Page 25

T hree hours and eleven interminable hands of whist later, Diana made her way up to her room.

It was fortunate that the other ladies only wanted to play for pennies, because Diana had been unable to concentrate on the game.

She wasn’t sure what had caused Harrington to flee back into his bedchamber that afternoon, but after their interlude in the library, she felt certain that he burned for her with the same white-hot intensity with which she burned for him.

She hurried Veronique through her evening toilette and dismissed her for the evening. It was common for a lady’s maid to set up a cot in her mistress’s dressing room, but Veronique was not an idiot and had made arrangements to sleep with the household’s female servants in the attic.

Diana took a moment to gather herself. She normally slept in a soft, flannel night rail, but tonight she had opted for a lace-trimmed shift made of muslin so fine it was translucent.

She had topped this with a dressing gown of pale purple silk.

Her blonde hair fell over her shoulder in a single plait.

Nodding at the mirror, satisfied with her appearance, she strode over to the door connecting her room to Harrington’s. She knocked twice before pushing it open.

Her husband glanced at her, eyes wary. His coat and neckcloth had been tossed over the back of a chair, and he wore nothing but trousers and a white linen shirt gaping open to his heart. Diana found herself transfixed by the sight of dark hair curling on his chest.

Ignoring the lines creasing his brow, she strode into the room.

She walked straight toward Harrington, intending to loop her arms around his neck and pick up precisely where they’d left off in the library, but he gave her his back, turning to face the dresser.

“Would you like a drink?” he asked, reaching for the decanter.

“I would not.” She traced her fingertips across his shoulder. “I want to remember tonight forever.”

He spilled the brandy he’d been pouring and muttered a curse.

Diana grabbed a towel from the washstand and moistened it. Crossing the room in three strides, she dabbed at the spilled liquid. “Put that down. You don’t need it.” She laughed. “Aren’t I supposed to be the nervous one?”

He finally looked at her, and his eyes were sorrowful. “This isn’t a good idea.”

She untied the sash of her dressing gown. His gaze flew to the stripe of whisper-thin muslin that had been bared to his view. She knew he would be able to see the faint curve of her breasts, her belly button, and the blonde curls at the apex of her thighs.

She strolled forward, swinging her hips, and pushed the dressing gown off one shoulder. “I disagree. I think this is the best idea I’ve had in a long time.”

His face was stricken. “I can’t.”

“Hmm.” She cast her eyes toward his groin, confirming that, once again, he was hard for her. “You can’t convince me that you don’t want to.” She reached for him but stopped when her hand was an inch from the placket of his trousers. She looked up, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Closing his eyes, he leaned forward, pressing himself against her hand.

Encouraged, Diana traced his shape through the wool.

His face contorted as if he were in agony, and his head lolled back.

Having perused Harrington’s book of naughty prints with Izzie and Lucy, she had some idea what to expect.

But the reality of him, thick and hard and separated from her curious fingers by just a few layers of fabric, excited her unbearably, and a little pulse started to throb between her legs.

He opened his eyes, looking almost drunk. “We should stop.”

She responded by shrugging out of her dressing gown, letting it pool on the floor at her feet. Immediately, his eyes were riveted to her body, scarcely veiled from his view by the lace-trimmed shift.

“ Oh, Diana ,” he moaned, his hands coming up to cup her breasts. Now this was more like it. His thumbs traced the outline of her nipples, and she shivered, and not from the chill of the room.

As much good work as he was doing with his hands, his expression was the best thing. He looked at her as if she were precious beyond measure. As if he could not believe his good fortune, seeing her this way. It was precisely the way a man should look at his bride.

Eager to move things along, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt. Tugging him forward, she stepped back, falling on his bed and pulling him down on top of her.

But instead of kissing her as she had hoped, he scrambled off her, his eyes wild. “We can’t do this.”

She squinted at him, confused. “Why on earth not? We’re married .”

Eyes fixed on the floor, he gestured to the connecting door. “I need you to go back to your room.”

She crossed her arms. “Why?”

Still, he wouldn’t look at her. “I… I just do.”

Diana narrowed her eyes. As if such a paltry excuse was going to work. She was a Latimer . She was so practiced in being intractable as to render it an art form.

And she was not leaving this room without getting some answers .

“I will not leave until you tell me what’s going on.”

At last, he looked at her, guilt written plainly on his face. “Nothing’s going on!”

She raised a single eyebrow.

He grunted, scrubbing a hand across his face. “It’s unfair. How do you do that thing with your eyebrow?”

She lowered the first eyebrow and raised its companion.

“Fine!” he snapped, but his expression immediately softened. “It’s not you, Diana. You’re… gorgeous and perfect and, well,” he gestured to his groin, “it’s patently obvious that I want you.”

She strove to infuse her voice with patience rather than annoyance. “What, then, is the difficulty?”

He closed his eyes. “I… I promised your brother.”

Her eyes sharpened. “What,” she said slowly, her voice full of menace, “did you promise my brother?”

He opened his eyes, and they were full of sorrow. “I promised him I wouldn’t make love to you.”

In spite of her best efforts, her voice held a note of danger. “Tell me everything.”

“He made you swear on your brother’s grave ?”

