Diana Sensational Spinster's Society (The Spinster’s Society) (A Regency Romance Book)

by Charlotte Stone

  At a crackling sound, she turned to the fire. She watched the light for a few short moments, and smelled mint and something sweet.

  These scents, feelings, and sights were familiar to her. Safe.

  And she’d never wanted to cry more in her life.

  None of it would last. She was likely still strapped to the table in that horrible basement. She couldn’t feel the chains at her wrist and ankles, but she knew them to be there, holding her firmly in place, even as her mind created a safe haven, where she could move as she pleased.

  These were the depths of her insanity.

  She felt it, then. Something on her wrist. She readied herself for the reality of her situation, but when she lifted her hand, there was not metal, but white linen bandages.

  She tried to lift her head, but her stomach threatened to empty, so she laid back and took long deep breaths.

  She kept her eyes open, too afraid to blink. Whenever her eyes burned, she made sure to blink quickly, praying that when they reopened, she would still be in her safe place, the bedchamber she used whenever she came to London, to visit her brother.

  She lifted her hands and flexed her fingers. They were cut in places, reddened and bruised. The pinky on her left hand was bandaged to a board. She recalled breaking it.

  She frowned and ran her hands over her body, gasping when she touched her side.

  The familiar pain brought terror with it.

  The room began to change. The wooden table and chains appeared in the corner. Her blood dripped to the carpet, that quickly changed to the hard dirt of her personal hell.

  She sat up, ignored the sickening feeling, and screamed.

  The door burst open.

  Her brother and two other men entered.

  Him.

  Only different. Her marble man wore spectacles with gold rims, though they didn’t detract from his handsomeness in the least. She hadn’t noticed how wide his shoulders were, before. He held a book in one hand and looked as though he’d been reading. He stared at her, unmoving.

  Gryffon moved toward her. “Diana, it’s me. You’re safe here. No one will hurt you.” She’d never seen fear in his eyes. It battled with his usual anger and need for control. He was already trying to control everything and everyone.

  She recalled him shouting at her, in hell, trying to get her to be still, as he fought to rescue her.

  Her lips parted. “Gryf?”

  “Diana.” He pressed his lips together and then got onto the bed. He stretched his arms out to her, and she went into them.

  He was so strong. So solid. She wept into his hard shoulder, just as she’d done many times before. White musk and citrus. Different from her marble man, but very masculine. “Gryf, I prayed you’d come for me, every day.”

  “I tried, darling.” He never called her that with others around, but she could feel him shaking. He’d been scared. “I searched everywhere, threatened to burn this city to the ground until I found you. I’d have painted London in blood to find you.”

  She buried her face in his throat. She knew he’d do just that, when it came down to it.

  She’d grown up around such violence, and had almost grown used to her brother’s barbaric ways.

  But the thought of blood…

  He leaned away, holding her face. His eyes widened. “Diana, you’re turning white.” He turned to look at the man in the room she didn’t know. The one who stood next to her walking statue. “Help her.”

  Help.

  No.

  It was too late.

  Blood. She saw it. On her. Covering her. All hers.

  Her pulse rushed, beating at her as her limbs locked, and all went black.

  * * *

  Franklin dropped his book, and rushed to Diana, as her body seized, but then she stopped, and her eyes opened once more.

  “A short and less severe case of epilepsy, then,” Dr. Oliver Handford announced, as he straightened his back. “But it’s best she rest.”

  The episode had happened so swiftly Frank would have thought he’d imagined it, if Mr. Bancroft hadn’t gone paler than what was naturally possible.

  Siblings. Though they looked nothing alike. Their parents were dead, had died while Diana was young. Bancroft had explained that Diana Banns, one of London’s more famed ballerinas, was in fact, his sister, but she’d changed her surname so that no one would know.

  Frank could understand why they didn’t wish people to know the truth. Bancroft’s line of work would threaten anyone he held dear. It must have broken the man in two, to know that he’d still failed at protecting his sister.

  Diana Banns had come to London two months ago, with the rest of Monsieur Groux’s Ballet, to perform in London, and Diana was his main attraction. Franklin had planned to go. His niece, Lily, was a fan of the dancer, and Frank had promised to take her.

  But the show had been mysteriously cancelled the week he’d been available; and had not reopened until a fortnight later. Then, word spread that Diana Banns had been replaced by another woman. He’d heard the rumor that she’d been kidnapped, but the one that claimed her with child, seemed more likely. Dancers, and women in the theatre, were known to end their careers once they began to show.

  A very ridiculous part of Frank wanted to blame himself for her torment. If only he’d believed the kidnapping tales.

  Still, he’d not been asked to take part in the hunt until tonight, thus proving his thoughts ridiculous.

