The Dangerous Viscount (16 page)

Except that logic and all evidence told him that Blake was very much in the race. Most likely he was ensconced on a sofa with Diana at this moment.

Cain interrupted his thoughts. “You’re frowning. Why?”

“Blakeney. I don’t understand his appeal. If she thinks
I
have turned into a bore, can’t she see that
he’s always been one? I’ve never heard him say anything intelligent or original.”

“There’s no better-looking man in London,” Cain said.

What a fool he was. Diana might have enjoyed his conversation, but appearances mattered more. Without his improved looks he’d never have a shot at defeating Blakeney.

“And he’s going to be a duke. But if I read the lady correctly, rank isn’t of paramount importance. I feel sure,” he continued with a grin, “she’d be content to be a viscountess.”

Momentarily nonplussed by the marquis’s assumption that his aim was marriage, Sebastian almost missed Cain’s next revelation.

“I have bad news for you. Lady Fanshawe and her sister are to be our guests at Markley Chase Abbey next month.”

“Yes?”

“And Blakeney is coming too. He agreed to come for a week on his way to Badminton for the hunt.”

“You have to invite me.”

“My wife’ll kill me. She’s firmly on Blakeney’s side.”

“Please, Cain. And I’ll be nice to Lady Chase. I’ll talk to her about books.”

“You were devilish rude to her when she was a bookseller. She isn’t one of those sweet women who refuses to hold a grudge.”

“You know I may have been wrong about her in the past.” Cain had to be appeased. “She is fairly knowledgeable about books.”

Cain raised an eyebrow.

“Very knowledgeable.” Cain waved his hand, demanding more.

“And I was very, very wrong. Completely mistaken.”

“All right, you can come to Markley Chase. But don’t say anything. I’ll wait for the right moment to break the news to Juliana. And when you arrive at the Abbey you will tell her what you just told me. You will grovel.”

“Yes, Cain. Thank you, Cain,” Sebastian said, crossing his fingers behind his back. “You won’t regret this.”

“Don’t forget what comes next. The Grand Gesture.”

Back in his own library Sebastian found his notebook and studied Tarquin and Cain’s list of grand gestures.

Sweep her into a waltz.
He’d been determined from the beginning to get through this whole affair without having to set foot on a dance floor. He wrote a large
X
next to that item.

Diamonds, emeralds, sapphires.
Diana’s late husband had a nabob’s fortune and her jewels were superb. But he hadn’t seen her in sapphires and they’d match her eyes. He put a question mark in the margin.

Dog or other pet.
Sebastian disapproved of pets on principle as being bad for books. He’d once seen a perfectly nice copy of the
Nuremburg Chronicle
with a large hole in the cover pecked by the owner’s wife’s parrot. No. Double-underlined.

Save from socially awkward situation.
Until a few
weeks ago Sebastian had himself epitomized social awkwardness. He’d come a long way, but not that far.
Impossible.

Save from runaway horse.
Too hard to set up, since Diana was a brilliant horsewoman.

Save from footpads.
Hmm.

Hire footpads if necessary.
It sounded like a completely stupid idea. On the other hand, his friends’ advice had proved sound up to this point.

“H
ow much longer?” Minerva asked, peering out of the closed window at the twilit Cotswold landscape. On the second day of their journey to Gloucestershire, Minerva seemed to be losing a year of maturity every ten miles. Luckily they were in the final stretch, or Diana feared they’d reach Markley Chase with her sister a mewling and puking infant.

“Five minutes less than the last time you asked,” Diana snapped. “For heaven’s sake, Min. I’ve never known you so fidgety.” Traveling was always tiresome, but there was little to complain about a journey on excellent roads in the comfortable and well-sprung coach that had been one of Sir Tobias Fanshawe’s wedding presents to his bride.

“I wish we were in London. I only just escaped from spending my entire life in the countryside and now you’re making me go back. You’re taking me away from pavements and people and returning me to plows and pigs. I can almost smell the dung already.”

Diana laughed at Minerva’s horrified expression. “I don’t believe Markley Chase Abbey is set in a
farmyard. The house is reputed to be quite lovely and the party should be amusing.”

