by Carla Kelly
Chantreys was too perfect to be wasted upon children. Its light rooms would show off his growing art collection to advantage. It was the smallest of the properties he had inherited and it had plenty of snug little bedrooms well suited to late-night assignations, yet it was also close enough to London to invite parties down for an evening.
A shade of unease possessed him. Was he being selfish, to move the children out of Chantreys? He could hardly continue his bachelor lifestyle here with the children in residence. His father would not have worried about such things, but then his parents had rarely considered their children, leaving them to be brought up by a small army of nannies, nurses and tutors in some distant wing of whatever house they were occupying at the time. Chantreys was different, there was no convenient wing in which to shut the children away, but even so the earl and his countess had contrived to avoid too much contact, spending most of their time in London and driving down to Chantreys only occasionally to visit their offspring. Alex had quickly learned not to reach out for Mama, lest he make her gown grubby, or to speak unless Papa addressed him. He had learned to keep his emotions in check, to keep everyone at bay except James. And now even James was gone.
Alex paced the floor, disturbed by his memories. The drawing room suddenly felt close and confined and he walked to the French windows and threw them open. He stood there, breathing in the fresh air. To one side he could see the empty lawns, stretching beyond the formal gardens. He had enjoyed playing outside today. It reminded him of those far-off days when he and James had been left to amuse themselves, playing cricket on that very same grass. Only there had been no warm and loving governess like Diana Grensham to look after them, to join in with their games so energetically that her hair escaped from its pins and bounced around her shoulders like a fiery cloud. His eyes narrowed, as if he might better recall the image she had presented, her hair curling wildly about her head, breast heaving from the exertion, eyes bright and sparkling. It was clear the children adored her and she was devoted to them. Well, let her argue her case again over dinner. Perhaps this time he would listen.
The door opened and he turned, expecting to see Diana there, but instead it was Fingle.
‘Miss Grensham sent me to tell you that dinner would be served in an hour, my lord, and to see if you required anything in the meantime.’
‘Yes, I require her company.’
The butler was an old and trusted retainer and at these words he bent a fatherly smile upon his master in a way that made Alex feel about ten years old.
‘Miss Grensham has gone to her room to change for dinner, my lord. I am sure she will be downstairs again just as soon as she is ready.’
Alex kept his lips firmly closed, fighting against the impulse to demand that she hurry up. That would sound petulant in the extreme. He had set out that morning with the intention of holding a reasoned discussion with Diana. To order her to attend him would immediately put up her back. She was not a servant to be commanded. He curbed his impatience to see her again and asked Fingle to bring him some brandy.
* * *
Diana made her way to the drawing room shortly before the dinner hour. As she walked in the earl gave her a frowning look.
‘Are you still in mourning?’
She glanced down at her lavender silk.
‘No, my lord. This is my best evening gown.’
She could have added that it was the only evening gown. She had never needed more. When she had first joined the late earl’s household she had always been invited to join the family for dinner, whenever they were in residence at Chantreys, but one never knew how many guests would be present, and Diana preferred not to be subjected to the stares and pitying looks of strangers. After a while the invitations had stopped.
‘It looks very much like mourning,’ he told her.
‘One might say the same of your cravat, my lord.’
For a long moment they regarded one another, before the earl looked away and walked to the sideboard.
‘Sit down, Miss Grensham. Can I get you a glass of claret, perhaps. Or Madeira?’
‘A little wine, thank you.’ She moved to a chair opposite the one he had been occupying, glad that he was pouring the claret and not watching her limp across the room. ‘What is it you wish to discuss with me, sir?’
‘You are very direct.’ He handed her a glass and returned to his chair. ‘I have already told you, I thought we should become better acquainted. You were always absent whenever I visited the house in the past.’
‘Then the earl and countess would be present. I was not required.’
He stared at her over the rim of his glass.
‘Were you avoiding me?’
She was surprised that his question did not offend. She replied, equally blunt, ‘I was avoiding everyone.’
‘Because you limp,’ he said. ‘What happened?’
‘A broken thigh bone, when I was very young.’ She paused to taste her wine. ‘The doctor set it badly, and although others were brought in they could not undo his incompetence. I was left with my left leg shorter than the right. It does not prevent me from doing anything I wish, but it looks ungainly and makes people uncomfortable. They do not wish to see deformity in the drawing room.’
‘Have you ever considered that if you were to be in society more, people would become accustomed to your...’ he paused ‘...your deformity?’
‘Perhaps, but I go on very well as I am. The children no longer regard it.’
He held her eyes.
‘But you must take them out and about. Does that not make people uncomfortable?’
‘Oh, no,’ she said quietly. ‘I attract no attention at all in the street. Governesses are of no consequence, you see.’
Fingle came in to announce dinner and Lord Davenport rose.
‘Shall we go in?’
He was holding out his arm to her. Diana hesitated, tempted to tell him such courtesy was unnecessary, but he would know that. Silently she slipped her fingers on to his sleeve. It was impossible not to feel the hard muscle beneath the soft wool of his coat. He exuded strength and power, and she felt a tiny tremor of excitement at his proximity.
