Chapter Eleven
Later that evening
The longcase clock in the corridor outside the dining room at her parents’ townhouse—now her brother’s, really—struck the seventh hour. That sound seemed to echo in her soul, and with a start, Diana realized how much she’d missed Nathaniel over the past two weeks.
Of course, there was a hole in her soul from the absence of her father, and she would always miss him, but she was done with being a watering pot all the time. Right now, she wanted something to distract her from the grief, and that could only be achieved by seeing the viscount.
Did she dare to go searching for Nathaniel? Would her family question her whereabouts?
Once dinner concluded, she made her excuses as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Both her children had plans for the evening in the way of societal events, and since she didn’t wish to go home and sit in the silence, spending time with Holdcraft felt like just the thing.
William frowned as he stood up from the table. “I can drive you home if you wish.”
“That isn’t necessary. I’ll take my carriage then send it back for Percy’s use.
” As she spoke, Diana smiled at her son, who nodded.
“It’s been so busy these past two weeks, I haven’t had time to myself or to think.
I’m looking forward to the quiet.” It wasn’t all a lie, but the statement wasn’t the full truth either.
Eliza rested her gaze on Diana. “Do you wish for me to come home with you, Mama? I can forego being with my friends if you wish for company.”
Oh, dear.
“Don’t be silly. I intend to snuggle into bed, perhaps spend an hour or two reading before retiring.” Another half-truth, for though she would be in a bed of sorts, it wasn’t for reading or relaxing. If the viscount was of a mind, she would convince him to thoroughly claim her body.
Percy nodded. “Be well, Mama. I probably won’t be home until well after midnight.”
“Enjoy the time with your friends, both of you, but don’t do anything scandalous. You are in mourning, after all,” she told her children. They needed that social interaction and to make connections in order to grow into adults.
Her mother said nothing, only looked at her with speculation, that left Diana with questions.
With nothing for it, by the time she went downstairs for her spencer, gloves, and bonnet, the closed carriage had arrived at the curb.
Using her driver’s assistance, she gave him Nathaniel’s address in Bedford Square and managed not to blush as she seated herself on a bench inside.
Her nerves felt strung too tight as the vehicle lurched into motion.
Why was she so nervous? She was a widow, for heaven’s sake, and she had the freedom to do whatever she wanted, but calling on a man—her lover—was in a different realm entirely.
“I don’t care,” she whispered to herself as she gazed out the window. “I need this; I need… him.” Did that make her weak or dependent?
Upon arrival, she was admitted into the house without incident.
The same butler she’d seen from the last time she had been there left her in a downstairs parlor with a look of curiosity.
Then he left, presumably to speak with Lord Holdcraft.
After a few moments, the butler returned.
He showed her into the library on the first level, told her the viscount would join her directly and did she want tea.
“Yes, please. I’m a bit chilled, for May has been damp.
” And it would fortify her courage to seduce the viscount if needed.
Then she sighed and breathed in deeply. The scent of leather, old books, ink, and dust was soothing to her soul.
The bookshelves beckoned in the low illumination from the few candles lit about the room.
But she refrained from exploring in favor of sitting on a low sofa of impossibly buttery-soft leather.
The tea service arrived before the viscount did.
Perhaps that was a good thing, for by the time she’d poured out and fixed her cup and indulged, her nerves were a bit more settled.
When Nathaniel came into the room and shut the door, her heart leapt.
She quickly put the cup and saucer on the table and stood.
“Nathaniel.” The word left her throat on a choked whisper; she hadn’t realized how much she’d wanted to see him.
“Diana.” Then he was there without a word, taking her into his arms and merely holding her, and it was exactly what she craved after everything she’d been through the past two weeks.
After a few moments, with tears in her eyes, she pulled back and peered into his face. The caring mixed with desire in his mossy gaze made her quite breathless. “I missed you.” There was no shame in the admission.
“In a physical capacity?” Amusement danced in his eyes, but the deep rumble of his voice tickled through her chest and sent awareness sailing over her skin.
“Yes, but also in other ways as well.” She laid a palm on his hard chest, and it was all she could do not to pounce or push him onto the sofa. “Being here with you tonight is a balm, and I thank you for it.”
