Virginia Henley (5 page)

“What makes you think he’ll keep the engagement after your appalling manners to Lord Hardwick?”

“Peter isn’t a lord,” Diana corrected, wondering how Prudence had discovered she had been flippant with him.

“I was speaking of Mark Hardwick, the Earl of Bath.”

Diana was stunned. “Peter’s brother is the Earl of Bath?”

“Please don’t pretend ignorance of the Hardwicks, Diana. You are far too intelligent to play the lack-wit.”

“I honestly didn’t connect the two gentlemen. I hadn’t the vaguest notion Peter Hardwick was related to the earl.”

“That is the sole reason I consider young Hardwick an eligible
parti.
It was he who informed the earl about the library.”

At that precise moment Peter Hardwick rang the front doorbell. “Oh lord, what will I do?” Diana said, half under her breath.

“Consider yourself one of the most fortunate young ladies in London since he has chosen to overlook your lack of breeding and honor the invitation.”

A half hour later, Diana found herself seated next to Peter Hardwick enjoying the fresh air of a beautiful London day.

The blooded pair harnessed to the perch phaeton were impressive animals. Diana made polite small talk as Peter tooled the horses the short distance to Hyde Park. She wondered what he was thinking and what his brother had said about her.

Peter Hardwick, in point of fact, was thinking what a lucky bastard he was. Not only had Diana Davenport exquisite beauty, but she had a yearly income of twenty thousand pounds. The
Vultures,
as he called Richard and Prudence, had only offered him half but he had shrewdly negotiated his cut up to sixty percent, and before he was done, he’d have at least fifteen thousand per annum. Then once he got the ring on Diana’s finger, there was nothing to prevent him from dipping into the principal. His eyes ran over her profile with appreciation; what a prize she was.

Diana, feeling his eyes upon her, could bear the tension no longer. She took a deep breath and turned toward him. “I’m afraid I have a confession to make.”

His mouth curved good-naturedly, giving the impression he could be indulgent with a woman.

“I attended the masquerade at the Pantheon last night,” she said breathlessly. When her companion didn’t seem outraged, she continued, “Your brother mistook me for a cyprian because I wasn’t properly chaperoned and I’m afraid I threw champagne in his face.”

Peter threw back his head and laughed aloud at the picture she painted.

Encouraged, Diana told him the second part. “I have to be perfectly frank, Peter—I’m afraid your brother must hate me. When he turned up in my library this morning trying to buy it, I flew at him in a temper.”

“I imagine you are very beautiful when angered.”

She looked at him in disbelief. “Aren’t you outraged?”

“There are times when I find my dear brother almost loathsome. We have little in common. He has a passion for archaelogy. His inclination to ruins has given him a taste for older women. I’m surprised you captured his interest.”
He certainly captured mine,
Diana admitted to herself. Why didn’t his young brother arouse any feeling inside her?

Diana laughed in spite of herself. Their conversation was most unconventional to say the least. “Well, I thwarted his intent to buy my father’s collection, so I’m certain he considers me much worse than loathsome.”

“That’s a relief. His competition for your attention would be formidable, as he is an earl of the realm.”

“I don’t care about titles!”

He cocked an eyebrow at her. “What
do
you care about?”

She cared about books, passionately. She would even like to try her hand at writing history, from a woman’s point of view, but she had more sense than to tell a gentleman such an eccentric thing. Diana opened her parasol, trying to decide if she should scramble back on to polite ground as befitted a young lady of the ton, or to answer his
question honestly. She decided upon the latter. She had certainly not set her cap for this man, and if he found her conversation unconventional, she didn’t give a tinker’s damn! “I care most about freedom—freedom of choice. I find I have very little freedom now in dress, speech, action, or even thought because I am young and because I am female. I realize I will become older, but I shall remain a woman forever.”

“Heaven be praised,” he teased, allowing his eyes to boldly assess her delicious breasts. “You’d prefer being a man?”

“Of course not! I want to be a woman with freedom. Only think for a moment: in Georgian society a young lady is passed from her father to either a guardian or a husband and chaperoned every waking moment. Prudence would be in the phaeton with us if it held more than two, but the code is so restrictive I may only ride with you around and around the Serpentine, where there are at least a thousand eyes upon us and hundreds of wagging tongues ready to carry tales if I do not conform.”

“Would you like to go somewhere more private?” Peter suggested hopefully.

“No, I would not. You are missing the point, deliberately I might add,” Diana said with amusement.

