She would not do it!
At least the children would be with Vincent, and he had told her that Litton and Helen were on their way to Yorkshire. Selena and Bytham would be cared for. They would grieve, but perhaps in time they would forget her.
Suddenly, at that thought, a great anger rose up in Diana. She would not let that fiend win so easily! She would fight him—fight him with the truth, with lies if she must. She would not let him separate her from her family. Not if she could keep breath in her body. Surely, Vincent would help her.
If she dared explain the matter to him.
The strain of the evening had been somewhat relieved by Justinian Sudbury’s amiable conversation. He supplied them with the latest on dits from London and an entertaining description of his favorite aunt, cheerfully admitting that without her patronage his financial future as the younger son of an impecunious, albeit genteel, family would be gloomy indeed. Could so pleasant and innocuous an individual possibly have been involved in her husband’s death?
And why was he here?
Vincent had walked with her to her room and stationed an armed footman in the hallway outside her door before rejoining Justinian downstairs for brandy and cigars. Now Diana lay awake, staring at the plaster design on the ceiling, her ears straining for any sound of disturbance. Suddenly she heard voices—Vincent calling good-night to Sudbury, the sound of doors closing, murmurs right outside her door and footsteps.
And then a light tapping at her door. And a whisper. “Diana?”
She swung her feet out of bed and fumbled in the dark for her wrapper. Padding barefoot to the door, she leaned an ear against it. “Vincent?”
“Yes, it is I. Open the door.”
Diana turned the key and carefully looked around the edge of the door. His lordship, without coat or cravat stood just outside, the candlelight from one still-burning sconce striking lustrous sparks from his dark hair. Without asking, he gently pushed her away from the door and entered.
When he had locked the door behind himself, he turned back to her, clasping her upper arm with one hand and gazing at her face in the dim light. “How are you?”
Diana sighed and shook her head. “Frightened. It seems I have been continuously frightened since—” She broke off and blurted out, “Why is Justinian Sudbury here?”
“I don’t know. But as long as he is in the house, you will not sleep in here alone. I haven’t enough men to watch everywhere, night and day. I have sent a note to Uncle Charles requesting the use of some of his people, but still…”
The wail escaped Diana in spite of herself. “He was there, Vincent! Justinian was there when Wyn was killed.” Anguished doubt welled up in her. “And…and…and so were you!” Realizing what she had said, Diana clapped a hand over her mouth and stared up into his tense features with tear-filled eyes.
He released her and stood silent for several heartbeats, his arms at his sides. Then he said, very softly, “I did not kill Wyn, Diana.”
“I… Forgive me. I don’t think… I—I just don’t know what is happening, what to believe. Do you think that Justinian…?” Diana bowed her head.
Vincent shrugged. “I cannot say. He did not do it himself. I was there, and I do know that. But whether he arranged for it—possibly identified Wyn for the assassin…” He ran his fingers through his hair impatiently. “Like you, I can no longer be sure of anything. Except that I did not contrive Wyn’s death.”
They stood there, staring at each other in pained silence, his eyes angry. Suddenly, Diana could bear it no longer.
“Oh, Vincent!”
She threw herself against him and his arms closed around her, all but crushing her.
“Ah, Diana.” His lips brushed her forehead, sought her damp eyelashes, her cheeks. “Trust me. Please trust me a little longer. Trust me and let me help you.”
Diana clung to him and lifted her face. “Hold me, Vincent. Please hold me. I’m so frightened—for my children, for myself.”
A rough sound rumbled deep in his chest. His lips came down hard on hers. His tongue probed and she opened her mouth, her body straining against his. He tasted of tobacco and spirits and something else. Something heady… Himself. At last he freed his mouth and gazed into her eyes. “Diana, I have loved you, wanted you for months—often wished Wyn at the devil—but I would never, never have harmed him. Please believe me.”
God help her, she did.
She nodded wordlessly against his shirt and he picked her up and carried her to the bed. Clothing flew in all directions. His boots, her wrapper. His shirt, her nightrail. His britches and stockings. When they both stood naked beside the bed, suddenly he stopped his urgent hands and gazed down at her. “My God, Diana. What am I doing? I am about to fall on you like a falcon.” He drew in a long breath. “Forgive me.”
Words hung in Diana’s throat, her own feelings choking her. She spread her fingers against his chest, stroking the dark hair, crisp and smooth beneath them. Ran her hands down his flanks to his lean hips. Rested them on his waist, her thumbs brushing the squares of muscle on his taut abdomen.
He shuddered and reached around her for her braid, his forearms pressing her against him. He worked the braid loose and thrust his fingers through the heavy mass, pulling her face to his, kissing, tasting, teasing. Diana’s knees went weak and she clung to him, arms tight around his waist.
Vincent turned them and he sat on the bed, pressing his face against her breasts as she stood in front of him. He kissed the valley between them, slowly moving outward until his mouth covered one nipple. Diana moaned and clutched his shoulders for support as her knees threatened to buckle. He fastened one arm around her waist, holding her up, and his other hand found her bottom, stroking gently.
