A Seductive Lady Rescued From Flames (Historical Regency Romance)

by Emily Honeyfield

  Now, she turned her head ever so slightly to the right to find Diana perched in her little pink chair, her leg crossing and uncrossing themselves as though they had minds of their own. Her eyes were downcast, fluttering toward the ground. Next, Grace turned her attention to Ernest, who seemed to have maintained his puppy-doglook of affection for little Diana.

  Grace’s insides felt as though they were on fire. What did she have to do to generate that kind of lust from Ernest? Did she have to get into some sort of accident—nearly die? Of course, the affection wasn’t necessarily what she was after, when it came to Ernest. In fact, all she really yearned for from him was his title, the life he offered to her “so generously,” due to his father’s demands.

  What a weak man. Although she knew that Ernest didn’t yearn to marry her—just as she could do without him—Grace sensed he was far too idiotic and unsure to ever reach out and get what he wanted. Instead, he was happy to just gawk at her, at this being before them both, as though she was a prized possession or a Christmas feast.

  Luckily, the imbecile Aunt Renata struck up the next level of conversation, drawing both Diana and Ernest out of whatever loving whole they’d fallen into. Grace busied herself with speaking, ducking between their words and assuring everyone that she always had something insightful to say.

  She felt this informed the group that she was far more intelligent than the earl, that she would be the overlord over the entire countryside—even if her title as countess didn’t necessarily allow for this. Whatever. She had his life wrapped around her fingers. Soon—within the month—she would be allowed to do whatever it was she wanted.

  As the evening curled itself around the mansion, casting the sun toward the horizon line, Grace rose from her chair, knowing that it was time for her to go. It wasn’t necessary for her to remain, as she knew, already, that she’d won. Ernest stated that he would see her to the door, yet Grace had a far better plan. Why not have a bit of fun with the situation at hand?

  “I’d love it if Diana could see me out,” she chirped, giving Diana her most blissful smile.

  Diana fidgeted. Grace sensed that she had her cornered. It would look entirely rude if she refused to do such a seemingly innocent task. Diana rose and led Grace toward the foyer. Grace glanced toward Ernest once more, watching as his eyes followed Diana—only Diana.

  Grace rolled her eyes slightly and continued to march toward the front door. Diana reached into the wardrobe, collecting Grace’s coat and parasol. Grace scoffed at this internally, laughing that the woman already knew precisely where the coats were laid, as though she owned the place.

  As Diana turned to pass Grace’s parasol to her, Grace leaned forward, hissing, “I know precisely what you’re up to.”

  At this, Diana’s eyes shimmered as though she was about to break into tears. This pleased Grace to no end. She felt she had Diana as a puppet, the strings far above her head.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Diana murmured.

  “Oh, darling. I don’t imagine that you’re altogether very intelligent, but you and I both understand when a man is giving you an undue amount of attention. We wouldn’t be women if we didn’t.”

  Diana’s nostrils flared. Again, Grace sensed she’d struck a nerve. Diana cleared her throat whilst Grace slipped on her coat, flashing her hair behind her shoulders.

  “I know you’re miserable just now, Diana,” Grace continued, her voice low. “I know you’re aching with all the pain and heartache at losing your home, of being unconscious for days and days. My, what a wretched week you’ve had.”

  Grace sensed the sarcasm in her own voice and relished it. “But I must tell you, no matter what happens between you and the earl, you will never be more than just a mistress. If you try to get between Ernest and I—mark my words—I will make your life significantly worse. You’ll wish yourself back in the fire.”

  She’d expected Diana to fall to her knees with panic. She’d expected her to flutter away, to fall into apology. Yet, instead, Diana’s cheeks grew flat, her eyes set and electric. She gazed directly back into Grace’s eyes with sincere intensity.

  “I’m grateful that you’ve made your inner feelings so known,” Diana said, her voice hard, difficult to read.

  “And I’m grateful that the fire didn’t knock out that inner common sense within you,” Grace returned.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong, Grace,” Diana continued. She continued to hold Grace’s eyes. “Ernest is his own man, no?”

  Grace snorted slightly. “Oh, darling, you’ve only known him for a few wretched days, haven’t you?”

  “Perhaps. But what I see in Ernest is a wild, strong, ambitious man—a man willing to do anything to uphold his love for his father and his love for his country. Perhaps you don’t see this strong will within him. I suggest this makes you rather blind.”

  Grace arched her brow. “I beg your pardon?”

  “The earl can do as he pleases. He can make his own decisions. I imagine he wouldn’t be so pleased about you attempting to get in the way of any of those decisions, here in his very own foyer. Do you?”continued Diana.

  Grace swallowed hard. She felt as though she’d been smacked. She gripped her parasol, her knuckles growing white.

