Anne Barbour (20 page)

“Perhaps I’d better start at the beginning. You see, my father died when my brother and I were still very small. I was only five, and Marc, three. Father had been ill for a long time. He was a scholar, and wrote several well-received treatises on classical subjects. Mother told us that he was only truly alive when, through his books, he wandered the streets of ancient Greece and Rome. He even gave his children popular names of the era.

“His best friend in Paris was Jacques St. Aubin, a local merchant. It happened that Monsieur St. Aubin’s wife passed away several months after Father died. An attachment grew between two lonely people, and within a year, he and my mother married. Because of the war between England and France, Papa Jacques, as we called him, feared for our safety. He formally adopted Marc and me so that we could be granted French citizenship, thus protecting us from any difficulties that we might otherwise have experienced.”

“But you no longer live with them, and Marcus has gone to make his own way.’’

Diana sighed. “It was so very sad. Mama’s second marriage did not last even as long as her first. Papa Jacques lost his life as an innocent bystander in one of the last street riots of the Terror. His business had suffered during the upheaval, and Mama was left nearly penniless. She made the acquaintance of Justine du Vrai soon after, and she took the position of English Mistress at Justy’s
pensionnat.
We lived there until Mama’s death six years ago. By that time I had demonstrated my teaching ability by helping out with some of the younger pupils, and madame gave me Mama’s old position almost immediately.’’

“And you scarcely out of the schoolroom yourself!” exclaimed Jared, his sympathy touched despite himself.

“And greatly relieved to have work with which to support myself,” Diana retorted tartly. “Justy is an excellent employer and a good friend. She pays me an exorbitant salary. But then”—Diana lowered her lashes— “I am very good at what I do.”

“So I have observed.” Jared chuckled. “You have already worked wonders with my tiresome little sister. But what was your father’s name—your real name?’’

“It’s Crowne. My father’s name was William Crowne.”

Diana, gathering together the remains of their lunch, did not observe Jared’s sudden stillness or the arrested expression in his eyes.

He moved to help her tuck the plates and silver back into the hamper.

“By the by, I see you do not wear your necklet today. I thought you wore it always.”

Diana flushed slightly, remembering the last time a discussion of her little pendant had risen between them. With a studied air of nonchalance, she ran her fingers beneath the neckline of her gown and produced the little pendant.

“Unfortunately,” she said, “the color of carnelian cannot be said to agree with many others. I usually keep it tucked away.”

She prepared to return it to its hiding place, but he forestalled her by taking the pendant in his fingers, as he had those few nights ago. He bent his gaze to the little jewel and examined it.

At his nearness, Diana felt her heart begin to beat in a panicky thud.

“Good heavens,” scolded the Schoolmistress. “Can you not come within two feet of the man without going into a semi-swoon like the heroine of one of those wretched novels you persist in reading?”

But steel herself as she would, Diana once more became aware of the earl’s solid maleness. The scent of him filled her senses, and she lifted her hand as though to fend off her own wayward feelings.

“You say it was a gift from your mother?” Jared continued. “How did she come by it?”

With an effort, Diana marshaled her thoughts.

“She—she received it from her mother. No, no, that’s not right. She had it from Father.’’

Now Jared, too, seemed to have lost interest in the history of the pendant. He lifted his eyes to Diana’s, gazing into their smoky depths. He brushed a golden, breeze-swept curl from her temple, and she could not quite control an involuntary trembling at his touch. Feeling suddenly shy, she lowered her gaze, allowing long, silky lashes to shadow her cheek.

Cupping her chin, Jared gently raised her face, as though he were turning a flower to the sun. His dark gaze held an intensity that both frightened and delighted her. There was something else lurking in those black depths, something flamelike and dangerous. Diana shivered. She felt mesmerized by the light that glowed there, and by the touch of his hand.

Jared bent his head, and Diana felt his breath stir the tendrils of hair that lay against her temples. His lips brushed her cheek with butterfly softness, and from the deepest part of her an unexpected response surged forth to engulf her.