Diana knew that strangling someone was an act usually performed with two hands.

No matter. She was going to strangle Marcus.

Somehow, she would find a way.

She chanced a look at her husband. Poor Harrington . She could tell he was genuinely distressed.

He was speaking quickly. “He wants you to have the option to annul the marriage.”

Diana rolled her eyes. “Yes, he’s been droning on about that to me as well.”

Harrington was still speaking, giving no appearance of having heard her.

“Should you change your mind. He pointed out that we didn’t have a very long courtship, and I couldn’t really argue.

” He looked at her, eyes pleading. “And I do want you to have options, Diana. I would never want you to feel trapped… You know. With me. I know the only reason you even contemplated marriage with me was like you said—for king and country.” He made a slashing motion with his hand.

“When you change your mind, I want you to come out on the other side unscathed.”

She noted his choice of words— when she changed her mind. Not if. It was telling that he couldn’t even imagine a scenario in which she wanted to be his wife.

She needed to proceed with care.

Taking his hand, she led him to the bed, tugging him down so they were sitting on its edge, facing one another. “I think you are overestimating the chances that I will wish to have our marriage annulled.”

“I’m not.” He gave a humorless laugh. “Just wait until you get to know me.”

She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. “Your statement that I don’t know you as well as I would like is not inaccurate. But I can honestly say that I like you better than any other man I’ve met.”

He looked stunned. “Me?” he asked quietly.

“You,” she said firmly. “My brother was wrong to ask that of you. But I would never expect you to break such a vow. I can easily understand why the mere thought is distressing to you.”

His shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you.”

She bit her lip. “Tell me the precise wording. Tell me exactly what you promised him.”

He frowned in concentration. “I swore that when you returned from this house party, your maidenhead would be intact.”

Diana brightened. It wasn’t ideal.

But she could work around that.

“Very well, then. We will make absolutely sure that I return to London with my maidenhead firmly in place.”

He smiled at her, relieved. “Thank you.”

“However,” she said firmly.

He stiffened. “However?”

She struggled to find the right words. “I am very innocent in most ways. You were the first man I ever kissed.” A soft smile came over his face. Instead of pausing to enjoy it, she soldiered on. “But I am not entirely ignorant of the marital act and what it entails.”

He nodded sagely. “I imagine your great-aunt told you what to expect.”

Diana scoffed. “Gracious, no. Aunt Griselda doesn’t know the first thing about making love.” She made a conciliatory gesture with her hand. “Leastwise, not with a man.”

For the first time all night, Harrington laughed.

Diana gave him a pointed look. “I trust you will keep that in confidence.”

He placed a hand over his heart. “Your Aunt Griselda is one of my favorite people on the face of this earth. I would never say anything that could cause her grief. Besides, I’m not exactly in a position to cast the first stone.”

Diana peered at him, wondering if this curious half-statement was an allusion to the page he had marked in his book of scandalous prints by folding the corner down. The one in which the man was being spanked with a birch—and appeared to be enjoying it.

Part of her wanted to ask. But she was nervous of how he would react to learning that she had snooped through his things. The situation was tenuous enough as it was.

She opted for a half-truth. “I stumbled upon a book of prints .” She gave the last word extra emphasis, hoping he would catch on.

Understanding flared in his eyes. “Ah. Not ignorant at all, then.”

“And I do have married friends.” There. That phrasing was vague enough that he could plausibly assume that Ceci had been the one to pull her aside before her wedding and tell her about the birds and the bees.

She didn’t want to dampen the mood by revealing that everything she knew about the marital act, she had learned from his little sister.

She scooted closer to him on the bed, raising her hand to trace behind his ear. “What I’m trying to say is, we both know there are other things we could do, ways of giving and receiving pleasure, that would not compromise my maidenhead in any way.”

Harrington’s eyes were wary once again. “But what if I can’t stop? What if I lose control?”

“I don’t think you will. But we need to trust one another.” She took his hand in hers, squeezing it. “We’re married. We’re partners. When I say that I would never do anything that would cause you to break your vow, I want you to believe me.”

“I want to believe you,” he said hesitantly. “But as the saying goes, the flesh is weak.”

She lifted her chin. “I am not weak.” She wanted to add, and neither are you . But she held off, because she knew he would argue.

“That’s true,” he agreed reluctantly.

“Good. Then let me see if I can ease your mind.” She took his hand, placing it over her heart, and looked him square in the eye.

“I, Diana Latimer… no, Diana Astley … solemnly swear on the grave of my mother, Lydia Latimer, that I will return to London at the end of this gathering with my maidenhead intact. That I will not allow my husband, Harrington, to perform any act that would place the vow he made upon the grave of his little brother, John, in jeopardy.”

His expression was fraught. “You don’t have to do this, Diana.”

“I already did.” She gave him an arch look. “So, do you believe I am strong enough to keep my vow?”

He frowned. “I know you are.”

She scooted toward him, climbed into his lap, and looped her arms around his neck. “Then there is no reason we cannot enjoy a few things.”

His breath was starting to come fast, and she could feel that he was still hard for her. “Are you sure?”

She pressed a firm kiss to his mouth. “Completely sure.” Sure about you , she added silently.

“In that case,” he said, then claimed her mouth with his.