And when he did…
“Frank, are you listening to me?”
Frank looked up from the blank page in the journal on his lap, over the gold rims of his spectacles, and met Julius Hext’s eyes.
His friend stood in the middle of the room. He’d likely been pacing as he spoke, but had stilled to glare at Frank. “You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said, have you?”
Frank blinked. “What makes you believe that?”
“Because, usually you’re scribbling in that journal, taking notes.” Julius crossed to the chair across from Frank’s and reached for his tea. He crossed a knee over the other and continued to narrow his gaze at Frank. His eyes were a rare violet, and with the window at his back, the sun turned his hair into a halo. Julius, who happened to be the Marquess of Darvess, was often compared to an angel. Beautiful. Almost too much so, yet that didn’t stop him from acting quite wicked whenever the chance presented itself. The marquess glanced at the journal and then Frank. “I told you that my dog died and how very grievous I am about it, and your page is blank.”
Julius usually spoke a mile a minute. When Frank had first taken him on as a patient, his friend had been closed-mouthed, but it had only taken three appointments for that to change. They’d been speaking for nearly a year now. Frank had already told Julius what his issue was. He’d known it long before Julius had found himself daring to speak to Frank about his woes.
Julius had yet to marry, because he feared his wife one day waking up and deciding to murder him.
It was easy to say that Julius’ fear was overdone, but then one had to know the sort of mother Julius had had in order to understand him.
His mother, the one woman in the woman who should have loved and been willing to protect him more than any other soul in the world, had sought to kill him.
That would make any man hesitant about living with another woman.
But Frank’s struggle wasn’t to convince Julius that he needed to put his fear away and look with hope toward the future.
No, Frank struggled to make Julius see that he had the fear, to begin with.
And thus, their conversations had naturally spilled to other subjects… like a dog that Julius hadn’t seen in nearly twenty years, and thus likely didn’t care for, because there’d been no point in Frank saying the same thing over and over again.
Frank put the journal and dry pen on the side table next to his ink and leaned back in his chair. “When did you hear that your dog died?”
Julius took on his very best solemn look as he gazed at his tea. “Garvey died last week. My housekeeper at Darvess House sent word the moment it took place, though you’d have heard about it, had you not been running about with the dancer.” He narrowed accusing eyes at Frank.
Frank propped an elbow on the chair arm and leaned his head in his hand. “Gravy.”
“What?” Julius frowned. “No, thank you. It doesn’t pair well with tea.” He sipped absentmindedly.
“Gravy,” Frank said again. “Your dog’s name was Gravy, not Garvey.”
Julius stilled and then straightened. “That’s not true! It was Garvey. What nitwit would name a dog Gravy? That’s not even a name.”
Frank smiled. “You’re the nitwit who named their dog Gravy, because you frequently gave your portion of it to him. And it wasn’t your dog. It was your mother’s, which is why I highly doubt you cared for the thing, anyway.”
Julius seemed dumbfounded and then shrugged, returning to his cup. “You’re likely right.”
And since they were on the subject… “Your mother let you name the dog. That seemed nice of her. She even allowed you to give it the name Gravy.”
Julius gave a considering murmur. “Yes, and then she pulled a gun on me and would have likely turned my brains to gravy, had I let her get in the first shot.” He calmly put his cup down and looked at Frank. “Now, tell me about what you were thinking about. Was it the dancer?” Julius grinned.
Frank kept his expression blank. “We’re not here to discuss me, but you.”
Julius leaned forward. “We’ve known one another for over two decades, so cease with your doctoring for a moment and just be Frank.” He lifted his brows in challenge.
Frank thought of this for a moment and then removed his glasses. “I like her.”
Julius settled back in his chair. “Excellent. When’s the wedding?”
He shook his head. “We’re not courting.”
“Why not?” Julius asked. “She seems to fit in with our friends and I’m sure you know the Spinster’s Society is plotting against you… or for you, depending on how you look at it.” Julius seemed to take a moment to debate that in his head.
The Spinsters were the female equivalent to the Men of Nashwood, a society of women who were as close to one another as blood, and likely held a number of secrets to bind them.
And Frank did know the Spinsters to be plotting. One of the parties Diana had attended had been held by Lorena, the Countess of Ashwick. She’d known Frank for nearly as long as Julius had, and had married one of their close friends, Emmett.
During the party, Frank had heard more than one Spinster invite Diana to tea and sighed with relief when she’d declined. They were a bunch of busybodies, the Spinsters. Currently, there were nine in their group, eight married to one of Frank’s friends. One unmarried, but Frank knew that to only be a matter of time unless Julius continued to play the fool.
