“Lucas?” she said softly.
He jumped and jerked his head up to look at her. For the first time since she met him, he had been stripped of his boundaries, his walls, of all the training he’d received as a spy that kept him safe and separate from anything unpleasant around him. His pain was clear on every angle of his handsome face. It went deeper than mere physical injury and she understood it down to her very core.
It was the same as her own pain. Mirror images brought on by what she assumed were far different circumstances.
“I don’t want to talk about anything,” he said as he warmed a stick of wax over the candle beside him. He sealed his letter and quickly stamped it shut, then stood.
“No?” she asked, tracking his every restless move as he came around the desk, letter in hand, toward her. “That’s good. Neither do I.”
He drew in a few breaths and some of the energy went out of him. He slowly began to turn back to the man she’d known, the one she’d given herself to. Not the reluctant duke anymore, not the unwanted son. Just Lucas.
“Then what do you want?” he asked, and from his tone he knew full well the power and double meaning of those words.
She hesitated, for the idea of having him, making love to him, was tempting indeed. Especially since she had spent the previous night in her own bed, separated from him because she knew this thing between them was spiraling out of control.
But right now she wasn’t certain that sex was what he needed. At least not the only thing he needed.
“I want to walk,” she responded.
His face fell so quickly it was almost comical, and she had to hold back a giggle at the expression. “Diana,” he began.
She held up a hand. “On orders of your physician.”
She saw how he wanted to argue with her. How he wanted to refuse what she suggested. But then he just sighed and threw up his arms, almost in surrender. “Very well.”
She drew back. “That’s all? Very well? You aren’t going to give me some treatise on how that isn’t what you want to do?”
He shot her a look. “I’ve never given a treatise in my life.”
Now she couldn’t help but smile as she folded her arms. “Never?”
“Fine.” He shifted his weight. “Once or twice. But to argue with you? I’ve learned that is a fruitless endeavor. Let me ring for Jones and give him this to deliver, and then to the Willowby gardens we’ll go.”
She noted that he said “the Willowby gardens”, not his own, separating himself once more from the title he held. But she made no comment as he moved to the bell by the door. To her pleasure, he rang it not with his good arm, but with his injured one. And though she saw that he flexed his fingers and shook them out a little after he did so, his reaction was nothing like the pain he had exhibited just two weeks before when he first came into her care.
Part of her was happy for that fact, of course. To ease his pain even a fraction was a victory and one that she would savor for the rest of her life.
But the other part felt something darker and sharper and deeper. Part of her felt a great terror at seeing him function so well physically. Because soon she would have no reason to be by his side.
Soon, she would lose this thing between them, this connection that was so tenuous and sometimes perfect. And that was something she had to come to terms with, or risk losing more than she wished to consider.
Chapter Thirteen
Lucas turned Diana down yet another path in the vast garden behind his home, but he was not pondering the beauty around them. No, there was something far more pleasant that intruded into his mind. Her warmth against his side, the feel of her fingers on the inside of his elbow as she pressed them there, the scent of her hair, something warm and sweet that wafted to his nostrils and brought him…peace.
And then there was the wide-eyed wonder on her face as she stared at everything around her. She could almost make a man not hate a place anymore.
“It is magnificent,” she breathed at last, her words almost uncertain, like they were not the right ones.
He forced himself to look around, and then he shrugged. “Not as wonderful as your garden,” he said.
She pulled her arm from his and turned on him with a look of pure shock on her face. “How can you say that?” She moved forward a few steps, her hands clasped. “The fountains, the trees, the flowers…is that hedge trimmed in the shape of a little rabbit?”
He couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “Yes, a little rabbit. I think there are squirrel hedges and stag hedges and bird hedges, as well.”
“Marvelous!” she said, and clapped her hands together with all the wonder of a child.
“Have you never been to a garden like this?” he asked. “I am rather astonished considering your father’s predilection for plants.”
She glanced at him. “Firstly, my father’s interest was in purely medicinal plants. He thought these sorts of things were foolish. Beauty or other frivolous notions didn’t appeal to him much.”
Lucas inclined his head. “I admit, Oakford was very pragmatic.”
“As far as coming to a place like this, how would I be invited? My father may have known very important men, but I had no place with them. Neither did he, truth be told. He was a merchant, in a way, providing a service for his betters. We were not exactly invited to garden parties.”
Lucas wrinkled his brow. He had been so separate from this kind of life for so long, he had almost forgotten the snobbery involved. He sighed before he spoke. “I suppose you are correct.”
“Of course I am.” Her gaze darted away. “We belong in very different worlds, Your Grace.”
He bent his head as those words sank into his body in ways he doubted she had meant. “Oh, Diana, you have seen my mother. After bearing witness to that little scene between us, do you think I ever belonged here?”
She caught her breath and turned to face him. There was her empathy again, fully on display. As warm and healing as the sun above them.