He cupped her cheek, caressed his fingers along the side of her neck while his hungry gaze roved over her face. “I’m glad you’re here because I’ve missed you too, but didn’t want to intrude on your family time.”
“It wouldn’t have been an intrusion.” Yet her heart skipped a beat, for he was so sweet. All she wanted to do was tumble into his arms and let him protect her from the sadness of the world. Then she remembered that she had something for him. “I brought you a gift.”
“Oh?” Surprise jumped into his expression. “Why?”
“You were on my mind when I was out shopping for black ribbon and other accessories the other day.” With regret, she moved away to pull a slim volume from her reticule.
“When I couldn’t find a memento for you in the shops, I found it while perusing through Papa’s library.
Oddly, he had a collection of Keats’s poems, though it’s not the whole battery of work you wanted.
These are merely poems that are popular in society right now. You might already have a copy, though.”
“Ah, Diana.” Gratitude lay stamped on his face when he took the blue linen-covered book with silver lettering.
“This is lovely. Thank you. And I don’t have this volume.
” He opened the book, flipped through a few pages.
“God, it contains the poem I’ve wanted.” When he looked at her, gratitude and something else she couldn’t identify reflected in his eyes.
“This is wonderful.” He set the book on a nearby occasional table.
“You are wonderful, and I fully intend to read you that poem soon.”
“I’m glad you like it.”
“So much, but I adore the fact that you are here more.” Seconds later, Nathaniel tugged her into his arms again, and he kissed with such intention as if he hadn’t seen her in a lifetime.
Not that she minded. Diana returned his embrace with enthusiasm. In this man, she could forget the sadness of losing her father, but also, he had given her back the pieces of herself she’d lost during her less than satisfactory marriage with Atterbury. Overwhelming need for him fell over her.
“Tonight, I wish to be wild and abandoned, and I want you, Nathaniel.” If that admission made her vulnerable, so be it, but it was true.
With a growl, the viscount walked her backward toward one of the shelves and a wooden ladder attached to the shelf on a track on the ceiling.
“In this, you and I are in agreement.” He nuzzled the spot where her neck joined her shoulder.
“Never feel embarrassed for what you need, what your body requires.”
“With you, I don’t. Oddly enough.” She offered no resistance when he tugged down her bodice.
All too quickly, her breasts popped free of the layers of fabric, and she yearned to feel his hands on them, for the relatively cool ambient air wafted across her already sensitive, hardened nipples.
Slowly, she was going mad. “Nathaniel, please.”
“Please what?” He kneaded those mounds of flesh, rolled the stiff buds at their root, and she involuntarily arched her back.
“Please continue? As if I would stop, for I’ve dreamed of having you in my bed over the past two weeks.
” The viscount followed his words with a line of heated kisses beneath her jaw.
Perhaps they were both depraved, but she didn’t care. He made her feel more herself than she’d ever been. Heightened desire smacked into her like a wave. Diana slid her hands up his chest to rest on his shoulders. “Mmm.”
“So beautiful you can inspire the poets.” The viscount plucked those tips, rubbed his fingers over them with varying degrees of friction until she panted and bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out, begging him for more.
His whispered words in that jungle-cat purr, coupled with the wicked torture he produced, left her shaking with need.
“Then you should definitely put pen to paper, but leave my name out of it.” Of its own violation, her head lolled back to rest against his shoulder, and he chuckled as if he knew exactly what she was going through.
“Perhaps I will.” He again rolled the nipples, flicked those nubs, and with each new round of pressure, heat throbbed between her thighs. “I’ll wager more poetry has been inspired due to women like you, women who don’t shy away from life, who feel deep due to their experiences.”
“I don’t know…” A shiver of want shot down her spine. If he didn’t cease, she’d collapse at his feet, or either succumb to an attack of the heart for her pulse raced erratically. Frankly, she welcomed all he would make her feel.
“I’ll prove you wrong, then.” The longer he grazed her nipples with his palms, crushed her breasts together as he caressed them, the more the unrelenting pressure for more built and stacked low in her belly.
His lips were at the shell of her ear. “Should I make my poetry, my words, erotic, I wonder? You inspire that in me as well.”