“There are some challenges that we face before any true plans can be formed,” Frank confessed. “Now, let’s talk about your challenges. It is rare for a mother to turn against her own child.”
Julius stared silently and then said, “Would one of the challenges you face with Diana be the fact that your mother died with her lover?”
The words were a blow, but only because they’d been spoken aloud, not because Frank hadn’t thought it himself.
His mother had been carrying on an affair behind his father’s back, a man who’d been kind and good to her. Frank could not yet understand his mother’s thoughts, though he’d tried to repeatedly, especially after he’d deepened his study in psychology.
He recalled how grievous his father had been about the affair, and even now, Frank’s father still mourned his treacherous wife’s death. He’d never remarried. Did his father fear another wife would only cause him more pain? Many times, he’d wanted to ask his father that very question, yet found it hard to ask questions of someone who was so close to him. Frank feared bringing the pain back again.
His mother had been married to a good man from what Frank remembered, and even from what he’d later heard his housekeeper whispering to a maid who’d inquired on why Lockwood had never married again.
His parents had been in love.
And then one day…
Had his mother truly loved his father or had it all been a ploy for his money?
Diana didn’t need his money. Bancroft had plenty and she, as a dancer who’d held leading roles for most of her career, likely had her own.
“Frank?” Julius asked.
He turned to him. “I’m sorry, did you say something?” He reached into his pocket and looked at his pocket watch. “I must go. Our session is done.” He stood.
Julius gained his feet and then moved to stand by Frank. He placed a heavy hand on Frank’s shoulder and gave him a serious look. “I’m here if you ever need to talk.”
Frank knew him to be jesting, just as much as he wasn’t. “Thank you, but I’ll manage.” He still rode in carriages after all. How hard could it be to trust a woman not to abandon him in a few years’ time?
Julius nodded and left.
* * *
28
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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
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Frank walked out of the office and made his way down the hall until he came to the ce
nter staircase of Valdeston House. The duke’s London residence was nearly as grand as a palace but not just from the golden finishes, gilded molding and trim, and its rich woods. It was the style of the home that drew the lookers’ admiration. Designed by Francis’ grandfather, who Society had called a madman, it was easy for one to get lost in the labyrinth. The rooms were shaped oddly, with round spaces, octagons, and with windows in every space.
But the foyer was the most dynamic of it all.
The stairs that wrapped around the wall climbed like vines and entwined to make landings before one reached a floor. There were hidden staircases and closets with staircases.
On the domed roof was a painting of angels on fluffy white clouds that had recently been revitalized.
Frank walked down to one landing and back up to a different floor where he knew his own room to be.
Since the Men of Nashwood were a close group, each of the brothers had their own space whenever they visited Francis, and frequently, if an event had gone on too long, they all retired here instead of traveling to their homes. The wives of Frank’s friends, the Spinsters, also came with their men, but conversed alone, likely plotting mischievous deeds that would later be placed in the papers.
There was no one in the hall, though he could hear laughter from farther down. Likely one of his friends and his wife. Frank entered the room unnoticed by anyone, and immediately began to change, with the intentions of seeing Diana. He decided to ride instead of taking his carriage.
I’m not a coward.
He prayed it was true.
He removed his shirt and carelessly tossed it on his bed before reaching for his trousers, undoing the first button.
An unintelligible sound caught his notice.
He stilled and turned to the corner in his room that held a chair and table.
He blinked simply to make sure that what he was seeing was real. When Diana didn’t vanish, his heart began to race. “What are you doing here?”
* * *
From the moment Diana had been told that Frank had his own room in Lady Valdeston’s house, she’d set her sights on seeing it, hoping to find an inner glimpse of who he was.
She’d been invited to tea by the Spinsters repeatedly during the week, but had continued to refuse until Lady Lorena had presented herself at Diana’s apartments. It was clear that the lady was either mentally ill or quite determined, and so Diana had conceded, having only been given a half hour to make herself ready, before being taken away in the woman’s carriage.
During the ride to the Countess of Valdeston’s residence, which was where the tea was being held, Lorena had told Diana a great deal about the Spinsterhood, including the fact that not all the women in the group were of blue blood. In fact, one woman had been a former lady’s maid. Lady Christin, who Diana had grown to know quite well after each of Lily’s lessons, had once been a working woman, and yet another had come from a wealthy home.