  Diana looked at her brother, and her eyes, which were a pale blue of bright summer moons, widened. “Gryf. What happened?”

  But Gryf’s fear had changed to rage. “I’m going to—”

  “Mr. Bancroft,” Frank shouted, gaining both their attention. “Could I speak to you out in the hall?”

  Gryf nodded and turned to Diana. “I’ll be right back.” He kissed her bandaged head, and then left her in the care of Dr. Handford.

  Frank closed the door behind them and motioned for Bancroft to follow him farther down the hall.

  “What’s this about?” Bancroft asked, when they reached the stairs.

  “I don’t think you should mention painting London in blood,” Frank said. “I saw her stiffen after you said the words, and then she went pale.” He’d felt his own fear rise, and the urge to rip Diana from her brother’s hands had been so great, he’d torn the pages out of his book on head injuries.

  Bancroft continued to frown, and somehow, Frank knew that in a blink, he’d become the new reason for the Lord of the Underworld’s anger. “My sister knows what sort of man I am. She wouldn’t faint at such words. Neither would she… shake as she just did. You know nothing about our history.”

  That was true, he didn’t. Though he wished to know. He wanted to know everything about Diana.

  For purely scientific reasons.

  “Mr. Bancroft, I understand that you know your sister better than I, but believe me, that what she’s just been through, has left her a changed woman.”

  “Then I’ll be sure to remind her of the woman she was, as quickly as possible.” Bancroft turned to go.

  Frank’s own temper leaped. “Mr. Bancroft.” He didn’t continue speaking until the man turned back around. “You care for your sister. I know you do. I can see it clearly, but you must keep in mind that it could take weeks, years even, for Miss Banns to become the woman she once was, if at all.”

  Bancroft lifted a brow. “If at all?” Worry struck Bancroft, but it was banished away in the next breath. “Dr. Lockwood, I can never thank you enough for what you have done. If there is ever a favor you need of me, do not hesitate to ask it. It is yours. Now, I need to be with my sister, and you may return to your practice. Mr. Harris has your payment at the door.” And then he turned away.

  Frank wanted to stop him again, to demand that he be allowed to stay, but knew he had no right.

  Diana Banns was not his sister. She was nothing more than the end to a very trying puzzle. He would never forget her, the way he’d found her, or t
he look of confusion and wonder in her eyes as she’d gazed up at him. She’d made him feel as though he wore armor and carried a flaming sword, instead of the plain wool of a wealthy gentryman.

  But alas…

  He turned and started down the stairs.

  He saw Mr. Harris standing by the door, and almost told the man to keep the money. He was wealthy enough as it was, but since it was already ready in hand, he took the coin and only realized then, that it wasn’t English. A feathered beast with a claw and tail stared up at him, shaped and carved in gold.

  A griffin. The king of the underworld produced his own money? Frank had a feeling it wouldn’t be good in the usual shop.

  Frank frowned down at it. “What is this?”

  “Your favor,” Mr. Harris said, with a grin.

  * * *

  4

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  CHAPTER FOUR

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  Diana tensed at the knock on her bedroom door, and then winced. Her neck ached. It did so every time she went rigid at sudden noises.

  She’d left London the day after her rescue and was moved to her brother’s country residence under enough laudanum to keep her from panicking during travel. She’d never been to Gryf’s country residence. She hadn’t even known he’d had one, until she’d been given her medicine and was quickly packed away for her tour into the country. They were both city folk, drawn to the extravagance and gleam.

  But when Diana woke up that first morning of her arrival, the first pull of air had made her feel reborn. She’d thought the absence of the noise of carriage wheels and shouting drivers would remind her of her captor's dungeon, but it yet to do so.

  She’d been in the residence for a sennight and, during the day, she was quite fine.

  It was at night that trouble came.

  The knock came again, and Diana hesitated to greet whomever stood on the other side of the door, but smiled, when she recognized the voice that called her.

  Not a second later, Monsieur Groux came in with a smile as wide as ever.

  She was so surprised to see him, so used to her mind playing tricks on her, that she did not allow herself to believe, until he spoke again.

  “Mon ange, there you are!” The ballet master lifted his arms dramatically, crossing the room to where Diana sat by the window. “You are looking better than well. Oh, and what accommodations!” He pulled in a breath and spun around the yellow drawing room. “If I were ill, this is the place I would want to come.” He kissed the air in appreciation.

  That was the story Mr. Harris had spread through London. Diana had fallen ill and had been taken to a friend’s home in the country. Both her brother’s name, and Lord Dahl’s role in her kidnapping were completely cut out of the narrative.

  Which made her wonder why the owner of the ballet was here. Could he be a vision of her own making?

