Chapter Two
As the dumbwaiter lurched downward, Diana prayed Amelia hadn’t caused too much commotion in the kitchen, and that her friend had enough coin to bribe the footman to keep his mouth shut.
The man was taking his bloody time pulling down the dumbwaiter.
At this rate, Ian would beat her downstairs, and she’d have to improvise something to distract him from overthinking what they were doing.
Her thoughts ran in a scintillating direction before she corralled them back to focus on her escape.
She thumbed the black-edged envelope tucked into a hidden pocket in her skirt. The letter’s arrival with the menacing bouquet conveyed a simple message, with a complicated outcome. Its sender demanded that Diana make a choice. And left no time for debate.
By the end of the day, she would have to sacrifice something.
The fortune she’d inherited.
The mission she believed was her life’s purpose.
Or the only man she might ever love.
Chaos greeted Ian in the kitchen.
The entire staff had abandoned their posts to gawk at the ominous flower arrangement.
“I won’t have it here!” the cook wailed.
“’Course not, it’s poisonous!”
“And a bad omen.”
“We should burn it!”
“No, that’s worse. We must bury it.”
Despite their overall fear of the thing, they all stood in a close clump around it. Blockading Ian’s route to the dumbwaiter.
Diana had wanted the wedding ceremony at home, rather than in a church, to avoid the rabble-rousing press. Ian had taken it upon himself to secure the special license for them because holding the wedding at the house was ideal for his own plans to lift the necklace.
He hadn’t calculated that if anything went amiss, there would be no retreat from the entire beau monde.
Mrs. Turner bustled into the kitchen and ordered the servants back to their work.
Her mouth pursed as she regarded the special dishes for the wedding breakfast. Silver trays held cold meats and roasted fowl with aspic jelly.
Glass bowls glittered with trifle and custard creams and surrounded the five-tiered plum cake frosted in snowy white royal icing.
When she spotted Ian, Turner gestured for him to follow her toward the hallway that housed the dumbwaiters. He placed himself in front of it, hoping that in the event Diana suddenly leaped out of the thing, his height would block Turner’s view.
“Your brother remains unconscious,” the housekeeper said in a hushed tone.
Her stance remained stiff. The woman had overtly resented Ian for years. When his father had returned from Italy one summer with a new wife—and a son he claimed as his own—Turner had glared at Ian with the rancor good society demanded anyone bestow on a bastard.
Over the years, it became harder to deny that Ian wasn’t John Holt’s natural son. They both possessed a cleft in their chin, and Ian grew into the same tall height and rangy build as his father. But Turner never warmed to him; her favor rested with Jared.
“The doctor believes his condition isn’t from drink alone,” Turner went on. “He says Mr. Holt’s been at the opium.”
And not for the first time. “Did the doctor say when Jared will revive?”
“He believes it will be hours. And Mr. Holt will be very ill when he comes out of it, possibly for days.” She pressed a handkerchief to her lips. “They will have to cancel the wedding.”
“Postpone it,” Ian corrected. “The scandal sheets already have something to write about. We must avoid trying to make it worse by suggesting the wedding won’t happen. Miss Rives’s reputation would suffer.”
And Jared’s debtors would become uneasy at the prospect he wasn’t getting his windfall. They were the most probable suspects responsible for his brother’s condition.
Ian needed to investigate the place Sunderland had found Jared. He didn’t want to entertain the thought that his father’s old adversaries had targeted his brother. It complicated things unnecessarily.
And made it even more dangerous for Diana to go sniffing about where Jared had spent the night.
Turner tipped her chin. “All the same, I must tell Miss Rives.”
“Please wait.” Ian held up a hand. “Diana has asked for some time alone with her thoughts.”
“I don’t think she should be. Sir.”
“We should honor her request, given the circumstances.”
Ian’s voice carried enough edge to make Turner pale.
“Someone must deal with the guests, who will arrive any minute,” he added. “I must entrust you to manage things while I attend to something that could help with Jared’s care.”
When the housekeeper was safely out of earshot, Ian cautiously lifted the door to the dumbwaiter.
Diana’s exquisite face poked out of the darkness.
Her thunderous expression made it marginally less beautiful.
She opened her mouth to rail at him, but he clamped a hand over it, swiftly lifted her out of the dumbwaiter, and pulled them both into the nearby pantry.
“The entire household, minus your fiancé, is here in the kitchen,” he warned before he removed his hand.
“Then there’s no need to linger,” she retorted. “Show me the route out.”
He paused. “The doctor believes Jared consumed an illicit substance, which explains why we could not wake him.”
Diana’s face remained impassive while she waited for him to elaborate. He had a stray thought that this was how others reacted to him when he signaled nothing, gave away nothing, and he wondered if they were as infuriated by his patience as he was by hers.
There were a hundred reasons she’d keep a rein on her composure, particularly around Ian. But most women—even those who had little regard for their betrothed—would show more than a hint of emotion at learning their intended was in such ill health.
The logical explanation was that Diana knew something about what had happened to Jared.
Ian immediately detested the thought, and himself for thinking it, while also knowing he was likely right.
“Whatever Jared…took…the doctor believes he will recover from it?” Diana asked calmly.
“If it is opium, then he should wake within a day.”
“But if it is something else, he might be permanently affected. We must find out what happened.”
“That would not be wise. You are not inconspicuous.” Dressed in a dream of a wedding gown. With a fortune of emeralds—his future—wound around her throat.
