Chapter Twenty-Five
All four Courtenays were at the breakfast table—an alarming trend: Diantha wasn’t certain she always wanted to see the rest of her family so early in the morning—and the conversation was about the Sneeds’ dinner party. Mostly, the earl and countess had been completely shocked that the earl and duke had actually exchanged civil words.
This was the first opportunity they’d had to discuss the dinner, even though it had been three days ago. Diantha had been busy viewing marshmallows, while Drusilla and their parents had returned to Madame Tussauds to see, her sister explained, if they could identify the villainy on the expressions of the most villainous people.
“The duke said you and his son have been working together to resolve our lawsuit,”
the earl said. He dabbed a piece of jam from his mustache and regarded it thoughtfully. “We discussed possibly working together on a new venture.”
Diantha’s heart sank. Untangling her parents from these kinds of situations was supposed to result in no more future tangling, but of course her father wouldn’t understand that.
“Didn’t you call him the Dullest Dotard?”
Drusilla asked, taking a sip of tea. “I can’t imagine you’d want to get involved with him again.”
The earl twisted his lips in thought. “You might be right, my dear.”
Diantha looked from one to the other, astonished that her sister had been sensible and that her father had accepted her sense.
Perhaps she should go outside and see if the sky had turned red, since clearly nothing was as it usually was.
“I quite like Lord Lucian, however,”
Drusilla continued, now giving Diantha a meaningful look. “He is charming and handsome and enjoys the British Museum. Nothing like his father, it seems.”
Drusilla turned her meaningful look into a hard stare.
Her sister definitely suspected, if not knew, something was afoot.
But the question was, how much did she know?
“He does seem fun. And if you and Diantha like him, we should all get to know him.”
He patted his belly as he emitted a tiny burp. “It would likely appease the duke somewhat also. We don’t want anyone angry with us when Drusilla debuts.”
Diantha gave her father a startled glance. Was it possible he was being considerate of other members of the family?
That was, considerate of something traditional, like societal acceptance. He was always quick to approve if another member of the family had come up with some outrageous idea—he fully supported Drusilla’s plan to train doves to sow seeds, for example (the doves were enthusiastic about the seeds but didn’t comprehend they were to go in the ground and not their bellies).
“I’ve been thinking for some time,”
which in her father’s case could be as recently as this morning, “that we might want to try propriety for a bit. I am getting too old to be baking pies and investigating explosives.”
He nodded toward Diantha. “Meeting the duke again after so many years is a sign. Rather like that comet.”
“If the Duke of Waxford is seen bestowing his approval on our family,”
the earl continued, “Drusilla’s reputation and fortune could only shine.”
“As long as what you and Lord Lucian come up with suits the duke,”
Drusilla pointed out.
Well. She’d definitely raised Diantha’s heartbeat a bit this morning.
“Speaking of that, we will need things suitable to wear to factory presentations. Diantha, we should go shopping for new gowns. I want to purchase some of those dull styles you always prefer,”
the countess said.
Drusilla snorted in laughter, while Diantha couldn’t do anything but stare, openmouthed, as her mother toddled happily away toward her study.
“I should be off too,”
said the earl. “I am going to practice being somber. Diantha, what book should I start carrying about? To demonstrate my newfound respectability?”
“Choose from the bottom right, Father,”
Drusilla advised.
The earl left, meaning the sisters were all alone.
“What do you think about all of this?”
Drusilla said, waving her hand to indicate the goings-on. “Respectability is what you’ve wanted for us forever, isn’t it?”
Her tone was sharp. “That duke is not a pleasant man, no matter what our parents say.”
“He is not,”
Diantha replied. “And if having to accommodate his unpleasantness is the cost of respectability, I am not sure I want it. That is what you’ve been trying to tell me all along, isn’t it? By encouraging me, knowing I don’t like being told what to do?”
She and Drusilla looked at one another from either side of the dining room table, interrupted only by toast detritus and a few pots of jam.
Eventually, her sister sighed, tossing her napkin to the side of her plate. “You’re more like us than you wish to admit, Diantha.”