“I’m sorry. I really am listening.”

“Celtic women had great freedom. They chose whom they married and were allowed to retain their own wealth and property. A few even became chiefs of tribes. Medieval women were in charge of castles and the entire
demesne
when their men went to war or on crusade for years. Modern ladies are treated as if they have no desires, no opinions, and no brains, while gentlemen are encouraged to achieve, to enjoy, to travel the world, to engage in sports, and do it all with neck-or-nothing enthusiasm!”

“I hereby promise that when you are with me I shall allow you every freedom.”

Diana sighed. He was a typical male, thinking he could
allow
her freedom.

“Will you allow me to escort you to the Richmonds’ ball tomorrow evening?”

“Thank you for the invitation, but I don’t think so,” she said coolly.

“I shan’t let you escape today without a commitment of some sort.”

A commitment was the last thing Diana desired. There was safety in numbers and she hoped for a couple of seasons on her own, free from a husband’s control and demands. “I suppose I shall be at Almack’s again on Wednesday, if Prudence has any say in the matter, and unfortunately she does,” Diana said ruefully.

Peter cursed under his breath while keeping his polite mask carefully in place. Christ Almighty, the sacrifices he must make to get his debts paid off and keep him plump in the pocket were nothing short of excruciating. Ah well, Almack’s it would have to be. He could not afford to let this delectable morsel escape. Though Lady Diana Davenport did not give the impression she was panting after him, he hoped her indifference was an act. In any case, he intended to get her to the altar one way or another. There was always one tried-and-true method of ensuring a lady begged for marriage, and planting his seed in this particular lady would be a very great pleasure indeed.

Peter’s plans for the evening made his blood surge in anticipation. Though he was loath to ask his brother for money, he had no choice. Deciding to beard the lion in his den, Peter strolled into the library and waited for Mark to look up from a pile of business correspondence.

Without glancing up from the desk, Mark Hardwick said, “In the drawer of the library table.”

Peter laughed. “What makes you think I need money?”

Mark raised his eyes. “Don’t you?” he asked bluntly.

“Yes, but damned if that was going to be the first thing out of my mouth.”

“Oh, I see. First you were going to commiserate with me about the Davenport library, then you were going to inquire where I intended to dine, then you were going to ask me if I got laid last night, as if you give a good goddamn.
Then
you’d get around to the subject of money.” Hardwick threw down the quill and stretched. “Look at all the trouble I’ve saved you.”

There was only a thousand in the drawer. It was his brother’s way of trying to curb his gambling. Though all he felt was resentment, Peter smiled his thanks, then departed quickly to meet his friends for the planned evening of dissolution.

“Wick, you’re late again!” Hellgate complained. “We have a bitch of a night planned. Aren’t you eager to get started?”

Peter joined his two friends at the. Prospect of Whitby, a pub in Wapping. “Oh, I believe I’m up for it,” he leered.

“I ordered for you, just in case,” replied Jeremy Montagu, as a barmaid served up a platter of fifty raw oysters.

The Earl of Barrymore had his hand up the wench’s skirt in a flash, and when she tried playfully to slap him, he grabbed a handful of thigh and squeezed cruelly. His friends laughed; they were not known as the
Bloods
for nothing. The clutch of extroverts thought themselves daredevils. All three bucks suffered from the infection of blood-lust and the order of the night was brutality.

They made their way into the dirtiest slum in London. The streets were crawling with whores and the three friends prided themselves on choosing the most slatternly. It was an act of bravado to indulge this perverse
nostalgie de la boue
and delight in a sordid escapade in a filthy bed with an unclean whore.

* * *

At the opposite end of London, in fashionable Park Lane, the Earl of Bath followed a maid upstairs and was shown into a luxurious dressing room.

In the adjoining bedchamber Vivian, Countess of Belgrave, smiled at her reflection in the large mirror. She ran her jeweled fingers though her flame-red hair and reached for a large flacon of perfume. As she did so, the black satin wrapper slipped from one shoulder and she knew none would ever dream she was past thirty. This was only the second time Lord Hardwick had accepted her invitation, but already she knew she wanted him. Permanently.

On a sudden impulse she pushed away the perfume flacon, a wicked smile curving her lips. Allowing the black satin to fall open, she slid her hand between her legs, dipped a finger into her slippery wetness, and dabbed it behind her ears. She dipped again, this time tracing her fingertip across her breasts and up toward her white throat. Finally she dabbed behind her knees, in the small of her back, and then inside her wrists for good measure.