“I’m sorry, Lucas,” she said as she approached him cautiously. Her hand lifted and she settled her palm on his cheek. He leaned into it, reeling in her warmth and her kindness and her strength. He needed it all in that moment, and she didn’t disappoint.
“As am I,” he said softly.
He thought she might question him, but instead she slid her hand back through his arm and guided him forward again, past the huge Zeus fountain his father had so loved and farther into the garden.
They were quiet for a while, but it was a comfortable silence. Finally she glanced up at him. “Who were you writing to? If it does not reveal secrets of the empire, of course.”
He smiled at the teasing tone that was back in her voice. He found he liked it when things were easy like this. Far better than when they were fraught with pain or betrayal.
“No state secrets, except that I obviously need to spread the word that I am back in Society and recovering from my injuries.”
He felt her hesitation. Anxiety seemed to float between them in an instant. But her voice was steady as she said, “I see.”
“I wrote to my friend Simon. Er, the Duke of Crestwood,” he said. “One of the members of my duke club you were asking about before. He is our social butterfly. If he knows, then everyone else will soon know.”
“Your duke club,” she said with a small smile. “I admit I have been interested in that subject ever since my father first mentioned it. You must be the youngest amongst a stodgy group of middle-aged and old men.”
“I am the youngest,” he said. “But they are not stodgy. There was an odd set of years where all the dukes, old and young, seemed to have children, heirs, at the same time. We are all within a five-year gap of each other.”
She shook her head. “The group of you must cause quite a stir with the ladies.”
He chuckled. “Truth be told, I don’t really know. I went into service when I was eligible and then into the
War Department. My experience as a Society duke is limited. But I assume they are breaking hearts, though several of my friends are now married. Even having families.”
“I suppose you are of the age,” she said, her tone suddenly far away. “How did you form this group?”
He turned his face slightly. Here she was focusing on a subject that she surely thought would be easier on him than discussing the terrible relationship he shared with his mother. But in some ways, this one was just as hard.
And yet he found his lips moving regardless of his long desire to keep his secrets locked away. Diana just inspired honesty. “Almost all of us had…bad fathers,” he said softly. “And so we vowed to help each other navigate the waters of our future duties. We became fast friends, and I know I could depend on any one of them for anything I asked.”
When he was silent too long she said, “But?”
He stopped in the path and faced her. “You assume there is a but?”
“I can tell there is.”
His shoulders rolled forward in the defeat and shame he felt in his heart. “They could not say the same about me. I am not a…good friend. I cut myself away from them. I could hardly be called one of their number anymore. In truth, I have no idea if Simon or any of the rest will even want to see me.”
“You were friends since you were children,” she said. “I’m certain this man will be thrilled to hear from you, especially if it has been a long absence. And you can always turn back to them, Lucas.”
“I don’t know,” he said, and stared off away from her across the garden. “It is complicated.”
“I’m certain it is. You are, I’ve learned that in the short time we’ve shared.” She smiled gently. “But nothing is permanent, until it is. And regrets are hard to bear when there are no amends to be made anymore.”
The pain was obvious on her face and in the shaking of her voice. He took her hand and smoothed his thumb over the soft flesh there. “You are thinking of your father.”
She nodded. “Yes. There were things we should have said, I think. Now I never will.”
Lucas took a deep breath. Yes, he had things he wished he’d said to Oakford himself. “I would like to visit him. Was he buried here in London?”
She caught her breath, and he saw how difficult this was. How much it cut, burned, destroyed her from the inside out. Once again, his guilt rose, more painful than any injury he’d endured.
“No,” she breathed out painfully. “There was a service here, for those in the department, private and small. But his body was taken back to our country home. I wanted to…see him.” She turned her face. “But Stalwood wouldn’t let me.”
He drew back. “Why?” he asked, and already could see how terrible the answer was.
She swallowed. “Stalwood didn’t tell you?”
He shook his head slowly and could barely draw enough air to whisper, “No.”
“His body was…mutilated, Lucas.”
Diana watched as Lucas recoiled, staggering back with a look of pain on his face that cut her to her core. It made her relive her own horror and pain when she’d been told that she couldn’t see her father’s face one final time.
“No!” he cried out. “No!”
She caught his arm and guided him to a bench, where he sat down hard and put his head in his hands. For a long time he was silent. So silent that she sank down beside him and placed her hand on his back to slowly smooth circles across the muscled plane.
“When?” he choked out.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “Stalwood wouldn’t tell me much about it. I assumed he had been struck in the…in the head.”
He pursed his lips. “No. No, he wasn’t. That bastard did this to him, damaged his body. But why? Why would he do such a thing? And only to Oakford when there were so many others who he could have destroyed.”
He seemed to be talking to himself now, and she shook her head. “What do you mean, others?”