  Movement at the door made her still, and she watched two women she knew very well step into the room. Kate Kingsman and Lulu Lévêque both searched the room until they found her. Kate gasped and rushed to Diana’s side. “Cor! Diana!” She kissed her cheek and pulled away. “How are ya, luv? We heard about the fever, wretched thing.” Kate was a petite dancer and one of the best. Her red hair had golden hints and her eyes were a pale brown. She smiled at Diana with open concern. “How are ya feeling?”

  “She looks well to me,” Lulu whispered, her own French accent lighter than Monsieur Groux. Her face was pointed at the window, but her gaze was on Diana, looking her over.

  Diana was never gladder that Dr. Handford had removed the bandage from her head. Her scars had healed. She still had a few healing cuts, but he suspected her body would make a full recovery in a week, maybe two.

  But her injuries were clear, so Diana knew that Lulu’s comments were out of spite.

  Her mind was an entirely different matter.

  Lulu met Diana’s eyes. “She looks so well, one would have to wonder if she was sick at all.”

  Monsieur Groux made a dismissive noise and waved his hand in the air as though he smelled something foul. “Nonsense. Diana would never abandon the ballet, unless it was dire.” He didn’t even need to look at Diana for confirmation that the words were true.

  Diana had worked very hard to become the famed woman she was. Nothing short of…

  She gripped the chair arms and began to pull quick short breaths, struggling.

  Kate leaned forward. “Oh, dear. Deep breaths, luv. Deep. There you go, now.”

  Diana pulled in another breath. And then another until she calmed. Until she became aware of where she was, and who was watching her.

  The pain in Kate’s eyes nearly crippled her. She was Diana’s oldest friend. They’d started together in their youth. They were both from Seven Dials, and had spent their nights slipping into Covent Garden to see the dancers perform, practicing in their only pair of shoes, far past when the soles had worn through.

  “I suppose it’s true,” Lulu said. “She’s ill, and it’s likely she’ll never perform again.”

  Kate scoffed and glared at her. “Wouldn’t ya just love that, eh? Diana’s ailment be the only reason you’ve taken lead this summer.” Lulu and Diana had never been friends. They were from two vastly different worlds. Lulu had taken professional lessons since the moment she could stand on her feet, and wanted nothing more than to see Diana fall.

  She’d likely only come, to see if she would return at all.

  Diana hadn’t known Lulu had taken her place in the dance. But then again, she didn’t want to think about the performance, because it always brought to mind the poem.

  she moves like flickering flame

  my desire’s inferNo ever expands

  “Diana!”

  She blinked and looked at Kate.

  Lulu covered her nose. “I am going to my room. I do not wish to catch whatever it is she has.” She fled without a word.

  Monsieur Groux had previously looked concerned, but now he looked wary. “I better make sure Lulu does not take ill. We will see you at breakfast in the morning, before we depart.” He kissed the air, not daring to come near Diana again, gave Kate a pointed look, and left.

  Kate blew out a breath. “Finally.” Then she smiled and leaned forward. “We’re alone, so you can tell me what’s truly the matter. I know you wouldn’t quit the ballet unless you were gravely ill. So, what is it?”

  Kate knew her best, but this would be one thing Diana would not speak about.

  Ever.

  Her brother had tried to speak to her for the first week, until Dr. Handford had sent him back to London, claiming his questions were detrimental to Diana’s health.

  And sadly, the doctor was right.

  Diana couldn’t get words out about the weeks she’d spent with him. She desperately wanted to forget the things he’d done.

  Kate’s arms came around her, and it was only then that Diana felt the tears that wet her face. She was weeping. She clung to Kate, wrapping her arms around her friend.

  “It’s all right, luv. We don’t have to speak about it, if that’s what ya want, but ya know Gryffon put me up ta asking.”

  She should have known. Kate was likely the only person in London who knew she and Gryf were related, who didn’t work in his personal circle.

  Diana leaned away and wiped her face. “Gryf arranged for you to come?”

  Kate shook her head. “No, I demanded he let me come. I thought Monsieur Groux might cheer you up.” Then she frowned. “I didn’t think Lulu would, but she insisted, and I thought seeing her might make you want to come back, so the rest of us dancers wouldn’t have to live with her as the soloist.” Kate’s eyes pleaded. “We can’t take much more of her. It’s likely one of us will accidently push her off the stage.”

  Diana smiled, but then it faltered. “I… I can’t.” She feared him watching. He could take her again and—


  “Shh.” Kate patted her knee, her gaze softening. “Think of something sweet. Something lovely.”

  That was easy.

  He always came to her mind with ease. It was like he stood behind a door that she never truly allowed to close. It remained ajar, so he could always come and save her.

  “Well,” Kate said dramatically. “What was that? A few tarts and cakes? You could use a few stones.”