She opened the adjoining door and pretended surprise. “Mark, darling, you must be early—I’m not even ready.”

They were both aware of the pretense, for in fact Lord Hardwick was late. “You look ready enough for me.”

“We could dine here instead of going out,” she suggested huskily.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he murmured, pushing open her bedroom door with his foot and lifting her into his arms. He laid her back on the bed, admiring the effect of her white skin and flaming hair against the black satin cover. He began to undress in a leisurely fashion, mildly surprised at how avidly she watched him. She arched against the pillows at her back and allowed her knees to fall apart in an open invitation to skip most of the preliminaries. He complied willingly, mounting her quickly this first time.
There would be ample time to savor all the nuances of sensuality later.

For the next two hours Mark Hardwick lavished attention upon Vivian. His cardinal rule with a woman was to leave her satisfied. All women were not the same in bed, thank God, and he always focused completely on a new lady to learn her needs and desires, her likes and dislikes, and to show her in no uncertain terms what it took to please and satisfy him.

He had no intention of staying all night, which was rule number two. Her reaction to this would determine how soon he would return or if he would return at all. As it turned out, Vivian was too replete to protest overmuch when he swung his legs from the bed and reached for his shirt.

“Beast! I can’t lift a finger, while you’re ready to prowl about London.”

“Any objection?” he asked lightly, carefully watching her face.

She was far too shrewd a woman with too much at stake to object. And truthfully she had no complaints about the passionate hours they’d shared.

He bent to drop a kiss on her tussled red hair. Her body arched deliciously, her heavy eyelids closed. “Mmm,” she murmured.

Hardwick smiled to himself, happy that he had left her purring.

Diana stifled a yawn. She and her aunt were taking afternoon tea at Devonshire House. The room was both overcrowded and overheated. Her stays bit painfully into her breastbone and she wondered seriously if it was possible to die from boredom. Small talk was anathema to Diana and the people about her seemed to be making it their life’s work. She watched the other young ladies simper before the foppish young men in their satin knee breeches while the mamas boasted their lineage.

Lady de Warrenne informed Prudence, “Our ancestry goes back to the Norman Conquest, you know.”

Diana glanced at young de Warrenne juggling his quizzing glass with his snuff box and wondered regretfully how the blood could have thinned to such anemic proportions in only seven hundred years. With a polite smile fixed upon her face, Diana allowed her imagination to sweep her away. Splendor of God, how exciting it must have been for a Saxon lady to encounter a Norman conqueror!

She was riding in a meadow when she caught her first glimpse of him. He was enormous, astride a massive stallion. She shivered as she saw him mark his prey, then the chase was on! She fled toward the shelter of the forest, her pursuer more fierce-looking than any male she had ever encountered before. He was closing the distance between
them so rapidly she could now see the nose guard on his helm, the chain mail covering his powerful torso. Just as she reached the trees he swooped upon her, lifted her bodily from her palfrey, and set her before him on his saddle. In the struggle, her head veil fell off and her mass of silken gold hair tumbled over his scarred hands.

“I
claim you as mine!” His voice was so commanding she wanted only to obey him. He took off his helm and ran his hand through his dark hair. The look in his fierce eyes was so intense with desire it took her breath away. Then his mouth took possession of hers, mastering her with one long, deep kiss. Her hands went up to push against the massive chest, but he was so big, so hard, so hungry, it made her weak at the knees. Pulse racing, breasts tingling, she heard him demand, “Yield to me.” With a delicious sigh, Diana abandoned herself to the ravishing.

“Yield to me,” the voice came again.

Diana blinked rapidly as a pale hand tried to take the teacup she clutched. “Oh, forgive me, William.”

Young Lamb took the cup and saucer from her and sighed. “Dare I hope you were daydreaming of me, Diana?”

“You may dare anything you like, William,” she replied wickedly. If she had to endure these interminable sessions with society, she might as well have fun!

When they arrived home from Devonshire House, Prudence was surprised to be beckoned into Richard’s office.

“Something’s come up rather unexpectedly regarding Peter Hardwick and it’s going to take your delicate touch with Diana.”

“She’s not easy to handle, Peter. The girl was actually mocking me in the carriage just now.”

“The sooner we can get her off our hands, the better, m’dear. Hardwick is the answer to our prayers, but I’m afraid circumstances have changed. His brother, the earl,
has ordered him home because he discovered Peter gambling. He’s a tyrant apparently, but a tyrant who controls the purse strings, and Peter cannot afford to enrage him further since he’s up to his eyebrows in debt.”