Diana thought she understood exactly what had prompted Lorena to tell her all of this, but the lady had obliterated every doubt when she’d began to speak about Frank and his connection to both the Brotherhood and the Spinsters. He was well adored, Lorena made clear, and Diana understood why.
Diana had done nothing to hide her attraction to her former doctor, thought she felt some distance on Frank’s part and couldn’t understand why.
When tea came around and Diana found herself surrounded by nine extremely attractive women, the conversation became all about her, her family, her upbringing, how she learned to dance and if she was willing to teach anyone else as she did Lily.
There was no judgement when Diana told her half-truths. No one could know about Bancroft and while she’d indulged about her mother, she’d left her father out of the discussion entirely. Dancing was an easy subject and when tea finally came to a close, it was Lady Genie, with her brilliant red curls and bright green eyes, who took Diana on a tour of the house and pointed out the door that Frank called his own.
The lady had to have known that Diana would look, and once she’d been told that Frank was in residence, she hadn’t been able to resist.
The tour finished, Diana had been left to do as she wished, and had quickly entered Frank’s chamber.
It was a good-sized space, though sparsely decorated. But with the style of the Valdeston Mansion, one didn’t need much artwork to distract from its natural beauty.
There was a bed of grand size that she knew could hold his large frame easily, a fireplace, a single chair, and a writing desk. There was a sideboard that held a few personal objects, a watch, diamond cufflinks, and a cravat pin. By the washbasin was a bar of soap and she’d inhaled its scent and envied that bar, because she knew it touched his skin. The thought of Frank rubbing it against himself and stroking his body to a lather made her shiver and she nearly dropped it before taking a seat by the writing desk.
There were books piled on one side, all on the topic of the mind. A few papers were scattered and she caught sight of the mention of the earl’s death. Then she decided to read and wait until either Frank returned, or the day grew late.
He’d entered moments later, and Diana had smiled and prepared herself to speak, but just as suddenly, he began to strip.
And so she closed her mouth.
When his jacket fell away, warmth began to build, and at the first glimpse of his muscled back, heat struck her core. She licked her lips as her eyes stroked down the hills and valleys of his strong body, taking in every knot in his spine and his deep shoulder blades. He was golden and beautiful, like those virile statues of foreign deities. Two arms of stone flexed as he moved, emphasizing just how tapered his waist was. He was completely oblivious to her presence.
She wanted to run her hands all over him. She wanted to coat him in kisses, lick his skin, sink her nails and teeth into him.
She wanted to see more.
She accidentally made a noise when he turned to the side and undid the first button of his pants.
She stilled as his eyes caught hers, but there was too much to see.
His chest was even more magnificent and a trail of dark blond hair started on his belly and led down below his white underclothes…
“What are you doing here?”
Diana stood and made her way toward him on unsteady legs. She’d never seen a man so beautiful.
Somewhere in the back of her mind she heard him say her name, likely to try and stop her, but he didn’t move away or lift a hand to seize her.
She watched the rise and fall of his smooth skin.
She didn’t take her eyes from his body as she leaned in and had her first taste of his skin. Her tongue licked over his dark nipple.
He shuddered and she moaned before taking him into her mouth and started licking him all over. He smelled warm and of that soap she’d inhaled moments ago. She’d imagined him running it over his body, but no longer need she be envious.
Her hands started to play with him, touching his torso and raking her nails over each groove.
He released a breath and grabbed her shoulders, holding her fast. “My god, Diana. That’s…”
She knew how it felt. She knew he enjoyed it. She knew how it drove him mad, but he had no idea what it did to her. How hot it made her feel.
She’d wanted this man for weeks.
For months, if she were being honest.
At first, his reservations were honorable, but now they did nothing but leave her hungry and quite saturated between her legs.
He lifted her face and his mouth came down to consume hers. He had always been an adept kisser, but more recently there’d been slightly hostile, as though he wished to conquer her, raiding her lips and tongue with an endless onslaught of greed.
She felt his hard ridge bump into her and captured him in her hands.
He hissed against her mouth and she cupped him just as she used the other hand to unfasten the rest of his trousers. He spilled into her hand. Hot and hard. Thick and long. She shivered as she stroke
d him. His skin was loose, but underneath, he might as well have been made of stone.
His hands went to her head and locked in her hair. Pulling her away, he forced her to meet his eyes. His greenish-gold gaze seemed unfocused and his voice was rough though his words were clear. “You want this?” He rocked forward, sensually fucking her hand.
The feeling of it, the insinuation of what he could do to her made it hard for her to do anything but moan.
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