She held up her hand and began to tick off her fingers. “You don’t want to be told what to do. You insist on things being done your way, and have your own strong ideas and thoughts about things, and you can focus on the things you’re interested in to the exclusion of everything else.”
Her eyebrow rose. “Tell me how you are so different from us.”
“I . . . I don’t like surprises,”
she said at last.
Drusilla nodded. “Go on.”
“And I like to plan things out.”
“Yes. But you don’t like to be bored, do you?”
Drusilla asked. “I mean, all your planning and resolving problems and such, isn’t that just so you don’t get distracted by how boring life can be?”
Diantha considered it. “I suppose. Is that why you are all like that? Because you are deathly afraid of boredom?”
“Absolutely,”
Drusilla confirmed.
Was it that simple? All of her fretting and concern because her family didn’t want to be bored?
“And Lord Lucian. Life with him would not be boring. What do you feel about him?”
Diantha was not accustomed to hearing such direct questions from her sister. When she spoke, it was in a soft tone. “What about him?”
She couldn’t pretend she felt nothing for him, not now when her sister was being so solicitous. “Is he someone I’d want to be with for the rest of my life? More importantly, am I someone he’d want to be with for the rest of his life? Because I will not tolerate his—his gallivanting if he is married to me.”
“I doubt he would be gallivanting,”
Drusilla said in a wry voice. “Lord Lucian has a reputation, but has he actually done anything to cause a scandal?”
She answered her own question before Diantha could reply. “He has not. The only thing he’s done is express his joy in being happy. That is rare enough in Society, with the notable exception of our family.”
Diantha considered her sister’s words. “I suppose you are right. I haven’t heard of him actually doing anything salacious,”
except kissing me in an anteroom, and then in the British Museum, and ohmygoodness the sarcophagus, “but even if that is true, it’s still a long way toward him thinking of me, of us, as more than a diversion.”
That eyebrow arched again. “So how are you going to do it?”
“Me?”
Her sister gave her an exasperated look. “Yes, you. You have to find out how he feels about you. You want him to want you, yes, but you also aren’t willing to put him into an awkward position. So,”
she asked again, this time more impatiently, “how are you going to do it?”
A pause, and then Drusilla asked the question Diantha had been avoiding in her own mind for weeks.
“Do you love him?”
Diantha swallowed, then bit her lip before answering.
“Yes.”
Lucian was just raising his fist to knock on the door when it swung open, Diantha peering out from the aperture. Before he could say a word, she’d leaped forward and clamped her hand on his mouth, then tugged him inside with her other hand.
She eased the door shut, then put her finger to her lips signifying the need to be quiet.
“You did say nine o’clock, didn’t you?”
He spoke in a whisper as he drew out her note, which he’d received that afternoon.
“Yes, but—”
she said, glancing in back of her as if fearing intruders. “They’re all still here, and I can’t make them leave.”
“Do you want me to?” he asked.
“No!”
she said, almost before he’d finished speaking. “Come with me. Walk quietly.”
She took his hand, then led him toward the staircase.
They went up slowly, pausing every few steps to listen. Thankfully, nobody came.
Once on the second floor, they walked to the end of the hall, and she opened the door, pushing him in, and then darted in behind him.
Her room was large and airy, with more bookshelves than he’d ever seen in a bedroom before. The walls were covered in pale pink and green flowers, and candles were lit on nearly every surface, casting a golden glow. It was just a bit past sunset, so the world outside was still visible through the windows.
“Well,”
she said, as he continued to look around, “here we are.”
She sounded nervous. Which made total sense; first she had to be nervous about what they were planning on doing here, and second because her plans hadn’t worked out as . . . planned.
“Here we are,”
he said, turning his attention to her.
She was so lovely it hurt. Her hair was pulled back into a simple, low coil at the back of her neck, and she wore an equally simple gown in a pale blue. Her ears and neck were bare, and the gown was modestly cut, though the slight expanse of pale, creamy skin he could see was intoxicating to him in his current frame of mind.
“If you want me to go,”
he began, but she shook her head vehemently, then walked the few steps toward him, one hand sliding around his waist while the other grabbed his chin and brought his face to hers.
