A Seductive Lady Rescued From Flames (Historical Regency Romance)

by Emily Honeyfield

  It was certainly strange.

  “After everything I went through,” Ernest said, tossing his head back. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, while Rose ripped the letter out of his hand and reread it. “I was up all night, trying to find the right way to tell her. All night, I worried I was making a mistake, ending it. My mind went from thoughts of father, to thoughts of Grace’s father—to what it would mean for you if I married Grace…”

  “She’s gone,” Rose muttered, her voice breathy. “Wow. Maybe I’ll never have to see her ever again. Ernest, can you imagine?” She gripped his upper bicep with greater strength than Ernest knew she had. “She’s moving to Coventry! We won’t even need to stumble into her in London! I won’t have to—to know her children as my nieces and nephews. I won’t have to listen to her endless gossip at family dinners. Ernest, do you understand just how wretched that would have been? Not just for me, but for all of us? Watching her grow older and angrier and more wicked? She would have ripped you in two, Ernest. Over time, she would have taken out every bit of goodwill you have in that heart of yours.”

  Ernst continued to study the ceiling. Rose laughed, nearly cackling. She popped up on her toes, then jumped up and down. Their breakfasts were both long cold, now, their teas becoming blackened lukewarm water. Ernest felt nothing but sudden expectation.

  He knew what he had to do.

  “I don’t know why I’ve waited so long to do this,” Ernest blared. He tore up from his chair and marched toward the foyer.

  Rose scampered after him, the letter still clutched in her hand. “You’re going to her. Aren’t you?”

  Ernest nodded. He stuffed his arms into his spring jacket, setting his jaw. “I can’t believe what a coward I’ve been. Rose—if you ever catch me in the midst of anything like that again, you absolutely must string me up. I don’t have time for such indecision. I need the rest of my life to begin right now.”

  Rose’s eyes welled with tears. Ernest hadn’t seen her so emotional. He spread his arms wide, his instincts as her older brother taking over. But instead, Rose thrust her hands against his chest and shoved him toward the door.

  “If you don’t get out of here right now, I will end you,” she shot out. “Don’t spend even a single moment on me. I’m only crying because I’m proud of you.”

  Ernest took his sister words to heart. He whirled around and ducked out the door, rushing toward the stables. He felt lighter, younger than he had in many months. He prayed only that Diana hadn’t made up her mind otherwise—that her heartbreak hadn’t manifested into something that meant they could never find love again.

  There was only one way to discover the truth.

  Chapter 22

  Diana was perched at the edge of her breakfast seat, her hands splayed across the tablecloth. The eggs on her plate seemed to flatten, growing ever colder, as minutes ticked away. She couldn’t keep her eyes from the window, as the sun drew itself over the tops of the trees. It was to be yet another beautiful early summer day, yet she was awash with devastation and fear.

  What on earth was she going to do?

  Aunt Renata and her father hadn’t mentioned her strange behaviour. Aunt Renata slotted her fork into her eggs and bit down on it, so that her teeth clanked on the metal. This irritated Diana to no end, yet she hadn’t the know-how to tell her aunt to stop.

  Finally, her father lifted his chin. He chewed contemplatively. “Diana. You’ve hardly touched your breakfast, yet again.”

  Diana blurted the words she said next. “Father, I really cannot sit here a moment more. It’s destroying me.”

  Her father stitched his eyebrows together over his nose. “I don’t suppose I understand fully what you mean.”

  “No. Of course not,” Diana murmured. “At least, I suppose you don’t want me to think you know. But you must have guessed at my devastation the past week, since we moved into this estate. Grace set this up, Father. She knows that Ernest and I are in love, and she’s willing to tear into me, belittle me—and rip me away from the one I love.”

  Diana was surprised at her outburst. Ordinarily, she was so good-natured around her father and aunt, willing to abide by their rules of relative silence. But this wasn’t the time to be quiet.

  “Diana…” Aunt Renata began.

  Diana turned her head so quickly, she thought it might fall from her neck. Her aunt’s eyes brimmed with tears. She nodded slowly.

  “If this is truly how you feel, you have to go tell him. Tell him once and for all that he’s making a mistake. I know better than almost anyone else what it means to live your life alone. And although I wouldn’t take any of it back—I’ve loved watching you grow up, and I’ve loved the friendship that I’ve built with my brother—I know how it aches to sleep alone at night.”

  Suddenly, Aunt Renata burst up from her chair. Her eyes glittered. “If there’s anything I know, it’s this. Tell him everything your heart tells you to say. And if he rebukes you—if he tells you he must uphold his engagement to Grace Bragg—then you can know that you did everything in your power.”

