“At least one good thing came out of last night,” said Owen.
A shy smile appeared on Reid’s face. “Actually, three. Lavinia and I finally declared our hearts to one another. She and I are getting married in the next few days.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
The silence from Diana was deafening. Owen sent her a note via her modiste informing her that he would be waiting for her in Hyde Park that afternoon. In the note, he begged for the opportunity to apologize to her over his fight with Antonio, and his subsequent arrest.
He had publicly humiliated her, himself, and Antonio. A heartfelt apology was very much in order. Owen had made enough mistakes with women in his years that he knew exactly how to beg for forgiveness. While it was usually with the goal of getting back into a woman’s bed, he was prepared to do the same just so he could get Diana to speak to him again.
He arrived a little before the usual hour for him and Diana to meet. He spent that time pacing up and down the stone roadway that led in from Grosvenor Gate and practicing his speech.
“I am so sorry, my love. I just became overcome with jealousy. I still don’t understand why you allowed that blackguard to lay his hands on you. And when he kissed you, it was all too much for me to bear. No. That’s not right, she doesn’t want to hear that. She wants to know that I love her; and she is the only woman who will ever hold my heart,” he muttered.
He had to come clean. To tell her that despite him having to marry, she would be the love of his life.
“Lady Amelia Perry means nothing to me; you have to believe me,” he muttered.
He kept checking his pocket watch, frustration and worry growing by the minute. Diana was punishing him, but he wasn’t sure why. He had told her he loved her; what else could a woman want from him? And what was her infatuation with Antonio Calvino all about?
At six thirty, he decided she wasn’t going to make an appearance and he began to head back to Windmill Street. Tonight, the Noble Lords had a major rehearsal at the designated venue for the upcoming charity performance, and it would not do for him to arrive late. Reid was counting on all his friends to support him and make the concert a success.
Partway to Follett House, he had a change of heart. The Noble Lords could wait. He had to have things out with Diana. They had to get their relationship back on track. He missed her so much it hurt.
“You cannot tell me you love me and then just walk away. What we have is special; something worth fighting for. You will hear my apology whether you like it or not,” he muttered, climbing the steps up to the salon of Diana’s modiste. He banged on the door and, without a word of pleasantry, marched inside.
The modiste was kneeling on the floor, pinning up the hem of a gown. She looked up at him as he stepped through the doorway.
She got to her feet and bowed to her lady client. “Excuse me for a moment please.”
She came to Owen. Displeasure was written all over her face. He and the woman may not have met before, but she obviously knew who he was.
“My lord, you cannot just barge in here when it suits you,” she said.
He ignored her protests. “Do you have a message for me?”
“No. Your message from this morning was delivered as per your footman’s request, but my girl was not given any note in return. In fact, the lady’s maid told her to inform you that there would be no reply. I have been too busy with customers to pen a note and send it to you.”
Diana had not only decided she would not be meeting with him in Hyde Park, but she was cutting off all communication with him.
Diana, no. Fuck. What am I going to do?
He was about to beg her to deliver a second note when he suddenly remembered where he was and that there were other customers in the salon. There was a very good reason why footmen and maids were used to carry messages between parties carrying on illicit relationships. Barging in here and making demands would only serve to draw unwanted attention to himself, and speculation as to which lady was his current mistress. In the past it would not have bothered him in the slightest, but with Diana, things were different.
He recognized the maid seated in the corner as being in the employ of one of his more regular, but no-so-discreet bed partners. If the maid was here, there was every chance that her mistress was in the dressing room next door. He did not need the complication of having to explain to one of his former lovers his reasons for being in the salon of a modiste.
He swallowed his pride and bowed. “My apologies. Please forgive my rudeness. You have a business to run and staff to employ, which is more important than helping me.”
Time for a tactical retreat. Live to fight another day.
He turned tail and headed back out the door. Another day or two before seeing Diana might not be such a bad idea. It would give her the opportunity to think more clearly about the attack on Antonio. For things to calm down a little and allow her to be in a better frame of mind to listen to what he had to say. Owen also consoled himself with the thought that it would give Diana time to begin to miss him. Hopefully that would make their eventual reunion that much sweeter.
And then you might be ready to consider what sort of future we could have together. For you to decide that you love me enough to become my long-term mistress.
By the time Owen did finally make it back to Windmill Street it was nearly eight o’clock.
A clearly unimpressed Eliza met him as he stepped through the front door. Hands on hips, she glared at him.
“About bloody time. Reid and the others gave up waiting for you and left a short while
ago for the concert venue. If you hurry you might make it in time, but I am not guaranteeing that my brother won’t tear strips off you even if you do.”
He nodded. “I know. I didn’t plan to be home this late. I had something to attend to and it couldn’t wait.”
Upstairs, Owen changed in record time. With his beloved violin in hand, he raced out the front door and leapt into a hack.
“The Sans Pareil theatre, and hurry,” he said.
Every rehearsal between now and the charity concert was vital. The soon to be married Reid was counting on all the Noble Lords, and Owen was not going to fail him. Now he just had to find a way to prove to Diana that he would not fail her. For her to know that no matter what happened with Lady Amelia Perry, it was she who would always have his heart.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Amy had stuck to the plan. All notes received from Owen via her modiste had been ignored. The Perry household staff were making preparations for Colin and Amy’s departure.
The birthday party had been a disaster. She had been the cause of Antonio receiving a beating he had not deserved. She had given the Italian all the signals that she was available for flirting, even allowing him to kiss her on the cheek. Things had been going fine until Owen had arrived and unleashed his fury.
Only then had she realized the depth of Owen’s feelings and jealousy over seeing her with another man. Another woman might think it thrilling to know that a man felt so strongly for her, but Amy’s thoughts were tempered by the knowledge that Owen’s love was for Diana Smith, not Amelia Perry. He was still keeping the truth a tightly held secret.
I must be going mad.
She shouldn’t even be thinking about Owen Morrison. Rather, she should be concentrating her mind on the business of packing to go home to Rickmansworth. Of composing a suitable list of reasons to present to her father as to why this farce of an engagement should come to an end. Lady Amelia Perry should be moving on with her life.
Owen: Regency Rockstars Page 18
