Chapter Eight
She woke up alone. Scrambling into a nightgown and summoning Florette, Diantha’s heart twisted curiously as she looked about the room. Only the indentation he had left in the mattress showed that Kieran had come to her last night.
Sabine had confided that the baron spent the night with her after they made love, but perhaps he differed from most men. She shied away from asking Kieran directly. It seemed indelicate, and in the back of her mind she feared he would abandon her bed again if she made too many demands on him.
“Damn.” She didn’t dare say the vulgar word too loudly. “I want him too much.”
As his lordship insisted on what he referred to as “a braw proper breakfast,” the servants set up a table for two in the back salon each day.
Normally, Diantha avoided the room until she knew he had finished eating.
But this morning her appetite demanded something more filling than her usual cup of chocolate and buttered croissant.
As soon as the maid arrived, Diantha dressed and ordered her hair done in a simple chignon. Soon she stood in front of the closed door to the salon, her fist lifted to knock.
She caught herself. As the lady of the house, temporary or not, she did not need anyone’s permission to enter. She opened the door. “Good morning.”
Kieran lifted his eyes from a copy of the Times thoughtfully provided by the house’s owner. He stood up as soon as he saw Diantha and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. “Good morning. May I fill a plate for you?”
An assortment of warming dishes sat on a credenza nearby, each holding a different kind of food. She regarded his plate. It held ham, smoked herring, brioche, and what appeared to be the remains of poached egg and toast.
“No, thank you for offering. By all means go on with your breakfast; I shall serve myself.” A few minutes later, she sat down with what she considered a suitable meal.
As he pushed in her chair, Kieran observed her selections with a frown. “You’ll never last the day with a single egg and a dab of stewed fruit! Allow me to bring you a slice of ham.”
“I don’t care for any meat, thank you!” His brows snapped together and she realized she had spoken more forcefully than he deserved.
“Please forgive me for speaking so sharply. I appreciate your concern, but I do know what I wish to eat.” She watched his face, hoping he would not scold her too severely.
“Of course you do. I shouldn’t have treated you like a child.” He sat down at his place and she waited for the recriminations to start. Instead, he cut off a bite of herring.
Relieved, she took a fresh brioche from the napkin-covered bowl between them and availed herself of the butter and marmalade. When asked about her plans for the day, she replied that she intended to call at the H?tel Pontrevault that afternoon, but had no other decided plans.
“Would you care to come for a drive in the Bois de Boulogne before that? We could wait on the comtesse together afterward.”
Her pulse leaped. He had escorted her to balls, teas, and concerts since their engagement was first announced, but her mother had orchestrated those outings. He had never before invited her anywhere of his own accord.
“I should like that very much!” She tried to control her delight. He would think her a great fool if he knew how much this meant to her.
He finished the last of his tea. “I beg you to excuse me until luncheon. I have some instructions to send to my steward that will take some time.” He nodded to her and left the room.
Seeing that he had abandoned his newspaper, she picked it up and opened it with a delicious thrill.
Her father never permitted his womenfolk to read any newspapers but those aimed at ladies.
Filled with gossip and fashion news, Mama and Granny devoured them, but the inane content bored her to tears.
A glance at the clock told her she had twenty minutes before the servants entered to clear away the breakfast items. Sipping a cup of café au lait, she settled down to read.
The sound of the door opening ten minutes later to admit her husband again startled her into nearly dropping her cup. Thrusting the newspaper under the table, she prayed he had not noticed it.
“We forgot to settle on a time for our drive. Would two o’clock suit you?” A bemused smile curved his lips. “Whatever are you doing?”
“I fear I am also slow this morning.” She paused in scrubbing a spot from her gown with a napkin, relieved that she had not chosen one of her new ones to wear. “I wasn’t paying attention to my surroundings and my coffee when you entered.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled in amusement. “The article you were absorbed in reading must be interesting.”
Her heart plummeted. Stooping to retrieve the hapless newspaper from under the table, she held it out to him.
He stared at her and shook his head, perplexed. “I’m finished with it.”
