Chapter 13
The next morning, Diana ventured warily to the private dining room for breakfast, but was still shocked to find a tall, handsome woman in the room.
The stranger was dressed in a conventional plain traveling gown of rust-colored cloth, hair hidden by a cap and hat, but no one would think her conventional.
Her smooth skin had a dusky tone, and high cheekbones and dark eyes suggested the East.
“Lady Arradale,” the marquess said, not apparently discomposed by being found with his mistress. “May I present the poet, Sappho?”
Diana would be within her rights to refuse to acknowledge such an unusual creature, but that might send the wrong message. How, she wondered, did one address a stranger with only one name? “Good morning, madam. You are traveling to London?”
“From London, Lady Arradale.” The woman seemed happy. Contented? Satisfied? Damn them both! “I am to join a literary house party in Nottinghamshire, and I must be on my way. If you are still in London when I return, I do hope you will honor one of my salons with your presence.”
Diana made polite noises—though inside she was muttering, “When the moon falls from the sky, madam.”
Sappho took leave of Lord Rothgar without any intimate gestures at all. Despite their conventional behavior, however, a connection flowed between and around them, and as a parting shot, she said to him, “Very disappointed.”
Diana stared at the door. She had to ask. “You have disappointed Mistress Sappho in some way?”
He came to hold out her chair. “Not yet. She was talking of future matters.”
His future with the poet. Perhaps they would marry. If the woman was barren, why not? Knowing she was likely to say something spiteful and revealing, Diana put a large piece of ham into her mouth and forced herself to eat it with an appearance of relish.
When she’d swallowed ham and ill-temper, she asked, “Will we reach London today?”
“If the day goes smoothly. That will give you a soothing night’s rest before the Queen’s Drawing Room tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. Tomorrow her trial began. That did give her more important matters to think about. She ate quickly then rose. “We had best be off.”
Heading for the coach yard she gave thanks that this would be the end of this difficult journey. Much more and she would embarrass herself. Then she paused in surprise to see Clara climbing into the second coach.
“Clara, what’s happening?”
The maid turned. “Me and Mr. Fettler are to travel in the baggage coach today, milady. The marquess’s orders.”
Diana thought she could see a speculative light in her maid’s eyes, and speculations were buzzing inside her as well. She turned to the main coach with little bubbles of excitement starting to fizz.
Not, of course, that she had any intention of allowing him to seduce her—especially straight from another woman’s arms!—but still …
Perhaps he wanted to talk more of this feeling that burned between them.
Perhaps he would rub her feet again.
Perhaps …
Only as she entered the luxurious coach did she notice that the opposite seats had disappeared. It took only a little investigation to see that they folded up into the front wall of the carriage. An ingenious design, especially for an owner with long legs.
Had he sent the servants to the other coach merely to be able to stretch his legs? He climbed in and did stretch his legs out. “A more comfortable arrangement, my lady. Don’t you agree?”
She just might scream. “I was not particularly cramped, my lord, though it is a useful feature for a coach.”
“My own design. What is more, those seats can be rearranged to make the entire carriage a bed.”
She glanced at him sharply, but managed to resist any further reaction. “So,” she said as the coach rolled out of the inn yard, “is that your sole reason for the change, my lord? To stretch your legs?”
“Not at all. We must rehearse you for your role in London.”
Thank heavens she’d said or done nothing to reveal the way her mind had run! She gathered her composure. “I do believe I know how to act the lady without practice, my lord.”
“But can you maintain it under fire? What do you do, for example, when the king tells you that women are put on this earth to serve men and bear their children, and nothing more?”
Diana felt her jaw tense, but she inclined her head. “Sire, I think women blessed who achieve such a happy situation.”
“So,” he said, his voice changing a little to a sharper, higher pitch, presumably in imitation of King George, “you wish to marry, Lady Arradale?”
She fluttered her lashes. “What woman would not wish to marry, sire, if she could find a man worthy of her true regard?”
“And in what direction does your inclination lie, my lady? What? What?”
She stared at him. “What? What?”
His lips twitched. “A mannerism of his. What would you answer?”
Diana thought. “Sire,” she said, lowering her head again, “my inclination lies toward a man of courage, honor, and strength.”
“A soldier, then, what?”
“Not only soldiers are brave, sire. A man of intelligence, with an understanding of the world. Someone able to advise me on my many responsibilities, but also kind and gentle, and considerate of all. One who will love me to the exclusion of all others. Especially that,” she said, looking up at him.
“I require a husband who will be as absolutely faithful to me as I will be to him.”
In his own voice, the marquess asked, “You think you are setting an impossible standard? Brand will be that kind of husband to Rosa.”
“I had not finished, my lord.”
“Ah, continue.”
“I require a husband, sire, who will not need me to act a docile part, not protest at my determination, or try to restrict my actions.”
His brows rose. “And that, of course, is why we are going to spend today in rehearsal.”
She realized with annoyance that indeed she had fallen out of her role. “I would not say that to the king.”
“And a drunkard will give up brandy tomorrow.”
“I am not addicted to independence and power.”
“Are you not?”
“No more than you!”
“But for me, Lady Arradale, it is permitted.”
She resisted the urge to protest the unfairness of it. As he’d said before, that would be childish.
“So,” he continued, “when the king inquires about the state of your estates and affairs, what will you say?”
