Page 27

D iana slipped from Harrington’s room just as morning light was starting to peek around the edges of the curtains.

They had spent the whole night alternating between spells of pleasuring each other and dozing contentedly together.

Thanks to her married friend, Izzie, Diana had had some idea what to expect.

But she had formed the impression that some men were unwilling to perform the particular act she had seen depicted in that book of prints, in which the man kissed his lover between her legs.

Harrington, on the other hand, had brought her to four sparkling climaxes that way and had made it clear that he would have been glad to do so again and again, had she not been too tender.

This only strengthened Diana’s conviction that their hasty marriage had not been a mistake.

That Harrington was such a generous lover who genuinely enjoyed bringing her pleasure was an excellent sign.

She couldn’t wait to get back to London so they could consummate this marriage in every sense of the word. But there were still a few things from that book of prints that they could do without stripping her of her maidenhead, and there was one in particular that she wanted to try.

After a couple more hours of sleep, Diana rose and allowed Veronique to dress her in a lilac morning dress trimmed with delicate white lace.

Downstairs, she encountered Harrington in the breakfast room filling a plate with eggs and kippers. His eyes sparkled as they met hers, and she fancied she was looking at him in much the same way.

She sidled up next to him at the sideboard, eyeing his plate. “That’s a lot of eggs,” she whispered.

“I’ve got to keep my energy up,” he countered with a wink. “Someone depleted it last night.”

Chuckling, Diana elbowed him in the ribs. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Mrs. Beasley exchanging an amused look with her husband.

Diana did not mind in the slightest. To be sure, everyone was probably gossiping about the newlyweds, but she expected it was a friendly sort of gossip.

Besides, the notion that she and Harrington were prone to stealing away for private interludes would be helpful when searching for the letter from King Gustav.

The morning activity was riding. Diana had to decline.

She had grown up riding astride, which was improper, but when had Aunt Griselda ever given a fig for what was proper?

More importantly, it allowed her to compensate for her missing hand by controlling the horse with her legs.

When riding sidesaddle, a lady used a riding crop to signal her mount on the off side, but managing both the reins and the crop was challenging with one hand, especially when riding in busy places like Hyde Park.

She therefore had a specially trained mare that responded to a set of commands Diana could execute with one hand.

But, alas, she had left Artemisia back in London.

The handful of ladies who had not cared to ride gathered in the morning room. Noticing a writing desk in the corner, Diana feigned a desire to pen a few letters and was able to covertly search the desk. It did not reveal anything of use, but at least she could cross it off their proverbial list.

The riders returned in good spirits, and, as the weather was fine, the servants laid out a picnic luncheon on the back lawn.

No doubt the other guests thought the newlyweds were whispering sweet nothings to one another on their blanket. In actuality, they were refining their plan.

“I wonder how many other writing desks there are around the house?” Harrington murmured after Diana told him about the one she’d inspected that morning.

“There’s no telling,” she whispered, making a point to smile as if he’d said something droll. “We’ve already searched the library, but there could be a study as well.”

“We should make a sketch of the general layout of the house,” he said, giving her a heated look that made Diana shiver.

They spent the next two days doing just that. They found an additional writing desk in a first-floor parlor and a study that was, ironically, next door to the master suite where Harrington was staying. Neither yielded anything of use.

Time was running out with just one day left of the house party. That night in Harrington’s room, after their first round of pleasuring one another, Diana sat up on the bed, wrapping the counterpane around her shoulders for warmth. “I was thinking about our mission.”

Harrington, who was lounging against the headboard, opened his eyes, but the contented smile did not disappear from his face. “Our mission?”

She poked him in the ribs. “You know, to find the letter from King Gustav.”

He spread his arms wide, stretching. “Right. The mission. What about it?”

“It seems like we’ve searched every likely location”—she bit her lip, nervous about what she was about to suggest—“other than Carl Frederick’s bedroom.”

Harrington sat up. “His bedroom.” He fell silent, considering the implications. “I think you’re right. We’ve made a good search of most of the house. At this point, I don’t see where else it could be.”

Diana nodded grimly. “It also makes a certain amount of sense that he wouldn’t keep a potentially sensitive letter in one of the public rooms.”

“That’s true.” He winced. “I feel bad, searching the man’s bedroom. Carl Frederick has been nothing but kind to me. It seems a rotten way of thanking him.”

“There’s also the potential that, if we are caught in the act, it could cause a diplomatic incident.”

Harrington squeezed his eyes shut. “That would be just my luck.”

Diana took his hand, holding it until he looked at her. “It’s your mission, and you would be the one to bear the consequences if something were to go awry. You should therefore be the one to decide whether we make the attempt.”

His brown eyes were thoughtful. “Yes, but I value your opinion and would like to hear what you think.”

Diana’s heart tripped. This was why she was becoming more convinced with each passing day that marrying Harrington had been a good thing.

He respected her. He treated her like a partner, not like a line of credit, or a pretty ornament to wear upon his arm.

And that, she was coming to realize, was the quality she wanted in a husband above all others.

“I think,” she said slowly, “that there are arguments on both sides. It is possible that we have been sent on a wild goose chase. That the letter is not even here, or if it is, that it does not contain anything of importance. If we are caught searching Carl Frederick’s room, it is likely that your friendship would be ruined, and possible that it could damage relations between Great Britain and Sweden. ”

Harrington swallowed. In the candlelight, his face had gone pale.

“On the other hand,” she continued, “if there is anything of import in the letter, the knowledge of its contents could improve our military strategy. Which is not a small thing, as lives are at stake.”

Harrington slumped against the pillows, his brow furrowed.

After a moment, he said, “So many of our erstwhile allies switched sides while I was in Hanover, and as you said, lives are at stake. Knowing if our allies can be trusted is not a small thing.” His eyes met hers, resolved. “I think I have to try it.”

Diana nodded solemnly. “You mean, I have to try it.”

Harrington frowned. “What do you mean, you have to try it? I don’t like the idea of you putting yourself at risk.”

She shook her head. “It makes far more sense for me to be the one to search the room. I have it all planned out. You see…”