Mary Jo Putney (34 page)

Gervase chuckled. "There's nothing wrong with his logic. I'll get him the pony he rode at Aubynwood. It's a good animal, and the owner's children have outgrown it."

She slid her hand down his thigh, feeling long, hard muscles beneath her palm. "He'd like that. How much will it cost?"

The viscount shrugged. "I'll pay for it."

Glancing up at him, she said, "No, I will."

He gave her a reproving glance. "Diana, you have not yet mastered the trick of being a mistress. You're supposed to accept whatever gifts are offered, and wheedle for more."

She said acerbically, "Would you prefer me like that?"

He raised his hand and delicately toyed with her ear. "I like you very well the way you are."

"Then let me pay for the pony. It's for Geoffrey, after all, not for me." It was hard to remember her principles when he was doing such delightful things to her.

"You mean I can give presents to you, but not your son?" he asked. "I like Geoffrey for his own sake, you know."

His words were deeply gratifying. Relaxing against his side, she said, "In that case, I accept on my son's behalf. Geoffrey will be delighted. He fell in love with that pony."

"Good. I doubt he would appreciate what I brought you." He reached over to the table that stood by the sofa and lifted a small flat package. "I found this in Dublin."

She sat up to unwrap the gift, then gasped at what she found inside. "Gervase, it's exquisite! I saw a
Book of Hours
once as a child, and I've never forgotten it."

In her hands she held one of the medieval prayer books that marked the cycles of the days and the seasons. Every
Book
was an individual work of art, with hand-lettered text and illustrations that were miniature masterpieces. This one opened to an Annunciation scene in the Hours of the Virgin and she brushed her fingertips reverently across the page, imagining the devotion the book had inspired over the centuries.

"I'm glad you like it. The dealer who sold it to me said it was Flemish, about four hundred years old." He finished the brandy and set the goblet on the end table.

Diana looked at him, her eyes shining. "You find the most marvelous, unusual things. I don't know how to thank you."

His smile was deep and intimate. "I can think of a way." Putting his hand behind her head, he drew her down for a kiss.

They made love like a tropic storm, a whirlwind of heat and turbulence. Afterward they rested in lazy contentment, knowing the night was young. Candles cast a soft glow, since Gervase insisted on seeing her. Diana had come to agree that light was better. She loved the beautiful lines and planes of her lover's body, the soft vibrations of his voice, the way his face would relax into the peacefulness he showed only with her. He lay with his head pillowed on her breast, his arms enfolding her, his breath soft and even.

The tranquility was interrupted when a small body thumped onto the bed. Gervase came instantly alert, and she was reminded that he had been a soldier. He relaxed as the tabby cat stomped her way up the mattress, each footfall a small quake.

Diana tried to sit up but Gervase held her tight. "I'm sorry," she said apologetically, "I don't know how the cat got in here."

"She came in when you did." He scratched the furry head, getting a delighted purr for his efforts. "I don't mind if you don't. I rather like cats. They're contrary beasts. That's probably why she isn't sleeping with Geoffrey."

Tiger had rolled over on her back and was letting Gervase scratch her stomach, a sign of rare favor.

"Usually she does," Diana said, "but I've been encouraging her to sleep with me since we got back from Aubynwood. It's been lonely here."

Smiling with satisfaction, Gervase transferred his stroking from Tiger's stomach to Diana's. She could see why the cat enjoyed it so much. If she'd been equipped to purr, she would have done so.

"What kind of a mother lures her son's pet away?" he teased.

Diana felt the muscles in her midriff tighten. "Please don't say that, even in jest. I wonder all the time if I am doing the right things for him."

"I'm sorry. It's hard to joke about what is most important to us." He propped himself on one elbow as he lengthened his caresses. "From what I've seen, you're doing a wonderful job. Geoffrey is intelligent and happy and confident." After a moment's thought he added, "He's not afraid of you."

It was an odd remark. She set it aside to ponder it later. "I try so hard to do what is best for him. I fear that I try too hard. It was easier when he was small, but as he gets older he needs so much more than I can give him. That was one of the main reasons I came to London."

"And the other reasons?"

She looked deep into the clear gray eyes that could be both ice and fire. "Why, to find you," she said slowly, "although I didn't realize it at the time." It was the exact truth, more so than Gervase could possibly know.

Suffering from neglect, Tiger hopped up and stood on Diana's chest, mittened forepaws firm. She stroked the sleek feline body. "Have you ever studied a cat hair, Gervase?"

"I can't say that I have." While he liked cats, he wasn't keen on having one come between him and his mistress.

She held up two long hairs that had come off in her hand. "Look at the alternating bands of color."

Curiously he examined the hairs she held in her fingertips. One had five distinct color changes between the pale shank and the dark tip; the other was mostly dark except for a white dot below the tip. "In order to create these tabby stripes, every single hair on that cat's body is different," she mused. "Have you ever wondered how God keeps it all straight?"

He laughed. "I've never thought of it in those terms."

She looked at him, serious now. "Do you believe in fate, that there is an underlying pattern to our lives?"

He drew himself up until his head was level with hers. "You're raising all sorts of questions I've never considered."

Her intense blue gaze caught his. "But think of it. I had never been to one of Harriette Wilson's evenings, nor had you. Don't you believe there must have been a reason, something drawing us both to that point in time and place?"

