lifted his chin defiantly. “He’s not my friend!” He kicked straw at the younger boy. “You aren’t my friend. You’re just a baby.”
He turned and ran for the door again, and the boy’s father let him go. After the boy had disappeared from sight, the man knelt beside his son and looked into his tear-filled eyes. “I’m sorry, Vincent, but there is a hard lesson you must learn. When one has the power and wealth that will someday be yours, one must always be on guard. Always. The world is filled with people who will let you think they like you, but who, in fact, only want what you have. Do you understand?”
The boy nodded, his mouth firming into a hard line.
“Yes, Papa. I understand.”
Chapter One
London, England, April 1814
Vincent Ingleton, Earl of Lonsdale, leaned his shoulders against the stained wall, arms folded across his chest, and studied the lady’s face where she sat by the bed. Tired. Tired and sad. He narrowed his eyes and looked more closely. No, not sad exactly. In truth, she showed very little grief. Just an abysmal weariness. Little wonder in that. The man dying in the bed had not made her life easy.
Hardly even bearable for a lady of her breeding.
Vincent wrinkled his nose at the smell of blood and mildew pervading the room. The dying man coughed and fumbled at the bedclothes. “Diana?”
She reached out and took his hand while the doctor wiped blood away from his patient’s lips. “I’m here, Wyn.”
Vincent sighed and bowed his dark head. She had always been there when Wynmond Corby needed her. No matter what he had done, Lady Diana had been there for her husband. No matter how little Wyn had provided, she had always been a gracious hostess for him, quietly welcoming his friends into their home, even as Corby finally descended into these cramped, grubby quarters. She had been there for him.
No matter how little he deserved her.
But who was Vincent to say who deserved love? He had not much experience with that thorny subject.
He glanced at the two other men quietly conversing against the adjoining wall. Men like Wyn seemed always to have friends, even though he hadn’t two coins at a time to rub together in his pocket. And why not? He constantly had a quip on his tongue, a laugh in his eyes, the heart to put his horse at any fence in the country. Perhaps that was why Corby was, in fact, the only one of his old friends with whom Vincent still associated, very nearly the only friend he had.
The only one of them who had never sponged off him.
But having friends had not stopped someone from slipping a blade between Corby’s ribs.
The softest of sighs brought his gaze back to Diana. In spite of the fatigue, she looked as she always did, calm and serene, the small pool of candlelight in the dark room setting her smooth, pale chignon aglow. Even in a worn, dull-gray gown, she was beautiful. Truth be told, Vincent knew the reason he spent so much time at the Corby home had as much to do with Lady Diana’s company as it did that of her husband.
But of course, there was the other, more important, reason.
A barrage of coughing from the bed caused him to straighten and step closer. Blood spattered the sheets, and the doctor and Diana both moved quickly to lift Corby higher on the pillows. He gurgled and coughed again. Vincent and the two other men converged on the bed and gathered around the foot.
“Friends…dear…” Corby’s whisper made them all lean closer. He coughed again. “Please…” Another cough. More blood. “Care… Diana…my…my chil…” His eyes closed, and Vincent thought it was over, but Wyn rallied for one more breath. “I’ve…not…done…well.”
The next cough brought forth such a quantity of blood that the watchers knew no living man could have given it up. Wyn’s blond head rolled to one side and the doctor let it fall back against the pillows. “May God rest his soul.”
The stocky, sandy-haired man some years Vincent’s senior bowed his head. “Amen.”
“Amen.” The lanky younger gentleman standing next echoed.
The widow covered her eyes with one hand.
Vincent closed his eyes, clenched his teeth together and said nothing.
“Well…” The larger man took a long breath and a step away from the bed. “That’s that…” He walked to Diana and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Of course, my dear, you must not worry about the future for a moment. It will be my pleasure to see that you are provided for, just as Wyn asked. I will make arrangements and send a carriage for you as soon as the funeral is done.”
Something in the man’s voice pulled Vincent’s attention away from his moment of grief. He looked up sharply, his gaze focused on Diana’s face. This time he had no trouble at all identifying her expression.
Fear.
He moved around the bed in her direction. “Perhaps we should discuss this further, St. Edmunds. You might find it a bit awkward to explain those…er, arrangements to your wife.”
St. Edmunds turned a glare on him. “I can deal with my wife.”
“I’m sure you can, but it might also be awkward for Lady Diana.”
The tall man hesitantly opened his mouth to speak, running his fingers through his straight, light brown hair.
Vincent glanced at him. “Sudbury?”
The Honorable Justinian Sudbury studied his shining boots thoughtfully. “Going to be dashed awkward for all of us.”
“Gentlemen.” Diana stood and stepped away from St. Edmunds’s hand, her mien dignified. “I appreciate your concern more than I can say, but it is quite unnecessary. I will care for myself and my children. None of us need be embarrassed.”
At that moment the door opened and a snaggle-toothed, slatternly old woman shoved into the room and peered at the body on the bed. “So the cove’s finally stuck his spoon in the wall, has he? So who’s going to pay me the rent what’s due?”
Diana opened her mouth to answer, but the woman was looking at the gentlemen. Vincent shifted his gaze from Diana to the landlady. “What’s the damage?”
She named a figure and Vincent’s eyebrows shot up. “Don’t try to gull me, old woman. These rooms are not worth a quarter of that.”
“Ha! They are when I ain’t been paid for four months—and another month due. Hadn’t been for the little ones, I’d have put ’em out last month.”
So much for no one’s being embarrassed. Vincent glanced at Diana. She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. He pulled his purse out of his coat pocket and counted the amount into the old woman’s hand and added an extra coin. “There. That will cover the next month.” He took a step toward her. “Now get out.”
Suiting the action to the threat, she made for the door. “Aye, ye black-haired devil. I’m going.”
Vincent returned to the discussion at