“He wouldn’t be in debt if he controlled his gambling,” Prudence condemned.

Richard said dryly, “If he weren’t on Queer Street, m’dear, he wouldn’t be aligning himself with us.”

“I take your point, Richard.”

“All you have to do is talk Diana into visiting Bath.” He held up his hand as Prudence opened her mouth to protest. “Bath has its advantages, as young Hardwick pointed out to me.”

“You don’t think he’s trying to give us a slip on the shoulder, so to speak?”

“Where do you pick up these expressions, m’dear? No, I don’t think any such thing. He’s keen as mustard. Well, he’d have to have a few slates missing from his roof if he passed up an opportunity to get his hands on Diana’s fortune, to say nothing of getting his shoes under her bed!”

“Richard, there is no need to be vulgar,” Prudence said squeamishly. “What are the advantages?”

“Well, there are the obvious ones, of course, for a young lady of Diana’s temperament. Bath has a feeling of escape from social constriction. Entertainments and activities go on round the clock, making the atmosphere conducive to
amour.
Then there is the singular advantage of Diana being invited to Hardwick Hall. It cannot fail to capture her imagination and make her long to live there. It is a fifteenth-century Elizabethan manor on the River Avon. You know how fascinated she is by anything Elizabethan.”

“I’ve done my homework on the Hardwicks, Richard. The earl is wealthy as Croesus. He owns stone quarries and a fleet of barges to transport the golden stone up the Avon canal to Bristol. He is a justice of Somerset and a confirmed bachelor. We have nothing to worry about exposing Diana to his ‘charms.’”

“If Mark Hardwick never marries, she could be the mother of the next Earl of Bath. I believe you should convey that vital piece of information to Diana.”

“I take it the cost of a season in Bath can be deducted from Diana’s money?”

“Absolutely, m’dear—perfectly legal expense.”

“Then get on with leasing an elegant house in the smartest part of town and leave Diana to me.”

When Diana came downstairs in a cream evening gown trimmed with pink rosebuds, the carriage was waiting to take them to Almack’s.

Prudence waited until they were enclosed in its dark privacy before she broached the subject forefront in her mind. “Diana, I’ve had the most wonderful idea! I think we should take a lovely sojourn to Bath. We will lease a fashionable little house for a month and enjoy a holiday. Bath was on every tongue this afternoon at tea. It seems that no place in England affords so brilliant a circle of good company as Bath.”

Diana couldn’t believe her ears.
What maggot is eating your brain, Prudence?
“But surely our plans preclude any such thing. I’ve been invited to the opera, and I’m quite certain you won’t want to miss the Devonshire Ball, not with Prinny as its centrepiece? No, no—we will go another time.”

Prudence, momentarily speechless, saw the carriage had arrived. She would have to postpone her efforts until later.

Although Diana didn’t admit it to herself, she looked forward to seeing Peter Hardwick. He arrived late and walked a direct path to her. He took her dance card and said, “We can throw this away.”

“Since when did you start making my decisions?” she asked archly.

“Tonight,” he murmured intimately, for her ears
alone. His glance caught and held hers—his brown eyes had a predatory gaze. “Diana, I want you to come to Bath.”

Had she heard him right? Within hours she had been pressed to go to Bath twice. What an amazing coincidence —except Diana did not believe in coincidence.

She opened her fan. “You jest,” she said lightly.

Peter shook his head. “For once I’m being serious. I must return to Somerset, but I don’t want to leave you behind—not when I’ve just found you.”

“Impossible,” she murmured.

He swung her into the dance, and when they came together, he said, “Don’t say no; please think about it.” The figures of the dance caused them to separate again, but his eyes never left her.

Diana felt most flattered to receive Peter Hardwick’s undivided attention. Female to her fingertips, she relished the game of pursuit, but she was determined the flirtation would go no further.

When the next dance began, he whisked her away from William Lamb. “I’ll show you a fabulous time in Bath. The social mores aren’t at all stuffy and regimented as they are here in London.”

She could feel his warm breath playing about her ear. “You have no trouble overstepping the rules.”

“Too much red blood in my veins for that.”

“I thought you were a blue blood.”

“Then you
do
think about me.”

“Never.”

“Liar!”

Diana eluded him until the last dance was called. It began on a light note, but the tension built between them as his arms became possessive and his gaze intense. Diana realized he was becoming too serious and decided she must put a stop to it. In a firm but friendly tone she said, “I’m most flattered for your invitation, Peter, but I shan’t be coming to Bath.”