“I want you to kiss me,”
she said, her voice low and breathy.
“You seem to be doing just fine here. How about you kiss me?”
Her mouth curled into a satisfied smile, and then she put her mouth on his, drawing his lower lip between her teeth and nipping it. He closed his eyes, and then her tongue was in his mouth, and she was on tiptoe, one hand on his back, the other cupping his neck as she showed him just how well she’d learned during their cleansing sessions.
He let her explore, reveling in the feel of her mouth against his, her hand sliding through his hair, tugging on the strands, as her other hand gripped him close against her body.
And then she moved her mouth to his jaw, pressing soft kisses there as her hands went to his shoulders, holding herself up as she moved to kiss his neck, biting softly before licking the spot again. Her hand went to his cravat, and she undid the folds, then stepped back, unwinding the cloth to reveal his throat and neck.
Her eyes were dark with passion, and he had to swallow, hard, against all the emotions he felt. He loved this woman, and he never wished to have to leave her again.
But he couldn’t have that.
But he could have now. He needed to keep his mind focused on here, on now, because there likely won’t be any such times in the future. She wouldn’t be his future.
If his father wasn’t able to stop it, Lucian’s own conscience would. He couldn’t admit his feelings for her, not when she was on the verge of achieving her own future. The one she wanted, not constrained by what either he or Society demanded.
“What next, my adventuress?”
he asked, still speaking in a low tone.
She bit her lip, and it looked so erotic he stifled a groan, low down in his throat. “Tell me,”
he urged, and she tilted her head as though considering.
She jerked her chin toward him. “I want to see more.”
He spread his arms wide. “So make it happen.”
They heard a scuffling outside in the hallway, and both of them stared at one another in panic.
“No, Mother,”
Drusilla’s voice carried into Diantha’s bedroom, “I don’t think we should disturb her. She said she didn’t want to go out with us. Why would you think she would have changed her mind?”
There was an indistinguishable reply from the countess, and then Drusilla again, speaking louder than she needed to. “How about I check on her myself? She won’t want everyone trooping through her bedroom if she’s not feeling well.”
Diantha went to the door, which was already opening up. Drusilla popped her head in, winking at Lucian. “You are fine here, right, Sister? I see you have everything you need,”
she said with a cheeky grin. “And we will be off to the theater. We won’t return for ages. I think Father wants to—”
and then she stopped, turning her head back. “No, Mother. You don’t need to see for yourself. Diantha is just fine, she just wants to spend time alone with her planning ledgers.”
Diantha looked at Lucian, shrugging as though to say she had no idea what her sister was talking about.
“If she feels better, she’s going to alphabetize the most recent bills, she says,”
Drusilla continued. She turned back to the room and winked again. “Yes, I’ll tell her.”
Drusilla assumed a very serious expression. “Mother says you should be careful of the number seventeen. It has been proven to be bad luck. Other than that, she says to have a good evening.”
“I will,”
Diantha promised, and Drusilla rolled her eyes, then stuck her tongue out at Lucian.
“I know you will,”
Drusilla said in a saucy voice. “Goodbye. We’ll see you tomorrow at breakfast.”
She shut the door behind her, and they heard the scuffling sounds recede as the countess and Drusilla made their way downstairs.
“Your sister is remarkable.”
Diantha considered a moment, then nodded. “She is. I hadn’t realized before—she’s very insightful.”
“And obviously supportive.”
Diantha’s face broke out into a wide, warm smile. “Yes.”
Lucian felt a pang at the obvious caring there. John was a fine enough brother, if too much like their father, but he’d never felt the kind of connection Diantha and Drusilla obviously had.
“Now,”
Diantha said, advancing toward him, “where were we?”
She placed her index finger on the middle of his chest and pushed him, making him walk backward until his knees hit the bed. Then she pushed harder, and he fell back, bouncing as his body hit the soft mattress.
She climbed on top of him, straddling him, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.
“Now, let’s continue undoing the very improper Lord Lucian.”
“As long as you do it properly,”
he replied, spreading his arms wide again.
“Oh, I will,”
she said, and it was an erotic promise. “We will do all of it very properly indeed.”