  “Wonderful to see you again, Diana,” Grace uttered, her voice rasping. She cut toward the door and whirled out of it, delivering Diana what she hoped to be an abrasive, dangerous expression.

  But Diana just peered out after her, arms crossed over her chest. It suddenly terrified Grace to realize that she had misjudged this woman—that perhaps Diana knew far more about Ernest than Grace did, even after growing up with him. Perhaps, Grace had allowed herself to be blinded by her own future hopes of grandeur, of title.

  Diana clipped the door closed behind Grace, casting Grace into the late-evening spring rain. She stomped toward the carriage prepared for her, and she hustled within. Her heart bolted against her ribcage. Within herself, she resolved not to allow Diana to beat her. This was Grace’s game, from beginning to end. Diana was merely a hiccup on her ride to greatness.

  Chapter 12

  After Diana shut the door, a volatile shudder rollicked through her. She blinked at the door, almost expecting Grace to shove back within, to have the last word. But instead, Grace drifted off into the night, leaving Diana in the cosy interior of the home Grace herself planned to own one day. Diana appreciated that she was a thorn in Grace’s side, an obstruction. But she also appreciated that Grace was a sort of tumour in Ernest’s life, something he needed help digging out. She’d never been one to press herself into anyone’s business, but her sense of empathy for Ernest, for Rose, thrust her down a far different path.

  Something had to be done.

  Now, she tapped back to the parlour to find her father fast asleep, his neck stretched back across his chair. His mouth parted, erupting with snores. Rose, Aunt Renata, and Ernest continued to chat, as though he hadn’t fallen asleep. Ernest’s eyes bored into Diana’s as she entered, carrying with them a look of humour. She gave him a slight smile. She wished she could explain to him what Grace had just informed her of in the foyer, yet knew this was an issue between women; it was nothing he could deal with.

  “I suppose this means we should all prepare for bed,” Aunt Renata announced. On cue, she drew her lips wide, letting out a yawn. “I know I’m entirely wiped. What lovely conversation with your fiancée, Lord Bannerman. She truly does have a great deal of insight on the courting of London. I felt like a girl again—back when those sorts of things thrilled me.”

  “Of course, they’ve never thrilled me,” Rose insisted, her nostrils flared. “What kind of wretched spirit—”

  At this, Ernest cut in front of Rose, drawing his finger across his throat. Aunt Renata seemed not to notice. She shuffled to the doorway, turning her head round toward Diana’s father. She hissed his name, forcing him awake. He coughed twice and looked at her with a confused expression, one Diana entirely understood. Each morning
when she awoke, she hadn’t a clue where she was, and thus had to recall all over again everything about the fire.

  Diana reached for her father, guiding him to his feet. She still shook with memory of what had just happened with Grace, but had the wherewithal to know that she was needed here, that her father required her assistance. She used the last of her strength to bring him toward the door, where Aunt Renata slipped her arm through his—an act she’d done ever since he’d grown quite weak.

  She gave Diana a final, knowing look—one they shared frequently, reminding them both that they had to keep going, if only for Lord Harrington’s sake. Then, Lord Harrington blurted out a, “Good night,” to the members of the drawing room, before snaking toward the stairs.

  Diana paused for a moment before turning to find both Ernest and Rose looking at her. Rose lent her a serene smile, letting Diana know that her plan had gone smoothly. Diana felt sure that Rose knew, perhaps instinctively, what had happened in the hallway between her and Ernest.

  Diana ached to remain with the two of them, yet felt that if she did, she might toss herself onto Ernest, allowing her body to take the lead. Already, there was a warmth between her legs, an ache that stirred up her belly and into her breasts. She yearned for nothing more than to press herself against him, touch him, feel her nipples harden against his skin.

  “It’s best that I take to my study, I suppose,” Ernest ventured, smacking the back of his neck. He bowed his head to both his sister and Diana, before surging past her.

  Both Diana and Rose listened as his footsteps echoed down the hallway. Rose continued to beam at her, then leaned closer, whispering, “Don’t you see? Everything went perfectly.”

  Diana gave Rose a slight roll of her eyes. “You should have heard the things Grace said out in the foyer,” she moaned, collapsing beside Rose. She slid her hands across her thighs, letting out a heavy sigh. “She wants to destroy me, you know.”

  Rose buzzed her lips. “Of course, she does. She’s wanted to destroy me for years now, even before the engagement. Anyone who gets in the way of her dramatically beautiful opinions of herself must be destroyed. But”—and here, Rose nuzzled close to Diana, again reminding Diana of the sister she’d lost so long ago—“you showed my brother precisely what sort of woman you are. A woman of integrity. A woman he would be lucky to marry…”

  “I don’t really see why this is so essential for you,” Diana said, arching her brow. “You’ll be out of the house soon. You can allow your brother to make as many mistakes as he wants to.”

  Rose crossed her arms. “He can’t possibly make this decision. He’s the last person I have in the world. And if he doesn’t choose you? That means I lose you, too.”