“You don’t mind that I read it?” She folded it nervously.
“Good God, no!” He waved her back to her chair. “I’ve never seen the point of forbidding a woman to read about anything but fripperies. I should be thankful to have a wife who can discuss something besides her embroidery and her neighbors.”
Instead of returning to her seat, she threw her arms around his neck. “Thank you! I shall try not to sound like a bluestocking in front of your friends.” His strong arms tightened around her and he laughed in her ear.
“Here I was going to step out to Cartier, and I find I only needed to offer you a newspaper to get on your good side.”
The embrace loosened as she stepped back to look up into his face. “I shall be proud to wear the rubies you gave me. Besides, I gather that you have pressing needs on your estate to spend money on.”
His hands rested at her waist. “I do, but I think I could spare something for a few baubles.” A wry smile twisted the lips so near her own. “I’m afraid my father sold most of our family treasures to provide for our tenants.”
“That must have been difficult for all of you.” She lifted a hand from his shoulder to touch his jaw. His smooth skin warmed her fingertips.
He shrugged. “It was, but it had to be done.”
Catching her neatly manicured fingers, he brought them to his mouth for a kiss. “Perhaps I might find some sapphires to match your eyes.”
She gulped as shivers ran down her arm. She hoped the novelty of his touch would wear off soon, for it undeniably impaired her thought process. “There’s no need for sarcasm, my lord. My eyes are quite ordinary.”
“I am beginning to think, my lady, that there is a great deal about you that is far from ordinary.” Before she could ask him his meaning, he bowed and took his leave of her for the second time that morning.
The drive that afternoon proved more entertaining than Kieran expected.
The realization that Diantha at least took an interest in events beyond society drawing rooms heartened him, and as they tooled along the rue du Bois, he introduced subjects of discussion he found interesting.
Although she did not pretend to follow everything he said about agriculture and horses, she listened attentively and even asked a few timid questions.
“I am terribly sorry to keep pestering you, but my education is unremarkable, except that I was allowed to listen to my brothers’ mathematics lessons.
” She colored a little as they drove through the dappled shade cast by the leafy canopy above.
“It seems that I have inherited Papa’s gifts in that area, and it tickled him to encourage it. Mama was appalled.”
“Of course she was!” He burst out laughing, and after biting her lip, she joined in.
Over the next several days, while they did not spend every moment together, they did seek each other out more often.
She encouraged him to tell her more about his estate than he had intended.
He suspected her attentiveness to be based in the duties that came along with her title, but he appreciated the effort.
He even mellowed enough to tolerate the presence of Sir Harry Emerson at a small party his wife put together for dinner and the Opera on one of their last nights in Paris.
At close quarters, the factory owner turned out to have a self-deprecating wit, which Kieran enjoyed; and a keen enthusiasm for music, which startled him.
His own interest in the arts extended little further than admiring a pretty opera dancer, and he listened to the spirited discussion of the evening’s performance with increasing boredom.
He did bolt to attention when Diantha stood up at the start of the second interval and requested the older man to escort her to inspect the grand staircase.
Only the request from the Comtesse de Pontrevault to accompany her to visit a friend in a distant box prevented him from trying to follow the pair. After gritting his teeth through ten minutes of gossip, he forced himself to slow to her pace on the return to their box.
Diantha and Sir Harry came up the stone and gilt staircase, their heads close together.
Kieran hung on to the shreds of his temper as passing strangers smiled at the handsome couple.
Emerson carried himself with a natural dignity, and his wife looked quite elegant in a low-cut gown of deep rose with touches of black sarcenet ribbon.
The diamond aigrette glittered in the light of the chandeliers overhead.
He had indeed paid a visit to Cartier, and more diamonds flashed at her neck and her wrists.
As they neared, he strained to hear their words through the chattering throng.
“Do you think you could do that?” His wife looked up at Emerson with puckered brows.
“I’ll have to put the word out to my contacts.” Emerson caught sight of them and patted her black-gloved hand where it lay on his arm. “Lord Rossburn. Madame, did you enjoy speaking with your friend?”