The Mammoth Book of Regency Romance (29 page)

As was customary during Samantha’s lessons, Diana picked up her newest copy of the
Ladies’ Monthly
, but the fashion plates held no interest for her. Her eyes kept wandering from the illustrations to steal quick glances at the new tutor — his long-fingered hands as he played a run of notes, the way his brown hair tumbled over his collar. More than once he seemed to sense her attention and she had to quickly drop her gaze back to the unseen pages.

The sound of his voice was so different from Mr Bent’s dry tones, and his praise and encouragement drew another flashing smile from Samantha. Something inside Diana uncoiled a notch, a deep tension she had not realized she had been carrying.

The shape of his muscular shoulders was barely concealed by the cut of his coat as he leaned forwards to demonstrate some point. He radiated confidence and mastery. She imagined that everything he did would benefit from that focused energy.

From this angle he was in profile. His jaw was firm, his nose straight, his mouth strong, yet sensitive. She traced her own lips with a fingertip, then caught herself and hurriedly dropped her hand before he could notice.

Mr Jameson turned to face her. “Will you?” he asked.

Diana’s breath faltered as their gazes held a heartbeat too long. Clearly she had missed an important turn in the lesson while daydreaming.

“Sing for us,” Samantha said, a touch of impatience in her voice. “Mr Jameson has been showing me a marvellous pattern for accompanying songs, but I don’t think I can sing and play at the same time.”

Diana set aside her magazine. “Oh, I really couldn’t. It’s been so long.” There didn’t seem to be enough air in the room for her to breathe, let alone sing.

“Of course you can.” Mr Jameson’s tone was assured. “Miss Samantha says you have a lovely singing voice.” There was a challenge in his expression, as if he were curious to see what she would do.

“Please, Mama. Let’s do ‘The Meeting of the Waters’.”

“Very well. If it’s part of the lesson.” She stood and took her place beside the piano, oddly reluctant to disappoint Mr Jameson. Still, it had been a very long while. What if she had lost the knack altogether? “Samantha, you and Mr Jameson must help by singing with me.”

The piano tutor counted the tempo then signalled Samantha to begin. Diana took a deep breath and sang the first words. Mr Jameson’s rich baritone joined her, while her stepdaughter concentrated on the keyboard.

At first her alto sounded husky to her ears, the notes unsure. Soon enough, though, her body took over and she remembered how to breathe, how to put herself into the song and carry each tone to fullness. Mr Jameson was solid beside her, his singing voice even fuller than she had imagined. When her pitch wavered, he was there, and soon their voices began to blend in a most pleasing manner. Unbidden, her eyes met his, and the appreciation there nearly made her lose the words. She forced her concentration back to the final phrases of the song.

Samantha was giggling as she played a last flourish on the piano.

“Splendid!” Mr Jameson said. “Miss Waverly, you have a deft touch on the keyboard. And Viscountess — your voice is lovely.”

Diana smiled back at him. The parlour had not rung with such happy sounds for too long. It seemed that Mr Jameson would be a splendid substitute.

The clock on the mantel struck the hour, and Samantha let out a protest. “So soon? But we’ve just begun!”

Indeed, the time had sped.

“Thank you, Mr Jameson. Shall we expect you next week?”

“I would be delighted.” He took Diana’s hand and, bowing, lifted it to his lips.

The warm press of his mouth on her skin sent a shock of sensation through her. It was very forward, yet she could not bring herself to reprove him, not with the heat of his kiss disordering her senses.

Still clasping her hand, he looked into her eyes — a look full of promise that made her heart race. “Until next Wednesday.”

The tea shop on Bond Street was filled with the cheerful babble of conversation. Diana had requested a table in the nook — the safest place for a chat with Lucy, whose voice had a tendency to carry.

“Tell me, darling—” Lucy arched an elegant eyebrow “—is Mr Jameson proving to be … satisfactory? I’d like to know if my recommendation was well advised.”

Mr Jameson. Diana let out a slow breath.