‘Oh.’
Diana stopped as they entered the dining room. Two places were set at the table, facing each other across the width rather than at either end.
‘I told Fingle to set it thus,’ remarked her companion. ‘I thought it would be an advantage not to be peering the length of the table and shouting at one another.’
He guided Diana to her seat and held her chair. She sank down, suddenly nervous. She had never dined alone with a man before. We are here on business, she told herself sternly. But when the earl took his seat opposite and smiled at her it felt strangely intimate, even though the daylight was still streaming into the room.
The earl’s unexpected presence at dinner had certainly put Cook on her mettle and Diana decided there could be no complaint on the number and variety of dishes that appeared on the table. If the earl was not satisfied with the ragout of lamb and tender young carrots and turnips then there was a cheese pie or a fricassee of eggs and a dessert made with some of Cook’s preciously hoarded quince jelly.
For many months Diana’s meals had been taken alone or with the children and at first she was a little nervous to be in company, but the earl was determined to please and be pleased. He was an excellent host, ensuring that she had her choice of every dish on the table and keeping her wine glass filled. He was at pains to draw her out and she was surprised how easy it was to converse with him. By the time the meal was over she was quite relaxed in his company.
‘I had best leave you to your brandy,’ she said, when the clock chimed the hour.
‘No, please. Stay and talk to me.’
She chuckled. ‘We have talked throughout dinner.’
‘But not about the children.’
She was disappointed. They had been getting on famously, and now they would argue again. She knew it. He signalled to Fingle to refill her wine glass and she did not object. She would not, of course, drink brandy, or port, or even Madeira after dinner. That would be foolish and could lead to her becoming inebriated, but a little more wine might stiffen her resolve when dealing with the earl.
* * *
Alex signalled to the servants to leave the room. He had enjoyed dinner, surprisingly so. He had decided at the outset that he would spare no efforts to charm Diana, but in fact it had been no effort at all. Her education had been thorough and she was an avid reader. Although she lived confined he learned that she corresponded with several long-standing friends and no one had ever cancelled the late earl’s subscription to the London newspapers, so she was well informed and eager to learn. Their discussions ranged from politics to art and philosophy, and if he introduced a subject of which she knew little, her questions and comments were intelligent and interesting. He made sure the wine flowed freely, and as he encouraged her to talk and express her opinions she began to relax, to blossom. Whenever some particular subject caught her interest she would become animated, waving her hands, challenging his views and not afraid to put her own. The one topic they had not touched upon was the children and their removal to another property, but it would soon be time for him to leave, and since that was the reason for his being here, he must make the attempt.
As Fingle shepherded the footmen from the room Alex refilled his glass and sat back, regarding the petite figure sitting opposite him. She would never be a beauty. No coiffeuse would tame that red hair without resorting heavily to the use of pomade, her mouth was too wide and as for those freckles sprinkled liberally across her pert little nose and cheeks, any female with pretensions to fashion would have concealed them with a little powder. Having decided the freckles were a blemish, Alex found himself looking at them again. They did have a certain charm, he conceded. In fact, some men might find them quite attractive...
Diana’s voice cut into his thoughts.
‘No doubt you wish we still lived in your great-grandfather’s time.’
With an effort he forced his mind back to the discussion.
‘The fourth earl?’ His brows rose. ‘What has he to do with anything?’
‘By all accounts he was a tyrant,’ she told him cheerfully. ‘He cleared whole villages to create the park and the views we now enjoy from the house.’ She shook her head, saying disapprovingly, ‘Positively feudal.’
‘He provided a whole new village for his people.’
‘Yes, because he needed to keep them close to work on his estate.’
‘You are deliberately seeing the worst of my family.’
She laughed at that. ‘The worst? Moving a few dozen villagers is nothing to the debauched and dissolute manner with which the Arrandales have conducted themselves over the years.’
Alex reined in his temper. Who was she to criticise his kin?
‘The Arrandales are no worse than many other families,’ he snapped. ‘I would not contemplate displacing a whole village, but I would move two little girls! It is not as though I am throwing you on the streets. You may have the pick of my properties, if you wish I will even buy you a new house.’
‘I do not want a new house,’ she retorted. ‘My sister thought it best for the children to be settled in one place and I agree with her.’
‘I am not advocating that they should be constantly moving from house to house, Miss Grensham, merely asking that you settle them somewhere else.’
Alex reached across to refill her glass. By heaven, but she was stubborn! He noticed that his own glass was empty. He might as well refill that, too. He had forgotten that the brandy in the cellars here was very fine indeed.
She sipped her wine before replying.
‘No, my lord. Chantreys is an eminently suitable house for the children. Its proximity to London means that when they need dancing and singing masters we will be able to command the very best.’