  Diana nodded slowly. Her eyes shifted toward her father. He seemed to be staring into the very heart and soul of his eggs and toast.

  “Father?” Diana murmured. “Do I have your blessing?”

  Her father sniffed. “You didn’t have my blessing to do many of the things you’ve done. Running back into the house to go after your maid, for one. And disappearing wherever it was you went at Lord Bannerman’s party.”

  His eyes targeted Diana with unmatched severity. “Diana. What I’m telling you is, you’re old enough to make your own decisions. And Ernest is old enough to know when he’s making the wrong one.”

  “Father, perhaps no one is ever old enough to know anything,” Diana countered. “I dare say I’m older than I was as a child, but I feel I know less and less about the world as it comes to me. Every day, I second-guess my own emotions, my own love. Perhaps these things are all we have, and yet…”

  Diana hadn’t imagined herself to say anything so off-putting, so as to make her father’s face so grey, so haggard. He swallowed hard, as though the weight of what she’d said was far heavier than he’d envisioned.

  “Your aunt and I can both attest to this fact,” he whispered, as though his voice seemed caught in his throat. “Your bones grow tired. You become more fallible. You find yourself more and more fearful. The world becomes a scary place, a place to hide from. And then, one day, the only place you’ve ever known—the place in which you raised your family, the place in which you, yourself, were born—burns to the ground. What then? How are you meant to perceive the world, when everything you’ve ever known is gone?”

  Diana’s lips parted. She hadn't a single clue of how to proceed. She felt suddenly selfish, as though she’d trapped herself in her own inner chaos, disallowing herself to see outside. Her father ached with a pain she could hardly name, as it felt far too big. His many, many years of life, his both blissful and tormented memories. All of it had burned to the ground.

  Before she could speak, to tell him she understood, her father continued.

  “But if there’s anything I know after losing so much, it’s this. We must act on our biggest feelings. Go. Go to him. Know that if all doesn’t go as planned, you can always return here, to your home. We will always love you.”

  This speech chilled Diana. Yet she burst to her feet, not wanting to pause another moment. She dotted kisses on both her aunt’s and father’s cheeks. Her words were shaky when she finally revealed them. “Thank you. Thank you both so much,” she said, scampering toward the foyer.

  Once there, she peered into the front wardrobe, hunting for her spring jacket. She felt frantic in a way she didn’t understand. Her breath came in spurts.

  Whatever happened in the next few hours, it would alter the course of her life. She would either know, fully and without pause, that the earl didn’t wish to spend his life with her—or she would begin a journey down a path of beau
ty and love and reverence.

  Which did she deserve? She hadn’t a clue.

  As she thrust her arms through the jacket’s sleeves, Rose’s words echoed in her mind. As far as Rose knew, Ernest was still rather hung up on Diana. From what she’d said, Diana echoed through the back areas of Ernest’s mind throughout every day, just as he did within hers.

  If that wasn’t powerful enough for her to act, then she didn’t know what was.

  Diana scurried toward the stables. Her feet moved too quickly for her body, and she nearly stumbled several times. She grew lost in the idea that she might tumble on her face, cover herself with grass stains. There before the earl, declaring her undying love? It was a ridiculous image, and one that filled her heart with laughter. She burst forward a final time and arrived at the doorway of the stables, beaming at the stableboy, who looked at her from his half-slumber.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Could you ready me a horse?” she replied.

  The boy carried out his tasks lazily. Diana felt she might die of the endless nature of it all. It was like watching a flower open. He dropped a saddle over the back of the wild black beast, then forced the horse to take the hard, silver bit. The animal looked at her with dead eyes.

  “Please. Try to hurry,” Diana muttered, mostly to herself.

  Finally, the stable boy guided the horse into the glittering sunlight of the late morning. With her heart thudding in her throat, Diana swept herself over the saddle, not bothering to ride side-saddle. The entire operation wasn’t ladylike—why should she act that part, anyway?

  Besides. After making love in the midst of a forest, Ernest already knew her to be entirely unladylike. What they’d done had been violent and charged and filled with beauty—but it wasn’t the beauty that you brought to court.

  “Ride safely!” the stableboy called as she cantered away.

  She made no motion of waving back to him. In her mind, this stableboy was related to Lord Bragg, and thus to Grace Bragg herself. Through no fault of his own, she perceived him as the enemy.

  Diana bounded on the saddle. Fields swept out on either side of her; trees billowed into the fresh blue sky. Soon, the wild heat of summer would overtake all of them, heavy like a blanket on their shoulders. She prayed that she and Ernest would be allowed to joke about such a thing: to sit out in the back garden, their cheeks glistening with sweat. “I’ll tell him to drink more water,” Diana murmured to herself, as though to distract herself from the pain of the current moment. “I’ll tell him it’s entirely important that he keeps himself well. For the good of his people. For the good of us, as a couple. For the good of maintaining health for our upcoming wedding…”

  Perhaps this visualization was too powerful. Diana knew that if she pictured it with too much specificity, she would ultimately break her own heart, when she didn’t arrive at it. Still, she carried on with her delusional daydream, unable to break from it.