She could not stop thinking of him — his grey eyes and handsome features, the confidence that accompanied his every movement. The past three Wednesdays had found her with a giddy lightness of spirit. She was attuned to each nuance of his expression, addicted to the desire that his slow smiles sent through her. At the conclusion of every session, he had kissed her hand. Last Wednesday, his lips had seemed to linger, the heat of his breath playing against her skin for a long moment. The memory of it sent a fluttery breathlessness winging through her even now.

“He …” Diana ran her fingertip back and forth across the rim of her cup. “He seems an excellent teacher — very patient with Samantha, and kind. She is enjoying music lessons far more than she ever has before. It’s a pity he’s only a
temporary
tutor. There’s a certain quality about him …”

She took a hasty swallow of tea. Goodness, she shouldn’t be prattling on. Whatever secret thoughts she had of the new piano tutor should stay exactly that — secret. Although, of anyone, Lucy would understand.

Her friend tilted her head, a speculative light in her eyes. “Why, Diana. Are you developing an
interest
in Mr Jameson? How marvellous. As I told you, I think he would prove an excellent diversion. You should commence an affair immediately.”

Diana set her cup down so quickly that some tea sloshed over the edge. “Lucy, you are shocking.”

Even worse than Lucy’s suggestion were the images that flooded Diana’s mind. Fire bloomed in her cheeks. What if Mr Jameson did not stop when he kissed her hand? What if he continued, his warm lips laying kisses up her arm, along her neck? What if he reached her mouth and covered it with his own?

Her friend gave her a shrewd look. “High time you began thinking of yourself. You’re out of formal mourning now. And you’ve admitted that your marriage to Lord Waverly was never one of deep passion.”

“A marriage does not need passion if it has respect and …” She searched for the proper word. “Goodwill.”

Lucy waved her hand. “Goodwill is all very well, in its place. But now you have an opportunity, you should seize it! If you are careful and discreet, no one will suspect. You are free to follow your heart, or your whims — or both.”

Lucy made it sound so simple.

“I must admit—” her chest tightened, excitement firing through her blood as she spoke aloud the words she had been holding inside for weeks “—I find Mr Jameson quite attractive. And his manner very pleasing.”

Lucy nodded approval. “Indeed.”

“What does it mean,” Diana continued, “when a man’s presence makes one feel so very
awake?
I can scarcely sleep for thoughts of him, and when I do, my dreams are …” She lowered her voice. “Oh, my dreams are most wicked.”

“That is excellent news.” Lucy’s eyes were bright. “Perhaps you should make them come true.”

Diana dropped her gaze to the tablecloth. “I doubt I’m ready to embark on such a course.” It was one thing to indulge in such imaginations, quite another to act upon them. She had never considered herself bold of spirit.

“Well.” Lucy dabbed her lips with her napkin. “It is your choice — but regardless, it’s high time you began going out in society again. Gracious, Diana, people will scarcely remember you if you keep yourself locked away.”

“In due time, Lucy.” Her friend was a master at manoeuvring people when she thought she knew what was best for them. Which was most of the time. “There’s Samantha to think of, and — well, I’m comfortable as I am.” Though she was markedly less content since a certain piano tutor had come into her well-ordered life.

“Comfortable?”
Lucy lifted her nose in disdain. “That’s almost as bad as ‘goodwill’. You need more interesting words to fill your life.
Passion,
for one. And
delight.
And best of all—” her eyes sparked with mischief “—best of all,
ravishment
.”

“Lucy!” Diana clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles. “You’re outrageous!”

Her friend joined her laughter, oblivious to the disapproving looks of the nearby patrons. When their mirth finally subsided, Lucy assumed the commanding tones of Lady Pembroke.

“Call me what you please,” she said. “I only speak the truth. Regardless of your obvious fascination with the new piano tutor, you
will
come to the musicale I’m hosting on Tuesday. It will be a small gathering, nothing too overwhelming. I’ll expect you promptly at eight.”

“I—”

“Pray, do not disappoint me. If you don’t arrive promptly, I’ll dispatch my burliest footmen to fetch you.”

“Oh very well,” Diana said. There was no arguing with Lucy. “As long as there is no more talk of affairs and …” She could not even say the word “ravishment” aloud, though it echoed through her thoughts. “I’ll come to your musicale.” She made no promises, however, as to how late she would stay.