  Diana tried to give her a meaningful smile, but Rose refused to turn toward her. “You won’t lose me. This has been… one of the most dramatic weeks of my life. It’s not as though I’ll be able to forget these memories. I’ll invite you to my home any time you wish—once it’s rebuilt, that is. You’ll adore it. We’ll be just like—” Diana toyed with the word “sisters,” yet couldn’t fully articulate it. It felt too heavy.

  “And you’ll really just return there? To care for your father? Listen to your aunt go on and on and—”

  “Of course I will,” Diana interjected, trying to eliminate the sombreness in her own voice. “I haven’t another option.”

  Rose seemed rather annoyed with her. She made an excuse moments later to return to her bedroom, leaving Diana alone in the shadow of herself. She allowed her chin to fall toward her chest, felt a wave of emotion crash through her. It didn’t seem enough that she had to grapple with her own inner demons, her own physical disparities in the wake of her horrendous injuries.

  No. Now, she had to deal with the severity of love. She had to deal with the horror of potentially striking a knife through a set-in-stone engagement. Could she truly see herself doing such a thing?

  In the end, what she’d told Grace was the truth: whatever Ernest wanted to do, he would do. They had to trust in the inner passions of his heart, allowing him to do what he would. Neither Grace nor Rose nor Diana could play his hand for him.

  Diana finally drew up enough strength to march up the steps. When she closed her eyes en route to her bed, she felt her mind dribbling away, falling off to dream-land. By the time she crashed onto her mattress, her limbs were all but asleep. Within just seconds, she drifted into slumber, into darkness.

  Of course, her active mind didn’t allow her very many moments of peace.

  Somewhere in her dreaming mind, she felt it: the flickering flames of the fire. She began to toss and turn, her hands scrunching at the sheets around her, her legs kicking wildly. In the dream, she felt sure that she had to find the maid—that the maid remained stuck within the walls of her home. But as she rushed through the burning halls, she heard instead the screaming cries of her mother and her sister. This filled her with a jolt of terror. She raced faster, calling out their names, yet all the while knowing that they didn’t have the power to call back. Not for long. They were on a far separate timeline, living in another realm. The only reason she could hear them was because she’d allowed herself these moments of slumber.

  Suddenly, Diana turned the corner in her burnt mansion to discover her sister, stretched out on the rug before her feet. Her heart surged with complicated feelings of love, of regret. Diana dropped to her knees, draping her body over her sister’s and letting out a blood-curdling scream.

  Then, a hand stretched across her back, stroking her tense muscles. She blinked to find her mother, her face black with ash. She pressed a finger to Diana’s lips. “Shhh.” It was as though her mother wanted nothing more than for the three of them to fall asleep together there, inhaling the severe smoke, falling into nothingness together—or whatever lingered on after that nothingness.

  Diana bolted upright in bed, breathing erratically. She placed her hand across her chest to feel the outrageous beat of her own heart. It seemed as though it might surge out of her throat and fall out onto the covers of the beautiful bed, seeping it with blood.

  There was a strange noise from the door. Diana’s eyes flashed toward it, noting the suspect inching of a shadow, surging out from the hallway and into her bedroom. She whisked the sheets from her legs and tapped toward the door, feeling as though she was still walking through the hollows of her dream. Placing her hand around the doorknob, she inhaled sharply before yanking the door open to discover the earl on the other side.

  For a moment, Diana was breathless, gazing at him. He remained in his clothing from dinner, his black curls shaggy around his face and his dark eyes focused, glittering with drink. His figure was enormous, taking up the entire doorway. He blinked down at her, his smile faltering until he exhibited the most stoic, most firm expression.

  Diana wasn’t sure who was meant to speak first. She swallowed slowly, feeling the strength of his musk in her nose. This caused a warmth to stir between her legs, making her breasts grow taut, her nipples hard beneath her nightdress. Could he see them, beneath the soft white fabric? She prayed he could. She wanted so badly for him to notice her.

  Yet of course he had. He’d arrived outside her door, after one in the morning, surely not by accident. His thick lips glistened with want.

  “What are you doing here?” Diana finally whispered, her voice raspy. It was clear that only moments before, she hadn’t necessarily existed in this physical world. It took her a few moments to grow accustomed to it again.

  The earl seemed almost breathless, as though he’d been pacing the space before her door for a number of minutes. He held her eyes for a long time before answering, “I don’t know precisely why I’m here, Diana. I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry.”

  Diana hadn’t the time to think before acting. Perhaps this was the beauty of the lateness of the hour. But despite anything she believed in, anything that surged within her, she reached forward, drawing her hand across the space over his heart. His heart echoed hers with its
frenetic rhythm. She wanted nothing more than to live within his chest, to crawl inside of him, to inhabit his every inch.