Page 19

H arrington all but skipped as he rushed around, conferring with Anne’s servants and making arrangements for his interlude with Diana.

Soon, a half dozen footmen were carrying the items he requested—a blanket, pillows, and an assortment of delicacies—up the slight hill at the edge of the lawn.

The location would be perfect—within sight of the party so that no one could complain that any improprieties were taking place but removed enough for a private conversation.

Finally, Harrington begged the final item he needed from his mother. Tucking it beneath his coat, he strode over to Diana, who was downing a glass of lemonade in thirsty gulps.

He bowed deeply and offered his arm. “My lady?”

She looped her arm through his but didn’t look at him. As they made their way up the hill, she dabbed her temple with a handkerchief. “I probably look a fright.”

“You’ve never looked more beautiful. Not even on the night of your debut, when I thought you were the most gorgeous sight I’d ever beheld.”

This wasn’t empty flattery, but the truth. Although he couldn’t believe he’d said it out loud. He normally tried to conceal the extent to which he yearned for Diana.

But really, how could he hold it in? She’d been bloody magnificent. He’d always heard how talented she was at fencing, but he’d never had the chance to see her in action before today. She had reminded him of a falcon in flight—swift, light, and agile. And, when the time came to strike, deadly.

Throw in the notion that the thing she was fighting so fiercely to possess was him , and it was no wonder he was done for.

Watching her, he had been overcome by the fantasy that he was the one she was fencing against. She would drive him back, disarm him, and pin him against a wall.

Then, she would order him to pleasure her.

He had all but worked himself into a lather picturing her holding her sword at his throat as he drew up her skirts and fell to his knees between her trembling thighs…

Ahem . This was not the train of thought he ought to pursue, leastwise, not unless he wanted to give Diana a real eyeful should her gaze stray to the placket of his trousers.

But the point was, Diana Latimer was completely, utterly breathtaking. What chance did a poor sod like him stand?

She peered at him out of the corner of her eye, looking startled by his compliment, but not displeased. “Is that so?”

“It is,” Harrington said solemnly.

She regarded him, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. “You, Lieutenant Astley, are full of surprises.”

They had reached the picnic blanket. Diana tried to sit primly with her legs curled to her side, but Harrington would have none of it.

He arranged the pillows behind her and helped her to lounge back against them.

He offered her wine, but she indicated that she would prefer lemonade, as she was still thirsty from the fencing.

He also made sure he had an assortment of fruits and cheeses readily at hand.

Then, he pulled the item he had borrowed from his mother—a frilly, pink fan—from beneath his jacket, opened it with a flourish, and began fanning her.

She laughed. “Harrington! What are you doing?”

“You won me. I’m your war prize.” Still fanning her, he plucked a grape from the tray and popped it in her mouth. “Isn’t this what I’m supposed to do?”

She finished chewing the grape before answering. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a war prize before.”

“You’ll just have to take my word for it, then.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I would have you rest your head on my lap if I didn’t know that your brother would come flying up the hill to disembowel me.”

She peered toward the house. “He’ll probably come flying up the hill to disembowel you, regardless.”

“Hmm.” Harrington followed the direction of her gaze. Surely enough, Trevissick’s expression was murderous.

Turning back to Diana, he brushed a curl off her damp brow. “Thank goodness I have you to protect me.”

He fed her a piece of cheese on a water biscuit. She laughed, brushing crumbs off her chin, and sat up. “I believe there was something you wanted to discuss with me.”

“Oh, there is. It’s actually rather urgent. But now that we’re here, I can’t seem to muster the energy to do anything but flirt with you shamelessly.”

Her pale eyes were bright as she leaned forward, placing her hand on the cuff of his jacket. “Believe me, I am enjoying your shameless flirtation.”

Harrington’s heart did this burbly thing inside his chest. Because this was the first time he had been certain that Diana wasn’t just being droll or sarcastic but was specifically flirting . And she was doing it with him !

It was her turn to pick up a grape and pop it in his mouth. Her thumb grazed his lower lip, which really took the sting off the next word she said. “But.”

He frowned. “But?” he asked around a mouthful of grape.

Her smile was fond. “I find you have piqued my interest to such a degree, I must order my war prize to explain why you asked if I speak Swedish.”

He gave the most elegant bow he could manage while seated on a blanket. “My lady’s wish is my command.” He paused, rubbing the back of his head, unsure where to begin. “Would you believe I’ve been asked to spy on the King of Sweden?”

He explained everything, starting with the fact that the Royal Mail opened important-looking letters.

Which he had been asked to keep a secret, but really, what was he supposed to do?

“Then, Windham mentioned that the reason the letter had slipped through was because it had been sealed with an old signet ring, from the House of?—”

“Mecklenburg,” Diana guessed in unison with him.

“Precisely. That’s what made me think of you. I mean, how on earth am I supposed to find this letter? I don’t even know what the crest of the House of Mecklenburg looks like.” He cursed beneath his breath. “I should have asked Windham while I had the chance.”

“There have been several variations over the years, but it will be some combination of a black bull and a gold griffin.” She tapped her chin, her expression thoughtful.

“It’s been several hundred years since the House of Mecklenburg had any claim to the Swedish throne.

But I can confirm that over the years, there have been a number of marriages amongst the royal houses in that part of the world.

That’s the reason Aunt Griselda speaks Swedish and was able to pass it on to me. ”

Harrington laughed, suddenly nervous. “So, what you’re saying is, you’re related to the King of Sweden?”

She shrugged. “Probably. Distantly, mind you. I know Aunt Griselda is first cousin to the King of Denmark. I believe that’s my closest brush with royalty.”

Oh, God . What was he thinking? He’d always known Diana was a thousand miles above him, as unattainable as a star in the sky. But the truth was somehow even worse. She wasn’t just a princess in his imaginings; she was literally descended from royalty!

What was he doing, fanning her, popping grapes in her mouth, and allowing himself to dream?

It was hopeless. Completely, utterly, hopeless.

Diana nudged him with her shoulder. “What?”

“S-sorry,” he spluttered. “Just, er. Thinking about the challenge ahead.”

“Of course. So, what do you want me to do? Teach you a little Swedish?”

“That would be a good start,” Harrington said in a choked voice.

They had a servant bring out a portable writing desk. Diana sketched a few likely crests that might have been used on the letter, then wrote out a list of words that might indicate a royal letter—king, uncle, nephew, that sort of thing.

After a half hour, Harrington threw down his pencil. “It’s no use. I’ll never even find the bloody thing.”

Ignoring his blasphemous language, she placed her hand on his forearm, which he enjoyed, even as he reminded himself that nothing would ever come of it. “You’re picking it up very quickly. But I agree, it’s unlikely that you can gain any real fluency in a few scant days.”

He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. “God, I wish there was a way to take you with me. I feel like maybe, just maybe , we could find it together.”

She made a sympathetic sound. “I wish so, too. But, of course, an unmarried lady could never accompany you to… to…”

She trailed off. Suddenly, her eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. Harrington watched as her spine straightened, one vertebra at a time.

When she spoke, her voice was quiet, yet completely resolute. “There’s only one solution.” She turned to face him, her expression inscrutable. “We’ll have to marry.”