  It was far too beautiful in its simplicity. It was far too beautiful to part with.

  Diana rode hard and fast toward the Bannerman estate. It had been a long while since she’d been so alone, so wild, and she welcomed this feeling. She felt more herself out there, inhaling the fresh air, than she had in years. She was going out to get what she wanted. She wouldn’t settle for anything less.

  As she continued down the open road, she spotted a figure in the distance. The figure rode horseback, just as she did, and he leaned heavily toward her, as though he, too, was on a mission, against all bounds of reason.

  His dark hair rustled with the wind. His firm nose was stoic, sure, beneath his two surly eyebrows. And when he noticed who she was, he sprung upright on his horse, yanking at the reins. His handsome face spoke of shock and little else.

  It was Ernest, of course. And he was only twenty feet away.

  Diana’s heart surged. She yanked at her own reins, drawing her horse to a halt. She and Ernest gaped at one another there on the road, sitting atop their horses. Perhaps he was off to visit someone else; Grace’s estate was only a turn away. Surely, he was going there.

  It was impossible to describe the chaos that burned through Diana’s mind as the two horses tip-toed their way toward one another. As Ernest grew closer, she felt unable to calm her mind. Her thoughts turned in circles, impossible to fully articulate. And his eyes burned toward hers, hungry. She felt he wanted to eat her alive. And the space between her legs seemed to echo this desire, growing warm and wet. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling slowly, imagining his lips across her throat, his teeth tugging at her ears.

  “Own me,” she whispered to herself. “Take me as yours.”

  But this was a far cry from telling it to him fully. She needed to find the strength to say it. To say it without pause, without fear.

  Finally, the horses’ noses were mere inches from one another. Diana felt she could smell Ernest, his musk, his masculinity. He remained upright on the horse, regal and powerful. His muscles flexed beneath his shirt. Her fingers felt hungry to sweep across his, to squeeze. She licked her bottom lip, trying to tell herself to calm.

  “Hello,” she finally said. The silence had dragged on far too long.

  “It’s you,” Ernest whispered.

  Diana’s eyes clamped shut. What was she supposed to take from this?

  “Yes. I suppose it must be a surprise,” she murmured.

  She forced her eyes to open in the midst of his silence. He laughed softly, this impossibly beautiful laugh that made her own stomach clench. She felt she had to leap off the metaphorical cliffside, now. If she didn’t, what on Earth had she come all this way for?

  In the distance, she could see Ernest’s mansion—the place she’d been allowed to call home for a brief, beautiful period of time. How her heart ached to return to it.

  “I’m sorry for coming like this,” she told him. She surprised herself with her apology.

  Ernest’s face didn’t falter. “You look stunning.”

  Diana frowned. Her fingers traced her wild curls. They’d fallen out of their up-do throughout the wild race toward the estate.

  “I imagine I look wild and rugged. Like a girl in an adventure novel,” she offered.

  Ernest clucked his tongue. “Isn’t that what I like most about you?”

  Diana bowed her head. The words were too powerful. Just behind her, she heard the crackling of a carriage. Her heart leapt with fear. Was it possible that someone would come find them speaking and cast Ernest from her? Would they take over the conversation, direct his attention toward other matters? He was the earl of the region, after all. She was but a weak woman, in the wake of recovering from a fire. He hadn’t a single reason to care for her.

  But when the carriage arrived, it moved past them without bothering itself. Diana blushed, her fear dissipating. She cast her eyes toward the edge of the road, where a line of trees burst out into the rugged forest beyond.

  It seemed that Ernest could read her thoughts.

  “I don’t suppose you wish to take to the woods?”

  Diana sniffed. “I always wish for that.”

  Slowly, she eased herself from horseback. Ernest did the same. They were still far too separate, seemingly divided by an impossible-to-understand force. Diana wondered if this was her own inner creation—or his. Perhaps it was still the divide from his engagement. They both knew that what they’d done in the woods already was far too much. They’d stepped over every single boundary.

  They couldn’t do it again without going wild.

  Diana led her horse to the edge of the trees. She followed Ernest’s lead, latching the reins to one of the tree limbs. Every single portion of her body ached with desire for him, so much so that her breath came in little spurts. This man—this perfect, beautiful man—was standing before her. And she’d spent the previous days daydreaming about only him, so much so that she hadn’t been able to sleep.