Page 5 of Dallying with the Diamond
“And if he does not…measure up?”
“Then I can at least lie there and imagine scenes from my collection of books andtryto enjoy myself.”
“Enjoy yourself?” Julia had wrapped her fingers around the volume with the drawing that had started this entire conversation. Her hand shook slightly.
“You were married to a man old enough to be your father for five years. Did you enjoy his visits to your bedchamber at all?”
Julia’s silence fairly thundered around their little cubicle. When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse and thin. “Women aren’t supposed to—”
“Bollocks. That is the lie we’ve been told all our lives. I may not be able to live the life of mistresses, farmers’ wives or other women who know the truth, but that doesn’t mean I have to lie there like a fish on a hook. My husband may end up owning my body, but he will never own my imagination, my intellect, or my soul. I don’t care how large his fortune is.”
“And Lord Bitworth? Is he a bull?” Julia giggled and Honoria had to smile.
“I don’t know, more’s the pity. His valet is the only man in Christendom who has no fear of Esme. And as I cannot come up with a reason to object to him that will suit my father, I am afraid I am stuck with a man who has been alone with me on numerous occasions and has not even tried to steal a kiss.”
“Oh dear.”
“Indeed.” Honoria discovered an attitude of detached resignation came far more easily when one’s face was covered with a veil. Her demeanor of feminine confidence and sangfroid served her well at any society event. She managed to keep her friends’ concerns about her at bay in the same fashion. In fact, she’d convinced everyone around her she was indeed the diamond they had labelled her—brilliant, sparkling, singular, and impervious to the blows of theton’spicks and hammers. In truth she was a glass vase who reassembled herself every morning as she drank her hot chocolate and prepared to face the day.
The door across from their bookcase sanctuary slammed shut and the sound of more footsteps descending the stairs startled them both. After a quiet knock at the entrance to their little room, Lord Whitcombe stepped in and offered them both a bow. Daedalus Whitcombe was one of those beautiful specimens of a man who had women sighing all over London. With a veritable mane of golden blond hair and fathomless blue eyes, he had the body of an Adonis and the voice of a seducer. And Honoria felt nothing but friendship for him.
“We have a…situation with the journal pages my clerk sold you, my lady.”
“Oh? Please sit, my lord. I have no secrets from Mrs. Seaforth.”
He chose a chair across from them both and placed his clasped hands onto the polished surface of the table. “I expect a visit any moment from two of the gentlemen whose exploits are recorded in the complete journal. One of those men is the gentleman whose pages you have.” He took a deep breath. “I still cannot persuade you to allow me to buy them back from you?”
Honoria remained silent. There was no need to speak as she and Whitcombe had had this conversation earlier today.
“I suspect he will want me to tell him the name of the person who has his pages.”
“To what end, my lord?”
“One can only assume he wishes to buy them back from you. All four of the gentlemen are quite desperate. Two of them will have to deal with Captain El, the Pirate Queen, to retrieve their pages. She bought their parts of the journal before I realized what happened.”
“And the fourth gentleman?” Julia asked.
“His pages were bought by a private collector much like Lady Honoria.”
“I do not envy the two men who will have to deal with Captain El,” Honoria mused.
“Nor do I. But it begs the question, my lady. If the gentleman asks for your name, shall I give it or shall I keep your secret?”
“Would you? Honoria’s mind raced. She struck upon an idea, a scandalous, wicked, delicious idea.
“Of course, I would,” Lord Whitcombe declared. “You and I have much in common. I would do nothing to hamper the little bit of freedom you are allowed. I know what it is like to have your life in the hands of another with no hope of—”
“Tell him.” Honoria said the words before her common sense interfered as it often did when she was about to do something ridiculous. Julia turned her veiled face towards her and Honoria could just imagine what her friend wanted to say.
“Are you mad?” Julia finally asked.
“Quite probably, but I still want Lord Whitcombe to tell the gentleman my name. Just as I would like to know his name. I have my suspicions as to his identity, but I would like to know for certain.” Her heart stuttered and started. Her breath quickened.
The leonine lord sat perfectly still for several minutes. Then he smiled, a slow, conspiratorial smile. “As you wish, my lady. Good luck.” He took one of the books she had stacked next to her large reticule and scribbled inside the cover with the pencil he took from behind his ear. Once he had returned the writing instrument to its place, he stood and executed another elegant bow. “Although I suspect the gentleman in question is going to be in far more need of luck than you.”
Honoria waited until she heard the door close behind him. She checked what Lord Whitcombe had written, smiled, and stuffed the books she’d selected to keep into her reticule. Julia left the little red book on the table. Honoria snatched it up and tucked it into her friend’s reticule. She rose from the table so quickly she knocked her chair over backwards.
“My gift to you. If you refuse it, I shall be mortally wounded.” She walked stealthily to the opening through which Lord Whitcombe had just departed.