“We both know why
you
are looking forward to it. Days and days of listening to your darling Blakeney rattle on about pigeons and partridges.”

“If you work at it I’m sure you can come up with a few more things you hate beginning with
P.”

“I can think of one I don’t hate! Parliament. There’s going to be a special session and I shall miss everything.”

“It’s not as though you can attend,” Diana pointed out. “You can read the reports in
The Times
just as well in Gloucestershire.”

Minerva was not to be consoled. “If the Chases bother to have it delivered. Lady Chase probably only subscribes to some tedious journal of bibliographical enquiry.”

“You’ll have plenty of time to enjoy London next year when you come out. And as I keep telling you, having Lady Esther to share your debut will make you much more comfortable. I wish I’d had a close friend during my season.”

Minerva leaned back in her seat and frowned. At least she wasn’t whining anymore. “I’m not sure I want to come out next year. I don’t think I want to marry yet. I don’t want to settle for someone whom I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life without looking around first.”

“That’s just what I want for you,” Diana agreed. “You certainly don’t have to wed anyone unless you truly wish to. You’ll have the comfort of waiting as long as necessary. And you’ll have lots of choice, I
promise. There’s nothing I won’t do to ensure your season is a triumph.”

Minerva must have heard the bitterness in Diana’s voice. “Was yours so very bad then?”

Diana shuddered at the memory. “Going to London was all I dreamed of since I was fourteen years old. All I wanted to do was have fun and then get married, preferably to Blakeney. I looked forward to the season so much and I hated every moment. My clothes were wrong and we weren’t invited to the most
tonnish
events. I hardly met anyone. I spent most of the time at balls sitting with the chaperones while Mama talked to elderly gentlemen about horses when she should have been finding me partners. She had no idea how to meet the right people.”

“Is that why you married Sir Tobias?”

“He was the only person who took any notice of me. He was kind, and he adored me. By the end of one month in town I knew marrying Blakeney was as likely as traveling to the moon.”

“I don’t understand it, Di. You are so beautiful.”

“No, Min. You and Mama and the boys are beautiful—and handsome. I take after Papa. My face is too round, my hair a dull brown, and my figure tends to plumpness. I spend a fortune on clothes, thanks to Tobias, and I’ve learned how to dress well thanks to Chantal, but underneath my looks are no more than passable. It’s all in the presentation. But you, with your golden hair and tall, slim figure, will take the
ton
by storm. Particularly since your clothes will be unequalled by any young lady in London.”

Minerva looked troubled. “I don’t want to win a
husband with my looks. You know I wish to wed a man of substance who will appreciate the help I can give him in his career.”

“And so you shall, my dearest. But I’m afraid men are fundamentally shallow. It’s always the appearance that attracts them. Only then will they take the trouble to discover what’s underneath the surface.”

“That’s so sad.”

“Not really,” Diana said with a shrug. “It’s just life. And I’m not clever like you. I was always the ordinary one in the family. Thank goodness Tobias saw something in my unpromising exterior. I shall always be grateful to him. I only wish I could have given him the heir he wanted.”

“I’m sure that wasn’t your fault. He was so much older.”

“He never blamed me. As you know, he was married twice previously without any children. He believed an illness in India during his youth may have rendered him infertile. Dear Tobias. He was always a reasonable man. There are many gentlemen who would refuse to entertain the notion that the fault was theirs.”

“Was he … capable?” Minerva asked delicately. Rather a shocking question for a girl of her age, but Minerva had spent a lifetime listening to their mother discuss the successes and failures of equine and canine liaisons.

“Yes.”

“You know I’d like to know more about … er … marriage between human beings.”

“I promise you, Min. When you marry I shall tell you all about it. Mama told me I had nothing to
worry about and it was just like animals. That turned out to be rather inadequate information.”

“Was it terrible? The dogs don’t seem to enjoy it much. Not the females, at least. They seem to be hating the whole business.”

“To put it delicately, there’s a reason I want to be married again.”

Minerva’s eyes widened and she nodded silently. “I see,” she said after a moment or so. “Perhaps I can finally understand what you see in Blakeney. I don’t suppose the marriage act requires much in the way of conversation.”