With the last of her willpower, she turned her head away.

“No!” she whispered, “Please, no.”

“But we are betrothed.” He laughed softly, his breath warm against her face.

With a dizzy sigh, the Schoolmistress vanished without a trace. When Jared’s mouth continued its trail of wondrous torment, Diana moved her own to intercept it. His lips met hers in a kiss that was tender, yet firm and demanding. Diana was possessed by a longing and passion that she had not known was possible. Without volition, her arms crept around his neck. Her lips opened under his, warm and welcoming.

Jared tightened his arms around her, his breath uneven, and Diana melted against him, reveling in the feel of him against the length of her body. His hands moved sensuously along the curve of her back. He pressed warm, tantalizing kisses along the curve of her chin, marking a path down to the base of her throat, where he covered the pulse that beat there.

It was not until his fingers gently began working at the ribbons fastening her bodice that she was brought to a sudden awareness. She thrust herself away from him, gasping. She was astonished and frightened at the intensity of her response. Never had such emotions taken possession of her! She pressed her fingers to her lips and stepped back, staring at Jared.

His returning gaze was filled with a confusion she had never seen there, and as he turned abruptly to gather up the remainder of the picnic lunch, he seemed almost angry. However, when he spoke a few minutes later, his voice was controlled, his tone, amused.

“What a charming interlude, to be sure,” he drawled, “but must I attend to these domestic details by myself?”

For an instant Diana searched his face, but the warmth had fled from his eyes. It was as though she had only imagined the compelling fire that had blazed there moments before. Still shaking, she hurried to assist him with the last remnants of the lunch. She could not look at him as she hurriedly replaced the silverware and empty containers in the hamper.

The kiss had meant nothing to him! It was merely a way to pass a spring afternoon. Well, she had been warned that he was a rake. She had seen the evidence herself in those utterly tasteless billets-doux, which had made four more appearances on the silver post salver. Not that she was counting! He had made it more than plain at the outset that he thought her a demi-rep. He had apparently realized he was wrong, but it was evident that he considered a lowly schoolmistress, unused to the attractions of a polished libertine, to be ripe for a moment’s dalliance. How could she have so willingly proven him right?

Diana did her best to converse casually with Jared as they remounted and started back to the Court, but she could hardly speak for the tears that thickened in her throat. There was none of the comfortable informality they had enjoyed earlier, and Diana was relieved when they reached the stables. On being lifted from her placid mount, she murmured a disjointed thanks to Jared for a most enjoyable afternoon and, of course, such a lovely picnic. Then she turned and fled into the house.

Her path led directly to the music room, where she could lose her inner turmoil at the piano. As she entered the room, she brushed unseeing past a youthful footman, and murmured a distracted apology. She had reached the piano when a voice behind her exclaimed, “Danny!”

Diana whirled. Only one person had ever called her that. She stood rigid for a moment, then gasped and raced into the waiting arms of the young footman. With a glad cry, she called out one word.

“Marcus!”

Chapter 17

Upon emerging from her brother’s suffocating bear hug, Diana promptly began pelting him with questions.

“Marc, where have you been? How on earth did you get here—and what are you doing in footman’s livery?”

“What d’you mean, what am I doing here?” the young man before her replied indignantly. “I’ve been looking for you! You might have told a fellow you were living in the lap of luxury. Good God, if you knew what I’ve been through!”

“How did you know where to find me? Did you get the message I left for you at the Swan?”

“Of course I did. Why else would I be here? What I don’t understand is what you’re doing here. Why didn’t you come to the Swan as I asked? You’ve put me in the deuce of a pelter, y’know.”

“Oh, Marcus!” exclaimed Diana, “I’ve had the most wretched time. I was on my way to the Swan, but I was abducted, and then—”

“Abducted! My God, are you all right?”

“Yes, but you cannot imagine how dreadful it was, and then the earl—”

“Yes,” interposed Marcus, “I must hear all about it, but not now. I’m one of the hired help in this overgrown puzzle box, and I can’t be seen standing around chatting with the nobs.”

