Page 24

A t dinner that night, Harrington watched Diana charm Carl Frederick.

She conversed with the duke in a mixture of English and French, giving no indication that she understood his native Swedish.

It was fairly common knowledge amongst the ton that Diana had studied a half-dozen languages courtesy of her Aunt Griselda, who had been born on the Continent.

But Carl Frederick’s dozen guests consisted mostly of army officers he’d befriended in Hanover and their wives.

They did not move in the same circles as Diana and had better things to do with their time than trading petty gossip.

Hopefully, no one would know enough to mention the possibility that Diana spoke Swedish to their host.

The meal was a decadent spread of French dishes—ironic, given that Britain and Sweden were sworn enemies of Napoleon.

But Harrington had to admit it was delicious.

After the poire à la beaujolaise —pears stewed in sweetened red wine until they were a brilliant shade of scarlet—were cleared away, the ladies excused themselves to take tea in the drawing room, leaving the men to their port.

After half an hour, Harrington excused himself to use the necessary. He was making his way back to the dining room when someone grabbed him by the arm.

“ What the devil ?” he hissed, rounding on his mystery attacker, fists raised to defend himself.

His hands loosened when he saw it was only Diana. “Don’t startle me like that. What if I had struck you?”

“Sorry. I didn’t think of that.” She peered up and down the corridor, not looking particularly perturbed. “We’re clear. Come on.”

She tugged him into the room, which proved to be the library, then shut the door behind them. “What’s going on?” he hissed. “Why did you drag me in here?”

She gave him a quelling look. “So we can look for the letter. I figure this is as good a place to start as any.”

“The letter. Right.” He ran a hand over his face. He’d forgotten all about the letter, truth be told. All he’d thought about since that bloody picnic was not sleeping with Diana, which effectively meant he was thinking about nothing but sleeping with Diana. “Let’s have a look around, then.”

Diana began rooting through the desk while Harrington inspected the bookshelves.

Most of them bore a light layer of dust, making it easy to pick out the handful of books that had been handled recently.

Harrington leafed through each one and peered deep into the back of the shelves. Nothing appeared to be out of order.

Diana closed a drawer with a soft click.

“Nothing over here. Unless one of the drawers has a false bottom,” she amended hastily.

“But it looks untouched. There are no papers in the desk, the pens are dried out, and the inkwells are empty. I don’t get the impression that anyone has been using this area for their correspondence. ”

“I didn’t find anything suspicious, either.” He gestured toward the door. “Do you think we have time to check one more room?”

“We might as…” She froze as voices filled the corridor. They were accompanied by the muffled thump of footsteps on the carpet.

The voices were growing louder.

Diana’s eyes flew to his. He raised a finger to his lips, and she nodded. The drawing room where the ladies had retreated was at the other end of the corridor, but perhaps one of the guests was searching for the chamber pot.

The footsteps paused before the library door. He watched in horror as the door’s handle slowly started to twist.

His mind scrambled. They could brazen this out, couldn’t they?

It wasn’t as if they’d been caught red-handed, snooping in the desk.

There was nothing inherently suspicious about being in the library.

Except Harrington didn’t have a reputation for being a great reader.

Nobody was going to believe he had decided to forego Carl Frederick’s finest port to go looking for a book at eleven o’clock at night.

While he stood there gaping, Diana sprang into action.

She placed her hand on top of the desk and vaulted over it with remarkable dexterity, considering she was wearing a silk evening gown.

Landing in a seated position, she grabbed him by the front of his jacket, hauled him between her legs, and kissed him right on the mouth.

His thoughts, which had already been fractured, scattered to dust. His hands went to Diana’s shoulders of their own volition, pulling her close. He couldn’t seem to help himself. He simply had no ability to resist this woman.

Which is why you can’t allow her within fifty yards of your bed , a nagging voice inside his head reminded him.

Behind him, he heard the faint sound of the door swinging on its hinges. There was a muffled step as if someone had stopped short, followed by a faint chuckle. Then came the sound of the door clicking shut once more.

And now he understood her strategy. People would expect the newlyweds to steal off together. It was a brilliant cover, although there was probably no reason to keep it up, now that the interloper had moved on.

He could stop kissing her now. And he would.

In one minute.

Maybe two.

At most, three.

Just then, Diana wrapped her arms tightly around him and scooted to the edge of the desk, bringing her core into contact with his straining cock. Groaning into his mouth, she started circling her hips, rubbing herself against him.

Harrington’s resolve had just sprouted wings and flown out the window when the door swung open again. There was a startled gasp, followed by a thump, and then a cry of pain.

Biting back a curse, Harrington glanced over his shoulder and saw Mrs. Beasley, a friendly woman of about forty years who was married to a Lieutenant-Colonel. She was crouched down upon the Axminster rug, clutching her toe.

“I’m s-sorry for interrupting,” she stammered. “I only meant to return my book and select another. I had no idea that you were, er…”

With a composure Harrington was certain he did not possess, Diana straightened her bodice and slid from the desk. “Please, Mrs. Beasley. I am the one who should be apologizing to you. The fault is entirely ours.”

“Oh, no!” Mrs. Beasley cried. “That is… It’s been two and twenty years since the Lieutenant-Colonel and my wedding day. But I do remember what it was like, and I would never chastise you for something so natural.”

Diana crouched down next to her. “You are too kind.” She picked up Mrs. Beasley’s book. “My gracious— Don Quixote ! Did you drop this on your foot?”

“I did,” Mrs. Beasley confessed.

“No wonder you are in pain. Here.” Diana draped the woman’s arm across her shoulders. “Can you bear a little weight on it?”

“I think so.”

As she helped Mrs. Beasley from the room, Diana cast a look back at him. Who would have thought those ice-blue eyes could hold such fire? It was a look that said, this isn’t finished .

Harrington gulped as the door clicked shut. That was what he was afraid of, all right.