There was the faintest suggestion of unsteadiness in her voice. His glance flickered over the half-empty wine glass. Was she intoxicated? He had intended that she should be at ease with him, but perhaps in the enjoyment of the dinner he had allowed her too much wine. After all, she was not used to society and possibly might not be used to wine-drinking either. He pushed his chair back.
‘It is time I left,’ he said abruptly.
She blinked at him, her eyes wide. ‘But we have not finished our discussion, nor have I finished my wine.’
‘I think you have had quite enough,’ he muttered, walking round and putting his hand on her chair. ‘Come along.’
With a tiny shrug of her shoulders she rose. She looked perfectly steady but he was taking no chances. He pulled her hand on to his sleeve and walked her out of the dining room. As they crossed the hall he barked out an order to a hovering footman.
‘Ask Mrs Wallace to make tea and bring it into the drawing room, immediately.’
‘Oh, are you staying for tea?’ said Diana. ‘That will be de—delightful.’
He felt the weight of her as she leaned into him. He had intended to leave her, but perhaps he should stay and make sure she drank something other than wine. She continued to chatter as he guided her into the drawing room and eased her off his arm and on to a sofa.
‘Chantreys is most, most excellently situated,’ she told him. ‘We are close enough to London to visit the art galleries, and the famous Shakespeare Gallery in Pall Mall. Do you know it, my lord?’
‘It is not somewhere I have visited as yet,’ he replied, moving away.
‘Then you should do so,’ she said seriously. ‘It has illustrations of Shakespeare’s plays, commissioned from the finest artists.’
He watched her as she rose and began to walk about the room, idly running her hand along the chair backs.
‘There is nothing to say you could not live further from town,’ he said, ‘You could bring the children to stay in London from time to time. Money is no object—’
‘This is not about money, my lord.’ She stopped and turned, fixing him with those large, hazel eyes. ‘Chantreys has always been their home, they know it and love it. It would be cruel to uproot them now.’
The entrance of Fingle with the tea tray gave Alex time to consider her words and to admit to himself, grudgingly, that she was right. How could he even think of moving the girls at such a time? He could buy a house, or rent one. It might not be as perfect as Chantreys but there must be something suitable for entertaining. For some reason he found it difficult to concentrate on the matter. Or on anything very much. Perhaps it was not only Diana who had been drinking a little too freely.
When they were alone again he said, ‘Come, take a cup of tea.’
‘I do not think I want anything just yet.’ She wandered over to the open window and gave a loud sigh. ‘Is it not the most beautiful view from here?’
He crossed the room to stand behind her, but it was not the rolling acres of parkland that he was thinking about, it was the way the westering sun set her red hair aflame. Without thinking he reached out to touch it, but quickly snatched his hand back when she turned suddenly to face him. She was glaring at him, the light of battle in her eyes.
‘Do you know what the problem is, my lord Davenport? You are spoiled. You have never had to struggle, to fight for anything. Is it any wonder if you are dissolute and irresponsible? Whatever you desire you only have to click your fingers.’ She held up her hand, frowning in concentration as she tried to fit the action to the words. After a moment she gave up and turned her rather misty gaze upon him once more. ‘You only have to click your fingers and your wish is granted, your wealth has always bought everything you want.’ She stabbed at his chest with her fingers. ‘Well,
you shall not buy me.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘Why not?’ She looked up, a challenging gleam in her eyes. ‘Are you afraid I might sully your exquisite tailoring? Or do you fear I shall disturb the perfection of your cravat?’
Her fingers began to slide up over the embroidered waistcoat, but before she had reached the black linen neckcloth he clamped his hand over hers.
The effect was shocking.
A bolt of desire shot through Alex. It was no longer an annoying little governess standing before him, rather a creature of fire, a flame-haired siren who tantalised his senses. Her eyes widened, as if she was aware of the effect she was having. Hardly surprising since he was still holding her fingers against his chest, where she must feel the drumming of his heart. His free hand slid around her neck and cupped the back of her head. He almost expected those flaming locks to burn him but her hair was cool as silk against his palm. She made no move to resist and gently he drew her closer. As he lowered his head to kiss her he saw her eyelids flutter. Soaring elation overwhelmed him. His mouth came down upon hers in a bruising kiss.
* * *
Diana’s senses swooped and spun. He teased her lips apart, his tongue flickering, demanding access and she could not deny him. She knew she should be outraged but instead she was exultant, revelling in the taste and smell of him, an exciting mixture of wine and spices plus something unfamiliar but very male. Her bones turned to water but it did not matter, because he was holding her so close, his arms strong as iron bands. Her hand was still trapped against his chest and she struggled to move and slip it around his neck, to push her fingers through the thick dark hair that curled over his collar.
She had never been in a man’s arms before, no man had ever so much as kissed her cheek, but she felt no fear, only a fierce, primal pleasure when Alex’s teeth grazed her lip before his tongue was once more dipping and diving into her. She gave a small moan of pleasure before returning his kiss and when she felt him withdrawing she clung tighter, instinctively pressing her body against his, wanting to prolong the hot, intimate embrace.