“I am able to explain them, I assure you.”
He shook his head. “No, Lady Arradale, you profess ignorance and confusion.”
“But then he will feel justified in imposing a man on me to manage them!”
“He will feel justified in that anyway. Any sign of manly expertise will only alarm him further.”
She turned to face forward again. “You’re right. I can’t do this.”
His fingers touched her cheek, turned her to face him again. “I believe that is where we started. Now, let’s try again …”
By evening, as they left Ware for the last stage to London, Diana was worn out.
She was ready to hate her taskmaster, even though she saw that he had at times lightened the lessons and practices with humor.
The stressful day had been even longer than expected, because of a loose wheel pin which had required a stop at a village wheelwright.
Beneath irritation and exhaustion, however, ran fear. If the marquess had planned to teach her that she faced a grueling time, that she could fail and plunge into disaster, he had succeeded.
In the ruddy light of the setting sun, she put a hand to her weary head. “My lord, I think you wish quite desperately to marry me.”
He was lounging back, but she thought perhaps he looked as tired as she. “Why would you think that, Lady Arradale?”
“You are close to convincing me that I cannot do this. If that’s true, I might as well abandon the effort now, and throw myself on your mercy.”
“You have more fighting spirit than that.”
She turned to look out of the window at the intense pink of the sky. “But you have succeeded in teaching me that I must not fight.”
“There are many kinds of battles, and different strategies. And weapons beyond the imagining of ordinary souls.”
She rolled her head back. “You think me extraordinary?”
“Don’t beg for compliments.” But his tired eyes were warm.
“I need some.”
She realized then that they had reached a different place during this grueling day. Not friendship exactly. Perhaps camaraderie? Certainly all barriers of formality had gone.
That could be dangerous, but she was too exhausted to care.
“You are without doubt extraordinary,” he said. “That, after all, is our problem.”
She laughed. “Could you not, for a moment, allow me to be extraordinary in a desirable way?”
“That was my precise meaning.”
She stared at him, throat constricting.
He reached out and drew the knuckle of one finger down the line of her jaw. “It does no good to ignore it. Better a battle faced. Yes, I desire you—strength, honor, courage, and all. However”—he took his hand away—“I am well skilled at resisting temptation.”
She captured that hand. “So am I, which is why we don’t have to resist everything. Kiss me.”
His hand lay lax in her grasp. “You know that would be most unwise.”
“Do I? Explain it to me.”
“Have you never experienced a kiss that demands more, much more?”
She shivered. “Perhaps …”
“I think not.”
“Why?”
“If you had, you would not risk it now.”
“You have?”
“You think me made of ice?”
Of course he had, and doubtless surrendered, too. It would be permitted, for a man. “I cannot endure this … incompletion,” she whispered.
“The ordeal is nearly over. After tomorrow we will see each other only occasionally. There will be distractions. Others.”
Sappho, she thought with a poisonous burst of spite. Had the woman really been on her way north?
“Where do I sleep tonight?”
“At Malloren House. But not,” he added, “in adjoining rooms.”
There was a tease in it, and a warning. “Then there is little danger, is there? In a kiss now?”
“My dear Lady Arradale, we are alone in a closed carriage. It would be perilous.”
“My control must be greater than yours, then. It does not seem so perilous to me.” She shifted, his hand still in hers, and leaned lightly against him raising her head. “I promise on my honor not to let you ravish me, my lord.”
Hands still joined, his finger traced her lips. “You are frighteningly naive.”
Dalliance. One step above flirtation. One step below seduction.
“Then educate me,” she said.
His eyes seemed surprisingly dark. Perhaps it was the shadowing effect of the setting sun, but she didn’t think so. “You do need to recognize the fire with which you so foolishly play …” He freed his fingers and lightly cupped her head, lowering his lips.
She had been kissed in many ways—with mashing passion, and tentative sucking; with intent to impress, and with frantic hope of passing muster. She suddenly felt, however, that she had never experienced a true kiss. A simple kiss, as direct, as honest as a joining of loving hands.
Breath stealing, mind dazzling, soul shaking in its simplicity, power, and connection.
Her lids fluttered open and she stared at him. “What was that?”
A stupid question.
The answer was: a kiss.
But he did not say a kiss. He said, “That was our kiss. Do you understand now?”
She understood that she might be sick with the force of the changes shuddering inside her. “I understand that I want more.”
“My point, I believe.” He put her gently from him, back into her corner of the carriage.
She opened her mouth to protest, but then closed it. She couldn’t sort through all this now, but yes, at last she understood the forces with which they contended. “How long have you known?” she asked.
“Since I rubbed your feet.”
“We could be lovers.” It burst through all her attempts to contain it.
He shook his head. “This is a fire that can never burn tamely. It will consume. We must each guard our flame, and never let them join.”
She covered her face with her hands. Two flames in separate glass lamps. For eternity.
She would not protest. Not now. Perhaps if she thought about it, she could find a way. Or find a way back to the safer shore she had so tempestuously abandoned. A place to live for the rest of her life in some sort of peace without him.
Without him.
She lowered her hands to speak, to protest, and found he was looking away. Out of the coach.
That the coach had halted.
For a moment she thought it an illusion of her disordered mind. Then that he’d stopped the coach to get out. To leave her.
But she heard one of the outriders saying, “There’s something wrong with the horses, my lord.”