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Leopold. The name alone conjured all manner of complicated emotions for Diana. She watched as Gilbert’s expression hardened fractionally. He took the letter and broke the seal. His gaze skimmed the lines quickly, his mouth tightening atthe contents of the missive. Timmons waited for Gilbert’s next instruction.

He exhaled softly, then turned to her with regret in his eyes.

“Diana,” he said, folding the parchment, “I must reply to this immediately. My brother…he wonders if I truly married you. It appears he has only just learned of it.”

Disappointment tugged at her, but she forced a small nod. She would not begrudge him this duty. He had already shown her more consideration than ever before.

“Of course,” she managed, her voice subdued. “I understand.”

He touched her hand lightly, a silent promise that they would not leave things unresolved. Then, without another word, he followed Timmons out the door, the letter tucked under his arm.

Diana stood alone, her lips still tingling from his kiss, her heart unsettled but oddly hopeful. She had felt sincerity in his touch, and though reality had swiftly intruded, she felt certain that their exchange marked the first step toward something in which she could truly believe.

Chapter Ten

Following their tryst, Diana returned to her chambers, her thoughts jumbled into a heady mix of hope and impatience. Gilbert’s tender kiss still burned on her lips, and though she had lain there for some time, her eyes fluttering open at every creak in the corridor, he had not reappeared.

She had drifted into an uneasy sleep, longing to feel the mattress shift under his weight, to sense the warmth of his body next to hers, and fearing she would remain alone until dawn.

When she finally awoke the next morning, a single glance at the empty space beside her confirmed her suspicions: if Gilbert had visited her during the night, he had already gone.

A fresh wave of disappointment swept through her. There was now an air of loneliness in her chambers, one that contrasted painfully with the swirl of desire and comfort he had summoned within her.

Yanking the bellpull with more vehemence than intended, she called for her maid and dressed quickly, determined to find Gilbert, but her search for him was fruitless.

Servants, though polite, could only shrug or murmur that His Grace had departed early to see to estate matters. Every new sign of his absence heightened her mounting frustration, both marital and—she realized with a blush—physical.

As she returned to her chambers, she noticed her maid, Ruth, hovering nearby, concern evident in her eyes. Diana spoke to her with a quiet yet fervent tone. “Ruth,” she said, “I shall rise earlier tomorrow, well before daybreak, so the duke cannot escape my notice. See that I am roused and dressed in time to catch him.”

The simple act of making such a decision, refusing to let him slip away yet again, brought a measure of relief. Even if she had little idea how to narrow the gulf between them or what words could bridge the distance, she would not remain idle any longer.

Ruth arrived at the break of dawn the following morning, knocking gently upon Diana’s door.

“Come,” she called softly, already sitting upright in bed with a restless energy that coursed beneath her skin. She had slept fitfully, haunted by thoughts of last night’s longing and her husband’s maddening elusiveness.

“Your Grace, I have done as you asked,” Ruth told her with a curtsy. “The duke has not yet departed; he has only just risen himself.”

“Thank you, Ruth,” Diana said, her voice tense in the dim light. “Please, help me dress quickly. I must find him before he goes; he will not evade me again.”

Working deftly, Ruth helped Diana into a modest morning gown of soft gray muslin. The brush of fabric against her arms was a sharp reminder of her heightened awareness of her own body and Gilbert’s noticeable absence. By the time Ruth pinned the last strand of hair into a neat chignon, dawn’s pale gold had grown stronger, cutting bold shapes across the chamber floor.

Satisfied, Diana mustered a small, tight smile for Ruth’s benefit. “I shall ring if I need you further. Wish me fortune,” she added, her heart beating a brisk tattoo behind her ribs.

Ruth bobbed another curtsy, clearly sensing her mistress’s urgency. “Indeed, Your Grace. I hope this morning sees you meet with success.”

Diana nodded, steeling herself. She had begun this day determined; she would end it, if not triumphant, then at least not trembling with unanswered desires and questions. One way or another, she would confront Gilbert and find clarity regarding the complicated feelings he had left thrumming beneath her skin.

When Diana reached the great hall, a faint chill greeted her; the night’s coolness still clinging to the stone floors. She spied Gilbert near the entrance, handing instructions to one of the footmen. The sight of him—tall and distinguished in a dark riding coat—roused her yearning. Even from a distance, she could sense his self-possession, the quiet confidence that so often made him seem aloof.

He glanced over his shoulder when he heard her approaching footsteps. Surprise flashed across his face, quickly replaced by courtesy. “Diana,” he said so coolly that she wondered if her arrival had roused anything in him at all. “You are awake rather early.”

She gathered her courage and approached, lifting her chin just enough to hide her anxiety.

“Good morning, Gilbert. I hoped I might persuade you to break your fast with me before you depart.”

He handed a folded missive to the footman, then turned to face her fully.

“I had not intended to linger, but…certainly, if you wish it,” he said, his expression amenable.