She could not breathe. She could only gasp as his hand and mouth stoked a blaze in her such as she had never known. Her gasps became moans and her moans threatened to become cries. Before she could betray them to the rest of the house, Vincent swung her around onto the bed. His body came down on hers, his mouth silencing her as he entered.
He thrust no more than twice before the world fell away under Diana, leaving her in the darkness of the void. Sensation rushed from her toes to her scalp as her body convulsed. She did not know how long she hung there before she again became aware of the motionless heat and weight of his body on her. She looked up into his face.
He smiled his skewed smile and began to move again. Oh, God! Tension built in her again with each slow thrust, with each glance at his rapt expression. Once more he pushed her to the brink and over it, once more muffling her mouth with his own. She soared again, spiraling upward, poised as time stood still, and then drifted back into his arms.
His voice sounded softly in her ear. “Again, Diana.”
She tried to tell him she could not, then found, as he thrust again, that was not true. She could, and she did. But now he no longer stilled himself, but moved faster and harder, demanding one more cry of release from her before his own muffled shout erupted against her mouth.
They lay together, exhausted, his body still on hers, his forehead resting against hers. At last he murmured, “Ah, Diana. I have wanted this for so long—have loved you for so long.”
She did not know how to answer. Dare she admit her own tormenting desire? But how could he fail to know of it—now after this? She nodded. “I know,” she said, and kissed his cheek gently.
He rolled to one side and smoothed the tangled hair away from her face, his expression serious as he gazed at her. “Diana, I have been thinking. This situation is completely unacceptable. I want you to have the protection of both my arm and my name. I believe we should marry—as soon as possible. When we have dealt with the present difficulties and I have settled one other matter, I shall conclude my service to the Crown so that it will not bring further danger to you.”
“Vincent…” She reached up to touch his face.
He shushed her with a finger against her lips. “Do not answer now in the afterglow o
f lovemaking and in haste. Consider the proposal with clearer judgment tomorrow. And the next day—for as long as you wish. I do not want you to rush into it out of fear or gratitude or…” He paused for a moment, then continued, “I realize I am offering you a questionable bargain—my past, my nature, my reputation.”
“It could hardly be worse than mine at the moment. I thank you, but you are correct. We should both give this more thought. You may, also, wish to reconsider. There are circumstances…”
She could not bring herself to tell him. Not now.
She simply could not tell him about Deimos in this tender moment. Shame froze her tongue. And Diana did not want to think about what lay in store for her. She could not accept Vincent’s proposal, of course. If she were destined to hang, she would not bring that disgrace on him. In fact, she could not answer him at all, for unless she told him about her accuser, Vincent would think a refusal meant she did not want him. She would not have him believe that.
She was coming to know that was far from true.
Once again he had slipped out of her room and returned to his own before dawn. And once again it was, in all likelihood, an unnecessary discretion. Having spent this much time in an unchaperoned state, no one would believe that they were not lovers. Still… He found himself unwilling to flaunt his conquest to the world. If he did so, and she did not accept his offer of marriage, her situation would be worse than ever.
If that were possible.
She had not refused, and Vincent found himself cautiously optimistic. Her feelings for him might not equal his for her, but he now believed that she at least wanted him. He would put his dependence in patience.
And in ardor.
Vincent could not suppress a grin whenever he thought of her magnificent response to his lovemaking. God! She was every man’s dream—beautiful, kind, courageous, and, beneath that quiet exterior, passionate. Having made the decision to wed her, he would not give up. Only one doubt nagged him.
She still kept her secret.
He came into the breakfast parlor to find Justinian Sudbury already eating. Durbin informed him that Emma had carried a tray up to Diana. Smiling inwardly, Vincent hoped that her failure to appear was attributable to her being too tired to come down. After last night she deserved a rest.
“I say.” Sudbury spoke around a mouthful of ham. “Been thinking.”
Vincent gave him an inquiring glance.
“How did that rascal know about the service passage?”
“An excellent question.” Vincent filled his plate and set it on the table. “I have been considering that myself. And how did he know which chimney led to a little-used fireplace in the kitchen?”
Justinian took a large swallow of coffee. “On your staff?”
An icy chill trickled down Vincent’s neck at the thought. “I cannot believe it of the present staff. But there are those who have left my employ over the years.” Many with good reason. And with good reason to hate him. “It might have been one of them, or someone to whom they gave the information.”
“Can you find them?”
Vincent shrugged. “Some of them, perhaps. It would take time to find them all, but it might be worth it. The devil’s in it that I cannot go haring off on that kind of hunt right now. I need to ride the grounds this morning.”
“Might find a sign. Probably won’t.” Sudbury poured himself another cup of coffee. “Happy to help you.”
“Thank you.” Was that offer one of help or hindrance? Vincent sigh silently. He would have to keep his guard up until he could discover which.
Breakfast completed, he and Sudbury strolled together to the main entry where grooms waited with their horses. Cheerful summer sunlight greeted them, seeming to put the lie to the alarms of the evening before. Vincent was just at the point of commenting on the good weather when they heard the thunder of horses’ hooves.