“I must tell Lord Burnleigh of your arrival. He has already—”

Marcus gripped her arm.

“No! Don’t tell him anything—or anyone else, for that matter—until I have had a chance to talk to you, to explain ...”

“Explain what?”

“Ssh,” he hissed in a stage whisper. “Later. We’ll have to meet after everyone’s bedded down for the night.”

“I suppose that is the best plan,” replied Diana, herself whispering, although they were alone in the room. “Meet me right here, a little after midnight.”

Marcus nodded, and tiptoed out of the room, darting a conspiratorial wink toward his sister. Diana fairly danced around the room in relief and joy; then, seating herself at the piano, she gave vent to her feelings in an exuberant tarantella.

Jared, passing the room a few moments later, marveled at the change in her mood from the one of cool distance in which she had left him at the stables. Suffering from an uncharacteristic feeling of awkwardness, he refrained from entering the chamber, but stood in the corridor for some time, enveloped in a brilliant shower of notes.

His mind was on the events of the morning. What in God’s name was the matter with him? he reflected dazedly. Why was he unable to stay at arm’s length from her? When he was alone, he had no difficulty in vowing to treat her with cold propriety and nothing more. But once he was with her, all his intentions were swept away in the sparkling enjoyment of her company.

All he had meant to do when he lifted the little pendant from her collar was to examine it—and then he had been overcome by her nearness. It had seemed as though all the laughing silver brilliance of the stream beside them had gathered into the huge eyes lifted to his.

When he had bent his head to hers, he had only a moment’s dalliance in mind, but her lips had melted against his with such an aching sweetness and innocence that he had been moved as he had never been before by the touch of a woman.

Yes, she was an innocent, he admitted to himself. His instinct had told him that after five minutes in her company, if only he could have brought himself to listen. She had shown herself to be a woman—a person—of wit and strength and sincerity. She had offered him the warmth of her kiss freely and without artifice, and he, the most experienced Corinthian in London, had behaved like a love-struck schoolboy. And, he wondered desperately, what was to keep him from doing it again? It seemed that every time he was near her, all he wanted to do was take her in his arms and hold her, and never let go.

With an effort, he turned his thoughts to the other results of his outing with the enchanting Miss Crowne/St. Aubin. He was at once pleased, astonished, and truth to tell, a little apprehensive at the discovery he had made. Just what he was going to do with the information he had uncovered was the next puzzle to be solved.

Whistling a soft accompaniment to the gay Mediterranean dance, he continued thoughtfully on his way down the corridor.

* * * *

For Diana the next few hours took several centuries to pass, but somehow she managed to conduct herself in a reasonably natural manner. She felt that the questions churning in her mind must be buzzing audibly, and such was her preoccupation, that in chatting innocuously with Jared over dinner, their contretemps earlier in the day was, if not entirely forgotten, successfully pushed to a far corner of her mind for later examination.

At last good nights were said, and the family members drifted away to their respective bedchambers. Diana did not disrobe, but curled up on her bed with another of Lady Teague’s religious tracts, and tried without success to immerse herself in its dismal contents. In another hour the house became quiet; the hands on the little clock near her bed crept to half-past twelve.

Grasping her candle, she stole noiselessly to the door and let herself into the corridor. Satisfied that no one stirred in the vast pile, she made her way through the dark, silent passages.

In the music room she found her brother awaiting her. He had discarded the formal portions of his uniform as well as the powdered wig that the marquess considered
de rigueur
for liveried servants. He was dressed only in shirt and breeches, and his pale blond hair gleamed in the light of the candle he had placed on a sofa table.

He was a tall young man, straight and slender and well-proportioned. He bore himself with an athletic grace that gave him a maturity beyond his twenty-two years. Oddly, his face was all schoolboy, with strong, square features dominated by a pair of mischievous hazel eyes. He was pacing the floor, and had just made a turn at the far end of the room, near the fireplace. At Diana’s entrance he hurried to her, and once more Diana found herself enveloped in a rib-cracking hug.