The music stilled, but Hardwick held her fast. He had a wild, predatory look that both compelled and repelled her. His voice was low, determined, almost threatening. “You shall, you
shall!”

When the dance ended, Diana returned to the side of her guardian, who had never taken her eyes off the couple. She saw a look of pure satisfaction cross her aunt’s face when she said, “Peter Hardwick invited me to Bath.”

“What an amazing coincidence.”

“Rather, I suspect collusion,” Diana said quietly.

“I swear you are the cruelest girl on earth! How you can suggest such a thing is beyond me. Of course you accepted?”

“Of course I declined. If he is that interested, he will soon come galloping back to London.”

“Playing hard-to-get may be unwise. There are prettier girls with greater titles on the marriage market this season.”

“But none with a larger inheritance,” Diana said quietly.

“Let me tell you, missy, cynicism in one so young is repugnant! I swear you are so perverse that you are rejecting Peter Hardwick simply because I approve of him!”

There’s more than a grain of truth there,
Diana thought.

“Well, let me inform you that you are cutting off your nose to spite your face! It is common gossip that the earl is disinclined to marry. Peter is his heir and whomever Peter marries will not only be the mother of the future Earl of Bath, she will inherit the Elizabethan hall, the quarries, the lot!”

It was disrespectful and upsetting to argue with Prudence, but Diana refused to be a spineless pawn in her aunt’s relentless climb up the social ladder. By the time they reached Grosvenor Square, they were no longer on speaking terms.

Sleep eluded Diana for hours as the events of the evening
played over in her mind. She had no objection to Bath; surely it overflowed with antiquity, and the Palladian architecture alone was enough to make it fascinating. She had no real objection to Peter Hardwick’s company either. What it boiled down to was her dislike of Prudence controlling her life. She fell asleep determined to be the master, or rather the mistress, of her own fate.

In the morning Diana awoke to an unusual amount of coming and going outside her chamber. When Biddy brought Diana’s morning chocolate, she was brimming over with news she wished to impart.

“The doctor’s here—mistress had a fall!”

“Oh, no.” Diana threw back the covers and dressed immediately. Downstairs Prudence was on the couch with her doctor hovering.

“Whatever happened?” Diana asked with genuine concern, noting the pinched look of pain on her aunt’s face.

“I was so distracted over our quarrel that I slipped on the stairs.” She fixed Diana with a look of condemnation.

“I am so sorry,” Diana murmured faintly.

“It was a very close call,” the doctor proclaimed. “You are the most fortunate lady alive not to have broken a bone. If you had, it is conceivable that you might never have walked again.”

Prudence covered her eyes, unable to face such a possibility.

“Even with no bones broken, an arthritic hip is a heavy cross to bear. I recommend the medicinal cure of mineral baths. Immersion daily will do wonders for your complaint, Madam Davenport. I vow ’tis the only answer for your affliction.”

“How ironic,” Prudence said with pathos. “I begged Lady Diana to sojourn to Bath for a month, but she refused out of hand.”

The doctor’s eyebrows bristled; he stroked his muttonchop
whiskers gravely. “Mineral water has almost magical properties. Applied externally, it is antiseptic and antirheumatic; taken internally it is antispasmodic and antibilious. I am sure Lady Diana will reconsider her thoughtless refusal.” The doctor then dismissed her. “I should like a little privacy with my patient.”

“Did anyone see or hear her fall?” Diana asked Biddy suspiciously as they left the room.

The maid shook her head. “It was me who run for the doctor, but she’d already picked herself up when she rang for me.”

Diana sighed. It was all very well to decide your own fate in theory. Reality was another matter. She knew she was being manipulated like a puppet with Prudence pulling her strings, but there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it. She had been outmaneuvered. She had been cast in the role of selfish, heartless bitch.
So be it,
Diana decided.

After the doctor departed, Diana returned to the drawing room to see how Prudence fared. Her aunt could not quite conceal her look of triumph, mingled with pain, of course.

“Prudence, I’ve been thinking—Bath is a fashionable shopping mecca these days. The Milsom Street shops dress some of the leading hostesses of the ton. If I agree to go, I suppose I could acquire a whole new wardrobe. One more in line with my own taste.”

Diana watched a look of real pain cross her aunt’s face as she realized Diana was bargaining. What a shrewd baggage the girl was!