Considering Diana had spent quite a lot of time over the past year in contemplation of the marriage act with Blake, it was strange that the face—and body—this exchange brought to mind was not that of the marquis. She envisioned a taller, less exquisite figure. Brown hair, not blond. Not blue eyes but gray, and concealed by
steel-rimmed
spectacles.

Peculiar enough to be thinking of the Viscount Iverley in this context. Odder still to be thinking about Sebastian Iverley as he’d been when she first knew him: shabby, unpolished, and inarticulate. And generating a familiar and delicious physical heat. She recalled the ease with which he’d carried her up the path to the temple, the hard strength of his arms around her. The interrupted kiss.

She shook her head to dispel the inexplicable image and was thrown into a corner as the carriage came to a sudden halt.

“We’re here,” Minerva cried and wrestled open the door.

“Impossible,” Diana said. “It’s another ten miles
at least.” But Minerva, without waiting for the footman to get down from the box and lower the step, leaped to the ground.

Diana snuggled under her fur rug. “You’re not even wearing a bonnet. Get back in and close the door. You’re letting the cold air in.”

“We’re in the middle of a wood.”

“I told you we hadn’t arrived. Ask John why he stopped.”

“I’ll go and look.”

Before Minerva returned, the coachman appeared at the door. “I’m sorry, my lady. There’s another vehicle blocking the road.”

“An accident?” Diana asked, leaning forward.

“Don’t know, my lady. There’s nobody here and no horses. Maybe they rode for help.”

“Can you get by?” Diana felt a chill that had nothing to do with the season. The armed outriders she’d hired for the journey were some miles back, with the baggage coach. The last time they’d changed horses there had been some minor problem with the wheel of that vehicle. Rather than wait for it to be adjusted, she’d elected to travel on ahead. At the time it had seemed sensible to leave the guards with Chantal, and Diana’s jewel case.

“That’s strange.” Minerva’s voice came from a few yards distant. “There’s someone among the trees. Hey there! Is this your carriage?”

“Min! Don’t!” Diana cried, tossing aside her blanket and sliding over to the open door. “Help me down,” she ordered and grabbed the coachman by the shoulders. Her terrified premonition was justified. As she let the servant swing her to the ground,
a masked rider emerged from the woods, stopped his horse next to Minerva, and pressed a pistol into the girl’s blond head.

“Stand and deliver!” he commanded in rough accents. “Bring your valuables here.”

They were powerless. The coachman had left his gun on the box and even if the footman who rode with him could reach it, he couldn’t fire at the highwayman without endangering Minerva.

“Don’t shoot!” Diana yelled. “Let me get my purse. There’s not much in it but what there is you can have. John, Matthew, don’t move.” At her command her servants became statues.

“Don’t try anything funny,” the rogue growled as Diana scrambled back into the carriage. “Any trouble and I’ll shoot the girl.”

The sight of that cruel gun barrel thrust into Minerva’s curls robbed Diana of rational thought. Sobbing with terror, she wrestled with the strings of her reticule, which became entangled and knotted in her haste. She kept thinking about how she would break the news of Min’s death to her parents. And how stupid it was that her sister might die because all she found, once she ripped open the purse with the strength of the demented, were three golden guineas, a handful of lesser coins, a jar of rouge, and her silver etui. The latter was a pretty thing, large enough to hold a small pair of scissors as well as needles and thread, but worth only a guinea or two.

Most of the currency she’d brought for travel expenses and vails was in her well-guarded jewel case, along with a fortune in precious stones. Leaving the guards with those valuables had been a foolish choice.
What was jewelry compared to her sister’s life?

“I’m coming back out,” she said in a clear voice, struggling for calmness as she prepared to explain to the robber why such a luxurious equipage yielded so little of worth. And, just in case an opportunity presented itself, secreted the tiny scissors between her thumb and the palm of her hand.

“That’s right, lady, just bring out your baubles and young miss here won’t get hurt.”

“You are hurting me!” Minerva said, sounding less frightened than annoyed. She glared up at her persecutor. “Your gun is digging into my head.”

“Hush, Min!” Diana warned but the complaint seemed to have an effect. The brute pulled his gun upward, away, thank God, from Minerva’s head and pointed it at Diana instead.