Her friend gave a nod of satisfaction, then consulted her dainty silver pocket watch, as if recalling something urgent. “Goodness, the time has flown! I’m nearly late for the modiste. Delightful to see you, Diana. Till Tuesday.” She brushed a kiss across Diana’s cheek, then hurried off, leaving Diana alone with her unsettled thoughts.

Their chat had left an edgy restlessness humming through her. Her carriage awaited outside, the driver ready to take her wherever she pleased. If only she knew where that might be.

Diana gathered her reticule and pelisse and left the shop. The air outside was pleasantly warm, and she turned her face up to the pale May sun. It was too lovely a day to waste in simply going back to Waverly House and going over menus with the cook.

She lingered, looking in the shop windows. A glorious fan painted with swans — she could nearly imagine herself with it at some ball, laughing and dancing. Or that bracelet set with sapphires, clasped about her wrist. It was frivolous, the gems sparkling beautifully in their settings. Still, she turned away from the window. No purchase could soothe her restiveness.

She had just resolved to return home when she caught sight of a certain broad-shouldered, brown-haired gentleman striding towards her. Sparks raced through her entire body. Mr Jameson! The loveliness of the day exploded into fiery brilliance.

He met her eyes, a smile spreading across his face as he made his way to her side. “Viscountess.” He doffed his top hat. “It’s a fine day. Would you care to join me for a stroll in St James’ Park?”

“That would be—” ill-advised, besotted as she had become with him “—delightful.”

He offered his arm and she tucked her hand through with no hesitation. She was keenly aware of the places their bodies touched, and it was difficult to resist the urge to lean too close.

They walked side by side down Bond Street to the park. The feel of his firmly muscled forearm was not disguised even through the layers of his coat and her glove, and she found it deliciously distracting. The rest of him seemed as toned and muscular as his arm. Diana shot him a sideways glance. His well-fitted breeches showed his thighs flexing taut with every step, and his stomach seemed perfectly flat beneath the blue silk of his waistcoat. Lucy’s words echoed through her.
Passion. Delight
.

The green trees of St James’ closed over them as they entered the long promenade. A lazy pond curved to one side, insects buzzing beside the water. The day was fine, the scene peaceful, but Diana felt unbalanced and strangely giddy.

There were so many questions she dare not ask. They scalded her tongue. She wanted to know everything about him, yet was afraid the answers would spoil the perfection of the day. Where are you from? Have you a wife? A mistress? She swallowed them unspoken.

“Do you enjoy teaching the piano?” she finally asked.

He nodded, his twilight eyes regarding her. “I’m finding a great deal of satisfaction in it. Miss Samantha is a quick study, and a fine musician. As are you, My Lady. Have you ever considered taking lessons on the piano?”

“Taking lessons myself?” She blinked up at him. “I have always simply sung, Mr Jameson. That is enough for me.”

“How do you know?” His hand covered hers. “You should try something new. You might find that you like it very well.” His smile held more than a little wickedness. Goodness! Was he suggesting …

Diana dropped her gaze, hoping her blush was hidden by the fashionable plumes in her bonnet. It seemed to be an afternoon for improper conversations.

With a sudden daring, she asked, “If I were to become your pupil, when might these tutorials occur? Before or after Samantha’s lessons?”

“Not on Wednesday.” His voice was warm honey, drizzling over her senses. “My instruction would require sufficient uninterrupted time. Perhaps Thursdays.”

“Surely your other pupils would object to the change of schedule.”

The pressure of his hand over hers increased. “It’s all a matter of priority.”

They were passing a weeping willow, the leaves tender and newly green, swaying lightly in the breeze. Diana took a deep breath of the soft air to steady herself.

“I would be your priority on Thursdays?”

He stopped and gave her an intent look. “You would be my priority every day.”

Oh, it was the purest flirtation, she knew it, but still her heartbeat stumbled in giddy joy. “Really, Mr Jameson—”

“Call me Nicholas.” He drew her off the pathway, beneath the sheltering canopy of the willow tree.

“Nicholas.” She half-whispered it, a bold exhilaration tingling through her. “Then you must call me Diana.”

Suddenly they were not tutor and lady any longer, but only man and woman. The air between them was alive with possibility, the spaces where bodies were, and were not. And could be.