we go outside.” Diana followed her son into the parlor. “And no, you may not. It is time for dinner. Good evening, Lord Lonsdale.” She held out a welcoming hand.
She had changed her black dress for one of lavender, and smoothed the wild mane of hair into a demure knot on the nape of her neck. The circles under her eyes had faded a bit, but the bruise on her cheek stood out clearly against her white skin. Vincent set Bytham on the floor and took the hand she extended. When his fingers closed over it, she winced.
Vincent quickly loosened his grip and examined the back of the hand. It was also bruised and the knuckles were scraped. He looked at her questioningly.
She withdrew the hand. “Yesterday. The man kicked me.”
Rage roared up in Vincent. He waited until he could master it before answering, “Forgive me, Lady Diana. Had I been but a little sooner…”
She looked at him in surprise. “It is not your fault. If you had not come—” She broke off and sighed. “Was it only yesterday? It seems like a lifetime.”
“A great deal has certainly happened in the last two days.” Vincent held a chair for her to be seated. “I would like for you to be able to rest tonight, but I dare not stay. It will be dark as soon as we have finished eating, and I want to be on the road again.”
“Whatever you think best. Oh, dear!” She made a futile grab for Bytham’s fork. “Oh, Bytham! You are dripping sauce on your shirt. Oh! No…don’t…wait…” Bytham looked down ruefully and smeared the drips around liberally with his napkin. His mother sighed and smiled at Vincent. “Too late.”
Vincent laughed out loud. “I never realized how hazardous parenthood can be.”
“Well, it is if one is obliged to provide all the care one’s self. Never mind, Bytham. We will change your shirt.” She turned a serious gaze on Vincent. “But never think that I begrudge it. These two are the joy of my life.”
“I can see that.” Vincent wondered for a second if she would ever have room in her heart for anyone else. Was it filled to capacity with love for her little ones and grief for Wyn? He had not seen her weep, except when Bytham and Selena had. But she was not a tearful sort of woman. Thank God.
He could not have borne watching her weep for another man.
So… They had joined forces. Excellent! He had begun to fear that his investment in her had been wasted. What need to extract confidences from the wife of a man who talked of everything he knew? A pity, in a way. It would have been so much more entertaining to extort them from her.
But Lonsdale was much more important to him than her fool of a husband had ever been. He needed all the information he could garner about that gentleman’s activities. And the woman would now provide it. He had watched her, had seen the terror he had so carefully cultivated in her grow. She dared not refuse.
No, having control of a beautiful woman was never a waste. He would have his opportunity to enjoy her yet.
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