He stared openmouthed at the cavalcade pounding up the drive. “My God! It’s the Light Horse.”
“I say.” Sudbury took a step back. “Who is this?”
“My relatives, I believe.”
Vincent walked down the steps to greet Caldbeck and Litton, who led the column of riders now milling about at their foot. Half the men rode gray horses and wore the gray livery of Caldbeck. The balance displayed the varied colors of Litton. “Good morning, my lords. What is the occasion for all the cavalry?”
“Charles says you need help.” Litton swung down from his mount. “Said someone broke into Inglewood yesterday, apparently looking for Lady Diana’s children.”
“Aye.” Vincent gazed unbelieving at no fewer than twenty extra grooms and footmen. The response stunned him. What had he ever done to deserve such loyalty? “I’m much obliged to both of you. I—I never expected…”
“Helen and I are concerned for the children, as well as you and Lady Diana.” Litton shook hands with Vincent and Sudbury. “After we received her—” he broke off with a glance at Sudbury, then continued more cautiously “—her request, we set out immediately. Arrived just last night.”
Caldbeck dismounted and joined the group on the steps. “These are all men you may trust. I know from uncomfortable experience how important that is in a such a situation as this. I kept the ones I know less well at Wulfdale.”
Litton nodded agreement. “Mine are yours for as long as you need them. How would you like them deployed?”
Suddenly, Vincent found himself the commander of a small army. He took a breath and gathered his thoughts. Never before had anyone come to his aid—certainly never so handsomely. Probably because he abhorred asking for it. Somehow he would find a way to repay them. “I believe we should have those most comfortable on horseback search the grounds, even though I fear the miscreant has long since fled. We can later set up regular patrols.”
Caldbeck signaled to a young man astride a tall gray. “Give James Benjamin your orders. He will see to it.” The young groom bowed from the saddle and began immediately to gather the other stablemen.
“The others, I believe, I will use in the house.” He glanced inquiringly at Litton. “Whom would you suggest…?”
“Use young Feetham. He’s clever and well organized. He’ll be my butler when his father retires.”
The well-built redhead Litton indicated got down from his horse and the other footmen followed suit. James Benjamin set about giving orders and soon the spare horses were under the care of Vincent’s grooms and a large mounted party spread out over the Inglewood grounds.
Vincent returned to the house and rang for Durbin, bidding him to instruct Feetham in the configuration of the house. By the time luncheon was served, guards had been posted near all the regularly used rooms and the irregularly used entries, and Vincent had heaved a sigh of relief.
Throckmorton would continue as bodyguard to Selena and Bytham, but there was only one person with whom Vincent would trust Diana’s safety.
That was, of course, himself.
Life took on a new rhythm. For the next few days the presence of so large a body of guardians should have relieved Diana’s fears and allowed her to relax, but somehow it did not. She could only hold her breath, wondering when the next disaster would befall her and what form it would take. Vincent had not brought up the subject of marriage again, and neither had she.
She did not know what to say. She still could not bring herself to tell him about Deimos and his threats. Surely, Vincent would never believe that she had conspired in Wyn’s death in order to seduce him. That accusation was too fair and far off even for Deimos to make believable—except possibly when combined with the allegation she could not deny.
Would that combination cause Vincent to believe the whole fabric of denunciation and innuendo? And what if he learned that she had taken Deimos’s money—that hateful gift that had sucked her further into his web of power? Would Vincent turn away from her in disgust?
No, she could not yet allow herself even to think about a safe future as Vincent Ingleton’s wife. The dream
hovered too far from her reach. Losing it would break her heart forever. So she would not tell him. She would live in the moment for as long as she was allowed to do so. She would sleep in his arms each night in defiance of every principle of propriety, every opinion of her honor. Would romp with her babies and hold them close for as long as heaven permitted.
Since the coming of the extra men, Vincent had made it a point to be with her almost every moment. This afternoon they strolled through the garden near the drive, avoiding the sheltered but concealed paths and tall hedges of the mazelike shrubbery walk. Her hand rested properly on his arm, but she knew anyone observing them would surely have identified them as lovers.
His dark head bent attentively toward her fair one. When she glanced into his face, the look that passed between them sent shivers throughout her frame. He was so darkly beautiful. So taut, so intense. So fierce of countenance. No wonder she had feared him. A part of her still did. Perhaps that explained her reticence with him.
Even though she was falling in love with him.
Why? Why now? Now when she feared her future lost.
She had just looked away from those black eyes when she spied a figure in a stylish curricle progressing up the drive at a smart trot. At first she could not discern his features, but as he drew nearer a strange shock of recognition struck her.
But surely she had never seen the man before. She looked at Vincent who was gazing intently at the newcomer. “Who is that?”
“I don’t know.” He turned them back toward the house. “And until I discover his identity and his business, I want you out of the way.” He beckoned to the footman standing guard by the front door. The man hurried to meet them. “Please escort Lady Diana back to her room and stay with her until I return.”
Earth, Air, Fire, and Water 04 - A Treacherous Proposition Page 16
