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

by Charlotte Stone

  “I believe if you checked underneath my skirts, you’d find evidence to the contrary.” She was soaked. Her body had been primed and waiting for him for months. The thought of other men made her ill, but not Frank.

  His eyes slammed closed. “Diana,” he growled.

  She felt her toes curl within her boots.

  The voices faded.

  Frank turned in that direction.

  Once the gardener was gone, he jerked his body away from her. “Let’s go.” He took her hand and led her quickly through the gardens, until they reached the back door.

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  20

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  CHAPTER TWENTY

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  Dahl’s house was blessedly unlocked, open and they entered led into an unlit hallway. Only the day’s light brightened the space.

  While the gardens continued to flourish, Dahl’s house seemed abandoned and uncleaned. A layer of dust on the portrait on the wall proved that the inside had gone untouched for months.

  The portrait was of a woman with dark hair and dark eyes. She resembled the earl in a way that made Diana feel cold.

  “What are you feeling?” Frank asked, becoming her doctor once more.

  She wanted to tell him to stop it. That she didn’t need him that way anymore. However… “I feel… anxious.”

  “Fear?” he asked.

  “No.” That wasn’t it at all. Instead, she was anxious to attack and lash out in some way. No more fear.

  Frank’s voice broke into her thoughts. “If it’s uncertainty you feel, know that I’ll not let any harm come to you.”

  She turned and found him to be standing within the archway that led to the rest of the house. His eyes were on her.

  The anxiety faded slightly, but she still held out her hand.

  She thought he wouldn’t take it. She suspected hesitation. But he came to her immediately and took her hand before leading her farther into the house.

  The unease and anger began to climb again as they entered the foyer. Her feet felt heavier with each step, her mind telling her to flee in the direction she’d come, to move no farther into the house.

  Lord Dahl’s house was not what she’d expected. In her visions of it, the residence had been like other lords’ with dark colors and gold or bronze finishings. The earl’s home was supposed to be a mask that hid the nefarious plots of his mind, a perfume that covered his deep foulness.

  Instead, she found the home of a madman. The house was white, a color that no one dared paint their walls with in London for fear of fading. Everything was white. And unlike the hallway, there were no portraits here. There was nothing but endless white. On the walls. The marble floors. The chandelier had even been painted the muted color.

  “Maybe they moved everything elsewhere,” she said as she moved to the parlor and finishing herself once again surrounded by muted white. Except things were graying, because of the dust. “Perhaps, they moved things to the basement? Maybe his brother took the art from the walls.”

  “No,” Frank said quietly, as though fearing encroaching on her thoughts. “If there had been anything, you would see a difference of coloring where something would have once hung on the walls.” He moved toward a far wall in the sitting room that was bathed in light. “The sunlight would have caused portions of the wall to fade while places that had once held art would have remained in fairly good shape.”

  He was right. The wall was only one shade of white.

  She swallowed, but again not in fear. In anger. The home minded her of the descriptions she’d heard about Bedlam and she thought it clear his brother had used the asylum’s design to outfit his brother. The earl was clearly insane, yet they’d allowed him the means to hurt people, to take and trap women like her, to cut and use them as he pleased. She’d entered the house of a madman. There was no denying it.

  It all seemed so very unfinished, probably like his mind.

  So like the basement he’d kept her in. The room had held nothing but that which he needed to torture her with.

  Frank rushed to her, taking her hand again. “What do you wish to see so that we may leave?”

  It took Diana some time to pull herself from those thoughts. “His writing desk. I want to see where he wrote the poem he sent me.”

  Frank touched her chin and forced her eyes up to his. “I’d rather you remain here while I search the house. Could you manage a moment without me?”

  She nodded and he left. She couldn’t recall what she’d thought of while he’d been gone, but was glad when he returned.

  “Come.” Taking her hand in his once more, he took her upstairs and into a man’s cabinet. A small study with two desks, each a dark color. The first she’d seen since the hallway.

  The smell of dog clung to the air. The scent was stifling and reminded her of Dahl. When he’d come to her, he’d always smelled of dirt and animal. He’d spoken fondly about a large mastiff during the times they’d shared a meal. The shepherd’s name was Leo.

  She turned and moved toward the desk in the corner and opened a drawer.

  “What are you looking for?” Frank moved closer to her.

  “Searching for the poems. He wrote one to every woman he took, did he not?” All the information she had on the earl had come from her brother, but he’d not told her much, thus the reason Frank was there.

  “He did send each of his victims poems, but they wouldn’t be here since they were sent.”