Lucas jerked beneath her hand and looked up, his face blank. “I shouldn’t tell you,” he whispered. “If you didn’t see it on my account you found at your home, I shouldn’t leave you with that image.”
“I want to know,” she said.
He cleared his throat. “Our traitor shot all the servants, anyone who could identify him.”
She flinched at that brutal news. “I-I didn’t know that.”
“I was told afterward.” Lucas shook his head. “I was lying there, dying next to your father. There were a hundred other things that man had to do before he fled the scene. Why would he stop to mutilate Oakford?”
Her stomach turned. “I don’t know.”
He jolted, like he was realizing, once again, how horrible this was for her. “Oh, Diana. I’m so sorry. You’ve had so much taken from you already and now this.”
She shivered. Sometimes it was hard not to have that same reaction. Not to count the cost of the life her father had lived, in all the ways it had destroyed or altered her own. But today she felt none of those things. Today she just looked at the man beside her and wanted to ease some of his guilt.
“There is a small memorial at our home here in London,” she said. “In the very back of the garden. And of course his body is back home. I try not to think about what was done to him. Instead, I focus on where his spirit is. His soul. Free and, I hope, with my mother.”
“That is a good way to think of it and if it gives you peace then I urge you to hang on to that notion,” Lucas said. “But it takes away none of my guilt or my pain. Nor should it.”
“Lucas,” she began.
He pushed to his feet and paced away. When he ran a hand through his hair, it ruffled the long locks, giving him that rakish, pirate air.
“I’m sorry,” he interrupted. “I’m so sorry, Diana. And if you hate me, then I deserve no less. I certainly do not deserve and have not deserved the care you have shown me.”
She gasped and moved to him in three long steps. “You stop that! You stop that right now.”
“I—”
She lifted her hand to cover his lips, smoothing her thumb over his mouth gently. “I have listened to you talk about your responsibility in this matter over and over during the two weeks we’ve been together, Lucas. And I’ve said it to you before, but I want you to truly hear it now: my father made his own choices.”
“And if I—”
“Stop!” she insisted. “Please. If you hadn’t, if he hadn’t, if I hadn’t…there are a thousand other things that might have happened to us if we’d turned left instead of right or gone somewhere a moment later or sooner. You’ll drive yourself mad if you live in a world of possibility instead of facing what actually happened. He chose to help you. He died. And I hate that. I hate it.” She realized tears were beginning to collect in her eyes and she blinked fiercely to clear them away. “I hate that he is gone. But I’m coming to terms with it. So should you.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Long enough that she shifted with discomfort at his focus, especially when she had no idea what the thoughts in his head were. She had been harsh with him, pointed. He might turn her away now that he was settling back into the role of duke who did not have to take that from anyone below him.
But at last he reached out and touched her face. “You are a far better person than I could ever be, Diana Oakford. I am lucky to know you.”
She drew in a breath at that unexpected compliment and the warmth that rushed through her. He could set her aflutter with just a few words, a look, a touch. He could make her feel like she belonged even though she didn’t, couldn’t, wouldn’t ever belong in his world. Any world that he inhabited, duke or spy or both.
“Come inside with me,” he whispered.
The roughness in his voice was undeniable. The way he looked at her was even more so. The emotions of the day began to slide away, replaced by something warm and dark and wicked and passionate. Something she wanted to ease her pain and to ease h
is.
“Come inside,” he repeated. “But only if you wish.”
“Are you going to touch me if I do?” she asked, feeling her cheeks darken with color as she did so.
He nodded slowly. “Oh yes, I’m going to touch you, Diana. Because I need you. And I want you. And I think what we both need right now is to forget. Will you help me forget?”
He held out his hand and she took it without hesitation. “Yes,” she whispered.
Chapter Fourteen
Diana looked down at Lucas’s hand, his fingers threaded through hers, and shivered as he opened the door to his chamber. He led her inside and watched as she pulled away from him.
“When I came in earlier, I was so embarrassed by the knowing expressions of the servants that I didn’t look around,” she said as she did just that.
Lucas shut the door behind himself and leaned against it. “You came in earlier?” he asked.
She nodded as she glanced at him. “Yes. I-I didn’t realize our rooms were connected.”
He arched a brow. “That is one of the finest benefits of your pretending to be my mistress. I asked for us to be put in adjoining rooms. So what do you think of the chamber?”
She shrugged. “It is fine, of course. But it isn’t really…you, is it? It’s so stuffy and formal and…and…”
“Blue,” he said, looking around and the cornflower explosion that surrounded them. “It’s very blue. And no, it is not me. But none of this house truly is. My mother decorated it after her marriage to my father. She likes frippery.”
She frowned at the mention of his mother, her mind turning to that horrible scene in the foyer once more. She’d never seen a parent so cruel to their own child. She had to wonder what had caused it.
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