best, she’d need additional funds.
However, much as she’d tried to prepare herself for this eventuality, she couldn’t repress a shiver as she assessed the odds against her.
You really think you can defeat the Duke? a mocking little voice whispered in her ear. The panic she’d controlled during the interview with the lawyer bubbled up, threatening to escape.
She gave herself a mental shake. No, she would not think about losing James...Graveston’s son, yes, but hers, too. That way lay madness. With a control perfected through long bitter years, she forced her mind instead back to planning.
She’d obtain funds, consult a lawyer of her own, and find some way to block the Duke’s access to James. Thank heavens, tonight she would see Alastair. Perhaps the peace she’d found in his arms last night might ease, for a few hours at least, the fear that still tightened her chest and laboured her breathing.
She simply couldn’t give in to it. Once again, she had someone to protect. Whatever it took, she intended that this time, the Duke of Graveston would not have his way.
* * *
Meanwhile, Alastair had spent most of the day at Green Park Buildings. After Diana’s departure, he’d silently trailed her as she traversed empty dawn streets just stirring to life. Satisfied that she’d made it safely back to her lodgings, he’d returned to the little townhouse ravenous, downed a hefty breakfast of sirloin and ale, then retreated back to the bedchamber they’d shared to refresh himself after a night of great delight and little sleep.
Dust motes danced in the afternoon sunlight when he awoke later. An enormous sense of well-being pervading him, he stretched lazily, running through his mind several of the delicious episodes from last night’s loving.
Diana moving under him, over him, pulling his face to her breasts, crying out as he thrust into her, had been intoxicating beyond his wildest imagining. As he’d sensed the first time he touched her, the woman she’d become more than fulfilled the promise of passion in the girl he’d once loved.
Perhaps desire would diminish over time, but thus far, each meeting with her left him more enchanted. The mere thought of touching her, kissing her, tasting her was so arousing he could scarcely wait until evening. Already he was hard and aching, needy and impatient.
But it was more than just the rapture of the physical. When she awakened beside him, rosy with sleep and satisfaction, the unguarded expression of joy and wonder as she recognised him had pierced the barrier he’d erected to armour himself against her and gone straight to the heart. The awe and tenderness with which she’d traced his face and whispered his name had weakened still further the barricades restraining the tender feelings for her that, unable to fully exterminate, he’d buried deep.
She’d gazed at him as if he were her most precious dream.
As she had once been his.
His euphoria dimmed a bit. Allowing her to touch his emotions again wasn’t wise and could end badly. He’d entered this affair to purge himself of her, not to fall under the spell of a woman much more complex than the straightforward lass he’d loved. The mere thought of the devastation he’d suffered when she’d abandoned him all those years ago made him suck in a painful breath.
Well, it wouldn’t come to that—not this time. He might want to penetrate all her secrets, but he’d not risk his heart imagining they had a future.
And what of her secrets? ‘I’m not the girl I once was,’ she had told him.
That much was certainly true. She was instead a woman who had, he was reluctantly beginning to believe, suffered isolation, hardship and abuse. If he fully accepted the truth of her account, she’d endured all that to protect her father—and him.
He recalled how frantic she’d become at the thought of the danger their being together placed him in, before he convinced her that her husband was dead.
Then there was that odd ritual at the mirror, during which, she fought her way from distress back to calm.
Alone.
So you had no one, the comment came back to him—a statement she’d neither affirmed nor denied. He recalled Lady Randolph’s description of how she’d been isolated from all her former friends.
Isolated, abused—but defiant.
Pity and admiration filled him in equal measure. And despite the danger of letting her touch his emotions, he couldn’t beat back the warmth he’d felt at seeing her glow of contentment when she’d awakened in his arms. Couldn’t help the need building within him to penetrate the impassive mask and bring that expression to her face again, in the full light of day.
He couldn’t give her back the eight years she’d lost, erase the suffering she’d endured, or resurrect the innocent, carefree girl she’d once been. But before they parted, he vowed to do whatever he could to convince her she was truly free to take up all the activities she’d been denied—painting, reading, music—and embrace life fully.
As he thought of that future, a small voice deep within whispered that she must share that new life with him.
Ruthlessly, he silenced it.
He was no longer a starry-eyed young man, confident that the future would arrange itself as he wished. In the dangerous matter of Diana, he would move one cautious step at a time, holding the reins on his feelings with as tight a grip as he could manage.
He’d need that knack immediately, for it was past time for him to return to Jane’s. Though he had the run of his sister’s house and might come and go as he pleased, his absence for an entire day would not have gone unnoticed. The all-too-observant Jane would be curious where he’d been, and he’d have to manufacture an unreadable expression to prevent her from teasing out of him that he was seeing Diana again.
The mere thought of the storm of scolding and possible hysterics that admission would unleash made him shudder.
It would be more prudent to time his return for when his sister was occupied with other matters. Though he did appreciate her genuine concern for his welfare, the matter of Diana was too complicated—and Jane’s animosity towards Diana too deep—to be quickly and easily explained.
He hadn’t yet brought Jane a hostess gift. Perhaps he’d stop by the jewellers and pick up a trinket to surprise her—and hopefully distract her from any pointed questioning over the curious absences of her brother.
Accordingly, an hour later, after a brief stop to bathe and change at the Crescent, Alastair was strolling down Bond Street, bound for the jeweller recommended by his sister’s butler. Jane loved flowers; an intricate silver vase or epergne for her table should delight her enough to give him a few days’ grace from scrutiny.
Just as he turned the corner, a woman exited the shop. The black cape that swathed her, hiding her face under the overhanging hood, instantly recalled Diana and the delights they had recently shared. He was smiling at the memory when, an instant later, something about the retreating figure made him realise the woman was, in fact, Diana.
A shockingly intense gladness filling him, Alastair set off