  There were bills and correspondence with doctors, his brother, and some friends. She studied them, taking a seat in the same chair Dahl had likely written her letter in. She focused on the words before her and not her feelings. The answers she sought could be within these pages. She studied the missive from his brother, reading everything Mr. Stewart had written.

  Frank lowered himself so that their eyes were leveled. “That is not a poem, Diana.”

  She ignored him, but could feel his eyes on her for long seconds before he moved away.

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  To keep himself from studying Diana, Frank moved over to the other desk and looked in there, as well. They were breaking many laws by being here, he was sure Diana would have been better off if she’d never come, yet as he glanced over at her, he knew he’d have never been able to tell her no.

  Though she wasn’t ready to admit it to herself, she was still suffering from whatever the earl had done. It was likely she always would, just as he’d warned Bancroft.

  But even Frank had to admit that no one was perfect. He knew the reasons he preferred walking, as opposed to carriages. He remembered the event from long ago that had put the wariness into his heart. His mother had been thrown from one. She’d died instantly, or that was what his father had told him, likely, so Frank wouldn’t think she’d suffered.

  He knew it be irrational to think he himself would one day be flung from a carriage. The unease he suffered whenever he was forced into a carriage was aberrant from the normal man. Still, his mind said the four-wheeled box that was pulled by horses to be nothing more than a death trap.

  He forced his driver and footman to inspect his carriage every morning before Frank stepped inside, and Frank never took a hack if he could help it.

  But did his slightly unreasonable thoughts mean him incapable of making the right choices in other areas of his life? Diana had suffered. Did that mean it was wrong of her to want him? Surely not. Especially when she claimed that the earl hadn’t touched her that way.

  She wanted him.

  And he’d be lying if he said the feeling wasn’t mutual.

  He glanced her way as he opened another drawer. Her head was still bent over the papers she read. Had he come simply to help free her from her ghost, or had he come because he need to be with her? Did he want her happy for herself or for him? Was he overanalyzing everything just as she’d claimed?

&nbs
p; He opened a drawer and pulled out the papers from within. Then stilled. “Diana, I found them… I think.” Though they were not the same format at Dahl had written them before. There was none of the crazed handwriting. These poems were done in usual stanzas and a fine hand. He found the one that held the same words as the one written to Diana.

  She appeared at his side and snatched a poem in her hand. Then she compared it to the one she’d brought over.

  Frank stood and stared at the paper Diana had bought over. It was a note from Mr. Stewart. “What is going on?”

  Diana’s fingers were trembling and then she crushed the papers in her fist. “No, he didn’t write this.” She wasn’t talking to Frank. She didn’t even look at him as she rushed over to the other desk. She compared the poem to all the notes she’d found. “No, no, no…. No!” She slammed her hands on the table and backed away from the desk before covering her face with her hands, trembling. Her shoulders were shaking and her breathing was rushed.

  Frank started toward her slowly. “Diana, what’s going on? Why were you comparing the poem to Mr. Stewart’s writing?” Frank’s heart raced as he stopped before her, denying his need to reach out and take her in his arms. “Diana.”

  She looked up and her expression gave him pause. She looked crazed. The blue of her eyes was vacant, her face an angry red. More of her hair had come loose from her bun. “It has to be here.” She went to the desk again. She pulled out a drawer, and then ripped it from the desk, flinging it a few feet away. She started to reach back into the gap. “No.”

  Frank grabbed her then. “Diana, speak to me.”

  She lashed out and, had he not leaned back, her fist would have connected with his chin. Surprise at her own reaction flickered in her eyes. Then she turned back to her task. “I have to find him.” She launched herself at the desk again, but Frank grabbed her again and kept her close as she struggled, fearing she’d hurt herself, or him. “I have to look for him,” she said with far too much calm.

  Did she mean the earl? “Why?”

  She continued to reach toward the desk he kept her from, fighting with every breath. “So, I can kill him.”

  Frank frowned. “Diana, he’s not coming back. His brother said—”

  “Not the earl.” She turned around to stare at him again. “The other man. There were two of them.”

  There were two of them.

  Frank felt his thoughts become unhinged, as though his reality had been forever changed. She slipped from his hold and went back to the desk, yanking out one drawer after another.

  He took a step back and allowed it, watching her, following her frantic moves. She was utterly different from the woman he’d watched on stage the precious night. There was none of the smooth finesse he knew she possessed. Instead, her movements were jerky.

  “There were two of them?” he asked for clarity.

  “Yes.” More papers fell to the ground in her haste, scattering around her.

  “You never mentioned this before.”