“No one here will notice my absence. You know every escape route to this house,” she countered. “And I don’t care who sees me. Once word breaks about Jared—and it will get out—no one would blame me for needing to escape for a bit of air.”
“That will be difficult to explain since everyone believes you have taken to your bed with abject fatigue from disappointment.”
A smile spread across her face, lighting it up like fireworks.
The small burst of delight it roused in him was all too brief. He’d revealed too much by admitting he’d invented a believable excuse to buy them time, and now she knew how easily she could entice him into doing what she wanted.
If they proceeded, they’d be poking around in something more dangerous than his brother’s riotous habits and gambling debts. They’d confront secrets Ian had fought to protect.
But if they didn’t resolve their investigation quickly, he’d lose his one chance to take the emeralds.
“Sunderland gave me an address,” he conceded. “I expect what I’ll find there would make you uncomfortable.” An understatement, but he was a cold man, not a cruel one.
“I’m a woman.” Diana lifted a shoulder. “My entire life revolves around navigating discomfort.”
There was no safe response to acknowledge it, and he was both envious of and irked by her clever retort. He’d forgotten how adept she was at twisting him into a corner with innocent-sounding verbal traps.
He reached for a similar weapon to disarm her. “Forgive me. I’ve been so single-minded about finding out what happened, I’ve overlooked the fact that you must be so worried about Jared.”
The sharp breath she drew made him discover new ways to detest his existence.
But he wouldn’t apologize for what he needed to do to keep her safe.
“As troubling as the circumstances are, I shall not let it overwhelm me,” she said carefully.
“Leave this to me.” He attempted to gentle his tone. “I’ll fix it. For both of you.”
“What if it can’t be solved easily? What if something happens to you there, on your own?”
Her voice took on a husky, almost breathless tone, and Ian became acutely aware of how close they were standing next to each other. In the dark. Where forbidden, hushed things happened.
The scent of her perfume made him think of violets that grew in the small garden of the house he and his mother had shared in Florence, and a sense of longing that was both distant and familiar assaulted him.
“It’s not wise for you to go,” he repeated. He wouldn’t insult her by stating it would be too dangerous. She’d once saved both their lives without even losing a hairpin.
“No, it isn’t wise. But we’re going to do it.” Diana lifted her chin. “Neither of us can let it go.”
The emeralds bobbed with her uneven breaths. Ian had to glance away quickly to bury his ambivalence about his own plans to lift them.
Something clattered outside the hallway, and footsteps sounded.
“A servant will find us if we don’t move quickly,” Diana whispered. “How do we get out of here?”
It was tempting to let someone catch them; that way, Ian could force her back upstairs. But she’d likely try the dumbwaiter again, and the thought sent a shudder through him. If he helped her out of the house, he could see her safely home before retracing Jared’s trail.
He huffed his discontent while he moved a stack of boxes aside and found the lever hidden among the shelves. It sprung a partition in the wall, and he reached inside and fumbled around for the book of matches and candle resting on the small inlet.
Diana’s mouth parted. “Where does it lead?”
“To the mews. It’s just a few feet from here.”
“Then I won’t need to take your hand.”
He paused. “No, it’s a short distance.”
“Lead on, Captain.”
The dim light of the candle wouldn’t reach far, so she kept close to him. Her silk skirts swished; her sweet scent engulfed the narrow space, and Ian congratulated himself on his ability to act as if what they were doing was as simple as an amble across the park.
Mercifully, they surfaced a few minutes later into the back of the stables. He held up a hand to caution Diana back in the shadows until he could determine the stalls were vacant.
They crept along to the door. When he peered out at the yard, Miss Hunter was waiting.
Ian swallowed a smart remark about her uncanny timing.
“No one else is about.” She waved them out. “I told Mrs. Turner I was taking Diana back to Hunter House until we know more about Mr. Holt’s condition.”
Ian looked intently at Diana. “Tell me you’re going to do exactly that.”
“Certainly.” She nodded. “I’ll return to Miss Hunter’s house. As soon as you and I find out what happened to Jared. Amy, may we take your coach?”
“Of course, it’s the fastest.” Miss Hunter’s father designed and manufactured the most exclusive carriages in Europe. “And it’s the closest one to the entrance.”
“No.”
Ian delivered the single word with all the intimidation he could muster, without losing the appearance of calm.
Diana’s eyes widened theatrically at his objection.
He desperately wanted to call her out for over-performing. From the moment she hopped into the dumbwaiter, he knew she wasn’t improvising.
She was a woman who could adapt quickly to a situation and formulate her advantage.
And just as successfully, design and execute something more deliberate. Something that might take months—or years—to plan.
Like sabotaging her own wedding.
Diana ducked around him to head toward the carriage.
He caught her arm in a firm grip. He expected her to protest with a wriggle that might have progressed to a delicious tussle.
But she paused and stared at him calmly as he held her.
He was so stunned that he could only spit out one word.
“Why?”
The question was dangerously close to acknowledging everything they never spoke about. Her serene countenance made it impossible to detect if she’d expected it.
If she successfully manipulated an escape from a marriage no one suspected she truly wanted, there was no scenario where she would choose Ian instead.
He’d never let her. To do so would sign her death warrant.
“I’m going to have to make a choice about my future,” she murmured. “And I need to know what happened. Not your filtered version of it.”
Slowly, he released her arm. She acknowledged the surrender with a gracious tilt of her head before she darted inside the carriage.
Ian took several more breaths of the chilly autumn air while he tried and failed to find an excuse to keep her locked inside the house.
He leashed his anger and suspicion and climbed into the carriage.