He hesitated, remembering the irresistible pull he had felt when he first saw her, the absolute desire. But that was, after all, simply desire. "No. It was only chance."

She laid one hand lightly over his heart. "I think it was meant to be."

Her touch aroused him but he still disagreed with her words. "If we hadn't met, I would have found another mistress, you would have found another protector. That would have been my loss, but perhaps your gain."

Her lapis eyes were deep with ancient feminine mystery. "No other man would have been right. It had to be you." As he watched her uneasily, she smiled. "Poor love, I'm making you uncomfortable again. Never mind. Perhaps someday you will think differently. Tonight is not for philosophy."

With gentle firmness she pushed the indignant cat over the edge of the bed, then bent down and feathered kisses down Gervase's torso. He leaned back on the pillows, his breath quickening as her soft lips moved slowly down his abdomen. He believed in chance, not destiny, but he would not deny that meeting Diana was one of the luckiest chances of his life.

* * *

On the surface, nothing had changed. Since Parliament was in session and Gervase sat in the House of Lords, he was busier than ever, but he still visited Diana often. He would leave before dawn and she would ache at the loss, but neither of them ever suggested that he stay. The barriers that had lowered briefly at Aubynwood were now firmly back in place.

They rode early in the mornings when weather permitted, Geoffrey joining them if it was not a school day. They might almost have been a family. Diana was delighted at how well they got along, even though she feared future consequences to Geoffrey if Gervase disappeared from both of their lives.

On the surface all was tranquility, but Diana felt the tensions building beneath the calm. When he thought she was unaware of it, Gervase would stare at her, his expression dense and unreadable. The thread of emotion that connected them drew tighter, and she sensed a dark, deep mood in him. His lovemaking was urgent and demanding, and he would raise her to such heights of passion that she would almost lose her sense of who she was.

Almost, but not quite. A deep, primitive part of her being wanted to let go, to melt and let him shape her to his will, but self-preservation was stronger. She dared not trust him unless he loved her, and he dared not admit to love.

Diana drifted, taking each day as it came, treasuring each moment with her son and her lover and her friends. She knew it was cowardly of her not to force the crisis that must come, but she had a fatalistic belief that matters would resolve in their own time. She could only pray that when the hidden tensions exploded, in the aftermath she and Gervase could be free of their dark pasts. Free to love one another.

Chapter 15

In the spring of 1808 the first faint cracks in Napoleon's empire appeared on the Iberian Peninsula. The emperor forced the popular Spanish king, Ferdinand VII, to abdicate and placed his own brother Joseph on the throne. Infuriated, Spain burst into flames of insurrection. Gervase, in his small office in Whitehall, gathered and evaluated information and rejoiced.

In April, Sir Arthur Wellesley had been promoted to lieutenant-general and assigned troops to aid a Venezuelan revolutionary. But then Spain and Portugal sent delegations to Britain asking for aid against Napoleon, and Wellesley's destination was changed to the Peninsula. Gervase had used what influence he had on his former commander's behalf, and had no doubt that the general would justify the faith of his supporters.

Wellesley was in London now, and tonight he had requested a private meeting to discuss a matter that concerned them both. For privacy's sake, the general came to St. Aubyn House. Gervase received his visitor in the library and poured them glasses of port. After a nominal sip, Wellesley went straight to the point of his visit. "You know about the Marquess de la Romana?"

Gervase nodded. "One of Spain's most respected generals. He's in Denmark now, doing garrison duty for Napoleon."

Leaning forward for emphasis, Wellesley said, "Romana is a Spanish patriot. If he knew the situation in Spain, he would no longer serve the emperor, nor would most of his men." The general was by nature reserved, but his light blue eyes sparkled at the prospect of military action, and he looked years younger than he had in Dublin. "If someone can reach Romana and tell him Napoleon has removed the King of Spain, the Royal Navy will carry the marquess and his army home to fight the French."

Gervase made a frustrated gesture. "I know. We've been doing our damnedest to get a message through to Romana."

"Should have guessed you were already involved." Wellesley gave a short bark of laughter. "And the results?"

"Four good men have died trying," Gervase's voice was clipped. He'd known all of the agents, and their deaths weighed on him, even though they had known the risks and gone willingly.

"I'm sorry." Wellesley paused a moment, his expression grave. "But we must try again. The force I'm commanding isn't large enough to defeat the French troops on the Peninsula without help. Romana has nine thousand trained soldiers. If they return home, together we might break the French army in Spain. And after that..."

The sentence did not need completing. If the French were pushed out of the Peninsula, the long stalemate would be over. The war could be carried into France, to Napoleon himself. There would be peace in Europe only when the emperor was defeated.

"I know what's at stake," Gervase said shortly. He settled back in his chair, sipping his port while his thoughts went around in a familiar circle. In the last weeks, he had thought of only two things: of the situation in Europe and what Britain could do to exploit it, and of Diana.

Always and everlastingly, Diana. Because of her, he had been reluctant to reach a conclusion that had been inescapable from the beginning. Briefly he hesitated, knowing that once the words were spoken there would be no turning back. "I'll go to Romana myself."

Wellesley's brows rose in sharp surprise. "Think you have a better chance of success than one of your regular agents?"