  “I didn’t remember before.” She compared the poem to each of the sheets around her, shaking her head as she went. “He drugged me whenever the other man came. It took me time to remember.”

  His heart raced as he tried to hold himself together. “And what did the other man do when he visited?”

  The drawers unassembled, she fell to the floor and searched thoroughly. “Perhaps there’s a secret compartment.”

  “Not likely.” He placed his fists in his pockets. “If he was bold enough to keep the poems in the drawers, then what else could he have possibly needed to hide?”

  That seemed to stop her. She turned to Frank and stood. “The servant’s room. Perhaps, the other man was his footman or butler. Surely, the servants would have known what he was up to.”

  They heard a noise downstairs and at the fierce expression on Diana’s face, he grabbed her and covered her mouth. She was clearly begging for a fight. He had more questions for her but put them aside as he focused on their current problem. “We are not here legally. We must leave before we are caught.”

  She remained still for a moment and then nodded.

  Frank let her go and moved to the door. The hall was clear, with a flight of stairs in both directions. “Come.”

  She’d just returned order to the room, the last drawer to the desk, stuffing some papers in her pockets by the time she reached him.

  The voices grew as they moved closer. Mr. Stewart’s was clear. “I want this property emptied within the hour.”

  There were other voices. Servants. He was cleaning his brother’s home out.

  Diana whispered, “This was our only chance. Everything will be gone if we delay.” She shot toward another hall.

  He grabbed her and waited for her to look at him, before he spoke. “I swear to you that we will find this other man, but we must leave, Diana.” And if Frank’s suspicions of just what the other man had done were right, his extended holiday would not be in Italy, but hell.

  She stared at him. Likely seeing his revolve, she nodded.

  After jumping the wall once more, they were on the street in minutes and walking away from Dahl’s home.

  In the carriage, Diana sat by him and he naturally wrapped his arm around her, knowing she needed his comfort. The sense of compatibility in spite of their different upbringings and ways of life returned to him, settling heavy on his heart.

  But with it, came the knowledge that he’d been right to distance himself from her, and resolved himself of the fact that he could be no more than her friend.

  And until the other man who’d hurt her was found, he’d be her very protective and very lethal friend, indeed.

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  21

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  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

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  Diana was exhausted by the time she returned to the small apartment she rented not far from Covent Gardens. She hardly glanced around, realizing that the maid had come to clean, before she sat on the edge of her bed and released a breath. Her room wasn’t much to look at. She had a bedchamber and a sitting room to call her own, both done in blue and white and rented from the woman who lived below.

  With the money she’d gained from dancing, she could well afford to live somewhere nicer, and after what had taken place with Lord Dahl, it was likely she should have, but while London would always be her home, she traveled far too much to consider purchasing a townhouse in west London.

  Besides, she knew a few people in Covent Garden, those who’d known her as a child, and wouldn’t tell a soul she was Gryf’s sister. Covent Garden was safe, in its own way.

  Familiar.

  And besides, she’d been in the West End when she’d been taken by the Earl of Dahl. She’d left a tea shop late one evening, and he’d grabbed her right off the street. For a crazed man, he’d been strong, and she’d been asleep within seconds and had woken up in hell.

  She turned toward the door when Hit appeared. His arms were crossed, and he wore the same look he had when she’d told him she was ready to go, once she’d returned to Aaron’s home.

  He hadn’t said a word, yet Diana imagined he had much to say.

  He didn’t disappoint her. “Where’d ya go?”

  “To Dahl’s home.” Saying the words returned some of her earlier restlessness. She needed to go back. She needed to find out who the other man was so she could… end him.

  Hit’s eyes widened, and his hands fell to his sides. “Ya went alone? Why’d ya do a thing like that?”

  She stood and crossed to her water basin and knew his eyes tracked her movements. “I wasn’t alone. I took Dr. Lockwood with me. I needed to see the lair of the man who’d kidnapped me. We were in and out before anyone noticed.” But with every minute, she felt more evidence slipping through her fingers. Where would Mr. Stewart take his brother’s belongings? He’d likely b
urn the other poems so that no one could know how deranged his brother had been.

  Diana still had the one like hers. It had the same words as the one he’d sent to her house but done in a different hand. Had Dahl written both poems? The writing was too different for her to think so, but then again, he’d clearly had two sides. He’d been cruel to her but had loved his dog.

  She’d seen Leo’s stone in the garden when she and Frank had left the residence. Flowers had been arranged around it. Had Dahl killed his dog? Even with everything he’d done to her, she thought it impossible.